The bus bumped along the road as it drove away from Midtown. Peter watched the school grow smaller until they turned a corner and it disappeared. They quickly entered traffic, though by New York’s standards, they were making good time.
He had forgotten about that—the way they had been making good time. He had forgotten about the way there were almost no clouds in the sky, about how many colors there were. His memory had muddled the colors, making everything dimmer.
He had forgotten that a pool had been started by Alan for when they would get there—started by Alan, but now being co-run by Jethro, who grinned as he waved his notebook paper with his calculations and called out the current chances, the people who had bet glancing nervously out the windows at the surprisingly light traffic.
He had forgotten that Lilli sat with Flash, talking with her hands. He watched as she paused, scrunched her shoulders up to her neck, and released, going back to the conversation; one of her frequent tics. Flash didn’t mind, and Peter had always loved him for that.
He had forgotten that Nancy, on edge with the fast pace they were going, had begun bargaining with Alan, trying to change her guess as they inched closer to the museum. Eli watched them with amusement; he was completely confident he had gotten the time right, Peter knew. The color in his hair was fading, now a light, reddish-pink. It had been maroon, right? (He couldn’t remember.)
He had forgotten that Ned was leaned across the aisle, talking to Lily. They were friends, weren’t they? Though they hadn’t talked in some time, as far as he knew. They might’ve even dated at some point, he thinks, though it hadn’t lasted long.
He had forgotten that Olive was in the front, talking enthusiastically to Tiana about something—that new horror movie, probably. They both loved thrillers, if Peter’s memory served him right. Alan, too. Tiana’s expression was calm, but her eyes were starry as she listened to Olive. That was the way she was; always a calm expression. A great poker face. He remembered in sophomore year when Olive, Alan, and Tiana had pulled an elaborate prank on Halloween that terrified everyone. Olive and Alan had repeated one like it senior year, in memory of Tiana; though without her poker face to fool everyone, it hadn’t been quite as exciting.
He had forgotten that Thomas was sketching on his drawing pad, in his own world, and how Pat (probably the only person who hadn’t put money in) was in the seat next to him, chin resting on the back. She laughed as Grace nearly whacked Ben’s head off with her walking brace. Bill blocked it at the last second, and Ben flashed him a grateful thumbs up. They had been best friends, hadn’t they? Always at each other’s side. If you knew Bill, you knew Ben, and vice-versa. There was no way around it.
He had forgotten about that.
He had forgotten about a lot of things.
He remembered all the large strokes of his high school days, of his classmates. But the small things, the little details? He had forgotten many of them. Too many of them.
Especially the details about the ones who had disappeared.
The ones who had blipped.