Forgotten by Morning

She recognized the stranger's laugh. Rachel whipped around, scanning the crowd to find the owner of the laugh. There. She spotted him and their eyes locked. Something about him felt achingly familiar, yet she couldn't remember ever seeing him before. But the sparkle in his eye told her he knew her, and he was trouble.
The man sauntered over as she finished wiping down the barstool. Rachel picked up the empty glasses, adding them to her tray, avoiding his gaze. She was about to pretend she hadn’t even seen him and escape behind the bar when suddenly, he was there. Not even a foot away–closer. Too close.
Rachel nearly went cross-eyed as she looked up to find him face-to-face with her. She tried to take a step back, and stumbled into the barstool she’d just wiped down, spilling the remains of the cocktail she’d been holding–mostly ice, but enough liquor to know she’d need another rag and some water.
“Excuse you,” she said harshly, placing the glass back on the counter with a clank and grabbing her rag again, turning away from him to clean up the mess he’d caused.
“Excuse me?” he replied haughtily and laughed. “You’re the one who bumped into me.”
His accent threw Rachel, and she stuttered, trying to form a retort. None came. Instead, she tried to ignore him and clean up the mess, trying to get away before he said anything more.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said, dropping into a crouch to become level with her.
“I think you have me mixed up with someone else,” she finally brushed out, picking up ice cubes and piling them in the rag atop her open palm.
He shook his head. “Naw. Could never forget you,” he replied with another laugh.
But he didn’t offer more context. He waited to see if the memory would surface, but all she did was avoid looking at him, continuing to clean up the mess. When she’d finished, she straightened, pulled at the bottom of her skirt, suddenly fearing it was too short.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get this back to the kitchen and finish my shift.”
She tried to move past him, but he blocked her way.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided. “Not until you remember.”
Her eyebrows scrunched. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do, or where I can and cannot go? Let me pass or I’ll call the bouncer.”
The man let out a low whistle. “I see you’re still just as feisty.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “Perhaps I can help jog your memory,” he continued with a wink.
Rachel took a tentative step sideways, unable to go backwards. “No, thank you,” she said with a glare, pushing the words out more boldly than she felt. “Now, let me through. Last warning.”
There was that laugh again, and it sent goosebumps across her arms, and her stomach flipped nervously. What the freak? Who is this guy? And how come his laugh makes me feel like I’ve just been on a roller coaster? Her thoughts raced and her eyes darted around the crowded bar. Just as she was about to call Joe over to escort the man out, she realized he wasn’t there anymore.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked around–there was no sign of the strange man, not even a door mid-shut to show where he went. Odd.
Rachel shook her head and grabbed the tray, empty drinks, and the rag full of mostly-melted ice now, and bustled to the kitchen. She dumped everything into the crowded sink, not realizing how full it was. The cocktail glass rolled out and crashed to the floor, shattering on impact, and sending pieces of glass skittering across the tile.
“You alright Rachel?” Mandy called as she sighed and bent over, cradling her head in her hands. 
Mandy’s heels clicked on the tile as she crossed the room to stand by Rachel. She laid a hand on her back and rubbed softly.
“Tough customer?”
Rachel’s head shook back and forth in her hands as she mumbled.
“That bad?”
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted her eyes before looking up at her friend. Her head shook once again. “I don’t even know. I–” Rachel’s hands flew up as she grasped for words. “I don’t even know,” she repeated with a sigh. 
Mandy’s eyebrow raised. This was a first for Rachel–she always knew how to handle each customer, how to give them what they wanted with the least amount of fuss, or even get them to leave without making a scene.
Mandy placed a hand on each of Rachel’s shoulders. “Girl, what the heck is going on with you?”
Both of Rachel’s eyebrows raised, and she brushed her hand through her hair. “I wish I knew.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Rachel shook her head, looking off to the side. “No, I just want to finish my shift and go home. I’m done.”
Mandy nodded. “Alright. Let me help you clean this up. You grab the broom and I’ll get the dustpan.”
Rachel nodded and moved to grab the broom. She swept the pieces as Mandy held the dustpan steady, getting every last part of the broken glass.
Mandy tipped the contents into the garbage and gave the pan a final tap on the edge, clearing the rest of the pieces. “There. Now, go home.”
“You sure? I’ve still got ten minutes left.”
Mandy nodded. “Yes, hun. I’m sure. Get home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”
Rachel scoffed, but she was sure Mandy was right. “Thanks for that,” she replied with an eye roll. She undid the string of her apron and hung it on its hook. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Rachel picked up her things and headed out the door, letting the bell on top jingle behind her.
Just outside the bar was loud and rowdy as drunken men messed around, hooting and hollering. She pushed past them like she always did, ignoring the catcalls sounding off behind her.
As she continued down the street, the noises died down, and the sound of crickets could be heard. The street lamps were hardly necessary with the brightness of the full moon shining down. The stars twinkled above her and she looked up, wondering how such a beautiful world with such a beautiful sky could contain such awful people.
The things she’d seen from drunken, or otherwise intoxicated, people disgusted her. But the job paid very well, and the tips paid even better. Rachel didn’t expect to bartend forever, but for now it paid the bills.
The more she walked, the quieter it got, until she was home. She shoved her keys into the lock and turned. The hinges creaked slightly as she pushed the door open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough–a modest apartment for her and Tuffy, her cat. He looked up bleary-eyed from his perch–this week’s cat bed atop the bookshelf, gave a soft mew, and rested his head back down between his paws.
“Sorry,” she whispered with a laugh, closing the door behind her. Rachel shrugged off her jacket and hung it up next to her keys before pulling off her shoes. Luckily, she’d found ones that were both stylish and somewhat comfortable. She’d found that the right pair of shoes paired with the right outfit can change whether you end up with a dollar or ten.
She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and yawned as she walked past Tuffy and into her room. “Goodnight, Tuffy,” she called before pulling the covers over her face and turning onto her side. Rachel sighed, hoping tomorrow would allow her to forget the strange man with the strange smile and the strange laugh.

As she drifted off, the laugh echoed through her head. “C’mon, sweetheart, keep up,” she heard him call, his accent undeniable now. His laugh sounded again, and Rachel tried to find its source.
Turn after turn yielded no sight of the man. But his voice called to her, leading her through hallway after hallway.
“Who are you?” she yelled, running down the white hallway with a velvety green rug runner.
The hallways turned in impossible directions, never leading back to the places she’d been before, even though they should have. Room after room, hallway after hallway, she continued to chase after the mocking voice. She had to know who he was and why he kept showing up…and why he knew her, but she couldn’t seem to remember him.
Finally, the hallway ended, and Rachel found herself in a lush field surrounded by wildflowers up to her knees, bees buzzing and birds chirping around her, and the sun beating down. She shielded her eyes and looked around. 
Sitting on a stump was the man. His leg was crossed over the other as he nonchalantly fiddled with something in his hands.
“Took you long enough, sweetheart,” he called, not bothering to look up.
“Stop calling me that,” she demanded, stomping towards him. “And tell me who you are. Why don’t I know you? How do you know me?”
There was that laugh again. Rachel fumed and stomped her foot.
“What the heck is so funny? Is all you do laugh and make fun?” Rachel crossed her arms and glared down at him.
He finally turned and looked at her, hiding away the trinket in his pocket.
“Of course you don’t remember. You’re not supposed to. But it’s not like I could stay away,” he replied, standing up, and once again invading her space.
“W-what do you mean?” she asked, flustered, and taking a step back without meaning to.
“You’re just too much fun, love.”
“I’m not your love.”
“But I stopped calling you sweetheart. What am I meant to call you?”
“How about by my name?” she replied, no longer leaning away, but instead standing firm with her arms crossed. “Rachel?” She said it slowly so there would be no mistaking what she said.
A devilish grin grew on his face, and his eye twinkled again mischievously. “Much more willing to part with it this time, you are. Sure that was wise, love?”
What? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “A name is a special thing.”
“It’s not like my name is unique or anything. There’s a billion Rachels.”
But Rachel was beginning to think he didn’t need it to find her. No. He’d found her anyway. But why was her name so important to him?
Before she could ask, the scene began to dissolve. Rachel could feel herself waking up. “No, wait! “ She called. “Answer me!” But it was too late.
The sun peeked in through her blinds, and judging by its brightness, Rachel assumed she’d slept in far more than she’d intended. She glanced over at her clock on the wall. It was nearly lunchtime.
She scrambled out of bed, threw on a robe, and rushed to grab Tuffy his breakfast.
“Sorry,” she said as she set the plate of wet cat food on the floor.
Tuffy meowed, but she wasn’t sure if it was in thanks or in rebuke for being so late. He began licking at it, and she watched him a moment more before moving to the fridge for her own breakfast.

The day went by in a blur. Rachel tried in vain to find any hint of this man on the internet. That night, she went to work a little early and made a beeline to Joe.
“Do you remember a guy coming in last night?” She asked him, giving a brief description.
But Joe only shook his head. She asked Mandy next, then each of the other bartenders in turn. Every answer was the same. No one remembered a man matching her description.
With no answers, she pushed her way to the back, knowing her shift was about to start. Rachel grabbed her apron and moved to put it on. The strings seemed to have minds of their own, refusing to knot no matter how many times she tried. She threw the piece of fabric on the floor with a frustrated huff.
“Stupid apron!”
Mandy came in through the door. “Everything okay, Rachel?”
When she saw the apron on the floor, she held back a laugh. “How did it offend you today?”
"I can't get the stupid thing to tie," Rachel grunted.
Mandy chuckled and bent down to retrieve the apron, brushing it off. “Let me help you then.” She wrapped the apron around Rachel and tied it easily. "There she is. Now give me that smile you save for the customers," she said with a wink.
Rachel rolled her eyes, but pasted on a smile.
Mandy chuckled again. “Good enough.” And pushed her toward the door.
The night passed without incident. Rachel caught herself glancing at the door more times than she cared to admit, but the stranger never came. By last call, she'd almost convinced herself she'd imagined the whole encounter. Rachel finished cleaning up, hung her apron on its peg once again, and headed back home.

That night, the field of wildflowers met her. No wandering hallways. No following the strange laughter. But also, no strange man.
Rachel walked over to the stump she’d seen him on the day before. Something lay on it. Something small. Something familiar. She bent over and picked it up, letting her thumb rub against the worn threads. She recognized this bracelet–thought she’d lost it, years ago. 
The woven threads felt impossibly familiar beneath her thumb. Green, magenta, and lilac—her favorite colors. She remembered weaving them into a friendship bracelet with clumsy little hands, never imagining she'd hold it again as an adult. As she stared, a memory bloomed to the surface. There she was, tying the very bracelet she held now. She was chatting with someone she couldn’t see.
"No. You can't have my name."
“Why?”
"'Cause Mama says strangers steal names."
His laugh. "...You're clever."
That was all. The memory faded, bringing back the dulled threads that kept the friendship bracelet together. The pattern reminded her of flowers dotting along a green sea of grass.
She looked back up and noticed the field matched the bracelet. The wildflowers dotted the landscape with bright magenta and lilac. What did this mean?
Rachel rubbed her thumb against it again, and a flash of memory surfaced. His laugh, but not alone…her laugh too. Through the flowers, jumping on top of the stump. They were playing a game. And just as quickly as it came, the memory vanished before she could make complete sense of it.
Suddenly, he appeared, sitting on the stump as he had the day before. “You’re starting to remember,” he said quietly.
“Remember what?”
But all he did was shake his head. “I can’t help you. You have to remember.”
“Can’t you at least give me a hint? Something? Anything? Why do I remember your laugh?”
“Because that’s what kids do best.”
He laughed once more, and the sound echoed through the meadow until the flowers blurred into morning light. 

Rachel didn’t notice until she pulled on a new shirt. The sleeve snagged on something around her wrist and she looked down. Magenta and lilac dots surrounded by woven green thread wrapped around it.
She didn’t quite understand why, but she brought it up to her nose and breathed in. The scent of wildflowers filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and a memory unfolded. 
Her younger self held out the bracelet on an open palm. “Here. I made it for you.”
Nimble fingers picked it up. He looked nearly the same, only smaller somehow. His hair was cropped short, and as he turned, pointed ears peeked through the dark strands. 
“Why, thank you, love.”
She giggled. “I can’t be your love.”
“Then what ought I to call you, if you haven’t a name? Wildflower, perhaps?” he asked with a wink, holding up the bracelet.
She heard her name being called in the distance.
“I got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” her tiny voice promised.
The scent of wildflowers died with the memory. A small tear slid down her cheek without her realizing. It dropped as gravity pulled it down, and it landed on her bare foot.
Rachel brushed the streak from her cheek before another could follow. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. The memories were only fragments, but they carried a weight that settled somewhere deep in her chest. They were impossible, yet they were hers. 

That night, the bar was its usual busy self. Everyone was celebrating the weekend. The usuals were there, including the ones she often had to cut off. Everything was normal.

Yet, every once in a while, the light caught the bracelet, and she passively wondered how it had gotten there–where it came from. But she let the business keep her mind from wandering.

Until she heard that laugh. She recognized the stranger's laugh. At the end of the bar was the man. The one from her dreams. The one she’d forgotten.

With a grin, she moved to the end and poured a glass of water, scooting it across the bar top. “You used to call me Wildflower, didn’t you?”

His natural mischievous smile then turned into a melancholy one. “Only once.”

“Once?”

“The day you gave me that,” he said, pointing to the bracelet on her arm.

Rachel’s face turned confused. “But why only once?” She stared at him in silence. “Why did I forget you?”

The man let out a small, humorless laugh. "Because you grew up."

Rachel laughed nervously. "That's not funny."

His smile disappeared completely. "No, it wasn't."

Rachel froze mid-wipe on the counter. “You’re serious?”

The man chuckled. “It can happen, at times.”

His grin grew as Rachel laughed with him.

“What can I get you? This one’s on the house.” Rachel turned and reached for a short glass, assuming he was a whiskey man.

“Naw, nothing for me, love,” he said, shaking his hands. He smiled softly. "You finally told me your name."

Rachel looked down at the bracelet. A memory flickered.

"No. You can't have my name."

"Why?"

"Mama says strangers steal names."

She looked back up. "You waited all this time...for that?"

He laughed—not mischievously this time, but warmly. "I waited because you said you'd come back tomorrow." He turned and stepped down from the stool. “It’s been lovely to see you again.”

The man turned to leave, and Rachel looked away to put the glass back. When she looked back up, no one was there. Rachel blinked. For a moment she couldn't remember why she'd walked to the end of the bar. The stool sat empty. Strange.

She glanced down at the faded friendship bracelet around her wrist and smiled without knowing why. Outside, laughter drifted through the open doorway. It sounded familiar. With a shrug, she turned back to the other patrons, the man forgotten.