Forbidden by Abbey Lincoln Page B

asking me to clear the breakfast dishes. He mentioned it casually, as if the thought had only just entered his mind and was some sort of afterthought after reading the story of Ryan’s arrest in the morning paper.  I think it was his indifference and complete lack of understanding of just how painful his decision was that really knocked the wind out of me. How could he not have known how much Ryan meant to me? How could he not know how much pain it would cause me to not see him every day? Didn’t he know Ryan was a part of me? That without him, I was simply not whole? 
                  But I was not yet sixteen, and entirely dependent on my father for everything. I could not defy him, not that I even tried to. It is because of my own inability to stand up for myself, my own cowardice, that I stand on Ryan’s doorstep now, scared to knock on his door and alert him of my presence, knowing with absolute certainty that he will slam the door in my face the moment he sees me because I abandoned him so long ago. 
                  But then it occurs to me – what if he doesn’t even remember who I am? What if his memories aren’t as vivid as mine? What if he no longer has any memories of us? Of what we were together? 
                  Truthfully, I’m not sure which would be more painful – Ryan not remembering me or seeing the recognition and anger in his eyes moments before he slams the door in my face. 
                  I take several deep breaths, steeling myself for seeing a man I have not seen in nearly eight years. What will he look like? Will his eyes still be as green as they once were? Will the scar on his chin have faded or will I still be able to make it out and want to caress it as I had done so many times before? I imagine he will be different, hardened somehow, given all he has been through, given all who have abandoned him and, in essence, cut him from their lives. It saddens me to know that, for the most part, Ryan has been alone for many years now and I wish with my entire being that I could have been there with him, despite how difficult it might have been. I wish I would have stood up to my father and told him I would rather chew off my own arm (or something as dramatic) than stop seeing Ryan. I wish I would have told him that Ryan needed my support, all of our support, especially now. But of course, I was too young and too fearful of my father’s hold over me to ever take a stand like that. 
                  I raise my hand up to knock but find it stills, almost as though it has a mind of its own and isn’t ready to face the reality of what may happen. After all, for nearly eight years, I have imagined what it would be like to see Ryan again, the possibility of being in his arms just once more is still as overwhelming as it once was. In my fantasies, not once has it entered my mind that Ryan might have moved on or forgotten me, but now that thought is the thought I can’t seem to shake. Always in my mind, time has stood still for him as it has for me. 
                  But what if time has moved on for him? 
                  My arm drops to my side and I take a step back. Is this what I really want? Do I really want to know how this ends or should I turn and run and spend the rest of my life living in my perfect fantasy instead of facing what may be the biggest jolt of reality I’ll ever experience? 
                  I turn away from the front door and lean my head against the wooden frame of the front porch. For the first time I notice the chipped paint and the warped floor boards I stand on. At first glance, the house seems nice enough but as I take a closer look, I see the wear and tear. My heard clenches knowing this is not the life he had in mind for himself. One mistake, it seems, has altered the course of his life forever. Will he ever be able to get back on track? Will he ever be able to live the