Jumping the Scratch by Sarah Weeks Page A

Audrey. “So what do you want?”
    It was such a simple question, I answered it without hesitating. Like opening a door without bothering to ask first, “Who’s there?”
    â€œI want to forget,” I said.
    â€œForget what?” she asked.
    Obviously I should have anticipated this question, especially from Audrey. But I had gotten caught up in the candlelight and the hopefulness and let my guard down by accident. Quickly I scrambled for cover.
    â€œI didn’t mean that. What I meant was, I don’t want to forget, I want to learn why people forget, so I can help my aunt get her memory back.”
    Audrey was watching me closely. “I thought you said you were going to do that with those trigger things,” she said.
    â€œWe are. But maybe there’s something else we can do while we’re looking for the triggers.”
    â€œSo let me get this straight. You don’t want to forget something?” she said.
    â€œNo,” I said, shaking my head adamantly. “What would I need to do that for? I’m not the one with the memory problem. It’s my aunt. I’m doing this for her. Not me.”
    â€œHuh,” she said. “Well, that’s kind of confusingthen, ’cause why am I hypnotizing you? Sounds like I should be hypnotizing her.”
    â€œSapphy? No. That would never work,” I said. “And besides, it could be dangerous. You might do something wrong and make her even worse. Why don’t you just hypnotize me, say something about forgetting, and let me worry about what happens after that.”
    â€œIt doesn’t really work like that,” she said as she reached for the yellow book, which lay facedown on the table, still opened up to the page of questions.
    â€œCan’t we at least try it?” I asked. “Please?”
    She hesitated for a minute, then left the book where it was.
    â€œI guess,” she said. “If that’s really what you want to do.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, my heart pounding as if I’d just stepped off the curb and narrowly missed being hit by a car. I was hopeful that she could help me, but that didn’t mean I was willing to tell her why I needed her help.
    Audrey picked up the big metal spoon and began to swing it slowly back and forth in front of my face. She told me not to take my eyes off it nomatter what, and so I watched it swing back and forth, back and forth.
    â€œYour eyelids are feeling heavy now. You wish that you could close them. You wish that you could sleep. But it’s not time yet. It’s not time. Soon it will be time to sleep. Soon it will be time. But not yet.”
    At first it was hard not to laugh. Audrey Krouch was swinging a big spoon in my face and telling me not to go to sleep. It was ridiculous. But I bit my lip and didn’t laugh because I knew it would make her mad, and if she got mad, she might change her mind about trying it my way.
    And then I didn’t feel like laughing anymore. At first I thought maybe it was my imagination, but then I realized, no, it was true, my eyelids were beginning to feel a little heavy. As if two cool copper pennies were resting on top of them, pushing them closed as I fought to keep them open.
    â€œNot yet,” said Audrey quietly, “not yet. But very soon.”
    Pennies, or maybe fingertips. But whose fingers were they? Audrey’s? My own? I struggled to keep my eyes open. Back and forth. Back and forth went the spoon. Sapphy would have liked the way thelight caught in the metal and sparkled as it swung. Back and forth. Back and forth. If only I could close my eyes. Just for a minute. If only I could sleep.
    â€œYou may close your eyes now,” Audrey said softly, and she put down the spoon and reached for the yellow book on the table. I was so relieved to finally be able to shut my eyes, I forgot all about my feelings about the musty couch and lay right down, sinking deep into the soft