Forgotten, my script

Forgotten

Behind her eyes spools of memory were turning at a furious pace. Unable to find her in his own immediate recall, he worked from known facts as she stared at him. “She knows me, so she was here before I left. She’s much younger than me, so she was a kid. But whose?” Children all looked pretty similar when he was a youth – they ran in packs round the village. Living up on the little bay with no siblings he never really knew any after he ceased to be one himself. “I never really knew many when I was one, I suppose.” He was surprised by how little this realisation hurt him.

But a shadow was snatching gently at the sleeve of his mind. A child, sun-brown and scrawny like Anastacia, in the periphery of his vision as he ran, climbed rocks and trees, itched for bigger adventures. Very often there in fact, on the periphery. He associated her with goats, somehow.

He blinked and her face snapped into focus. “Tassos’ granddaughter,” he murmured, half to himself. She smiled gently, although there was sadness in her expression also. She nodded. “I am Anna.” She sat back on her haunches.  Drew several breaths, pulled her shoulders back. “Thank you for bringing Anastacia home, George. It’s good to see you.”

His gut told him that he was about to be dismissed. Another sense told him not to let this happen. “Have you a car?” he asked. “We need to take this little girl to the hospital.” There was tenderness as well as authority in his voice. She roused herself. “I have a car,” she said. And after a short pause, “how do you think we should do this?”