The human brain consists of 85 – 100 billion neurons, known as "connectors," that allow the brain to know where any trigger in the body occurred. Neurologists researched and conducted studies on brain soup to determine these numerical answers. And yet, neurologists had no concrete answer to the age-old question: "Where are memories stored?"

I took detailed notes when my professor touched upon the basics about the brain. The lectures took place in a week's time. Paramedics needed to comprehend and recognize symptoms of head damage. For example, I had to identify if a patient had a concussion, brain hemorrhage, or traumatic brain injury (TBI), which as a paramedic, I had to help slow down the injury. Later, surgeons discovered and solved the issue at the hospital in a safe and clean environment.

I recalled the material. Fascinated and desired to know more. From academic studies and articles, I got the impression that the mind was a foggy, unpredictable territory. Scientists tested out their hypothesis and received data to reach a verdict; then the process began again to achieve a crisper version.

Memories were a part of that territory. Neurologists knew how the entire brain reacted, left and right hemisphere, but didn't know the exact location and how memories happen. At that moment, I knew how the memories occurred.

Words.

A simple sentence from a stranger.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

What does he mean he's sorry, he doesn't know anything.

I recalled our introduction. There were short messages on TrueMatch between us before we met. However, I mentioned Mama when I talked about my name. Of which, he laughed. My knuckles turned white.

He doesn't mean it. It's all formality.

I looked away. My eyes scanned outside. Anywhere, but his eyes. A woman and a child. They were ice skating. The girl's pigtails had ice shavings on the tips. Her knees hit the cold surface. Her face scrunched up, and her small button nose turned scarlet.

The woman reached out towards the girl's hand. Her lips moved; her smile shone through her eyes. The girl took the woman's gloved hand. Mama taught me how to ice skate.

Mama and Papa owned a five-acre property. The long commute was ideal in the rural area: croaking frogs, sing-song birds, buzzing bees, and even the annoying squeaking cicadas. The mature two-story house continued to live. The faded purple window-panels, emerald moss patches on the side of the house, and burning bushes planted in front of the porch created a peaceful sensation.

I recalled Papa's hideaway. He prompted his feet up on the foot bench as he sat on the porch. He watched the sun go down past the golden horizon. The gravel driveway connected us to the real world. A man-made pond took up the front yard. Cattails clustered on the right side of the small hill. Frogs and toads croaked from their hiding spots. In the winter, the water froze. The first year I lived with them, Mama told me not to set foot on that pond.

"My daughter – your mom – didn't listen to me. One day, she sprinted out to slide on the ice. She fell. We were able to rescue her. I don't want that to happen to you, Sugar."

When I was younger, I tried to imagine a younger version of my biological mother. At first I thought someone like me. In middle school, I searched my memory banks to recall small details of my mother: Cassidy. My birth namesake.

A short scrawny forest green-eyed girl. Her caramel and blonde streak hair had their own agenda. All waves. I remembered she used a straighter with wires coming out on the end. She burnt her ends. "At least it was straight," my biological mother said. Oh, how I imagined little Cassidy twirling and dancing in the front yard. She would have jumped in the same gravel puddles after the thunderstorms passed like me.

She would have squished the crunchy, maple leaves. She would have sprinted after the bullfrogs. The cattails would've hit her face. She would have done whatever Mama said not to do. I wasn't Cassidy.

I listened to my Mama. Every winter, there was at least one heavy snow day. The news broadcaster couldn't predict that far in advance. I relied on the farmer's almanac for the long range seasons, farmers depended on the almanac's predictions for their sowed crops. Pink and yellow highlighters colored the almanac book. I kept track of my monthly calendar, the difference between the years.

I wished for a white Christmas; instead, the snowflakes appeared in the dead of January and February. My wish came true one Christmas Eve. Running to the closet, I mismatched my mittens. I found two socks, emerald snow boots, threw on Mama's old water-proof coat, and a cotton-candy beanie. Before Mama walked out of her bedroom, I ran out into the snow.

The grass powdered with white, fluffy snowflakes. Almost like icing on a cake. The pearly white snow blanket was even, I gawked at the natural perfection. I moved forward, my boots sunk into the ground. An imperfect touch to the masterpiece.

Making my way over to the pond, I hovered over the water's edges. I observed the frozen water over the top of the pond. Air bubbles captured in the transition between the two physical phases. The lilies lived in two worlds: ice and air. My snow boots touched the ice. I frowned. My mittens glossed over the cool material.

One step won't hurt anything right?

I stood up with my hands by my side.

Biting my lip, I shifted my weight.

I lifted my right foot and landed on the ice. The rubber resisted any friction to occur.

See! Nothing wrong.

I started to walk on the ice.

"Sugar!"

My mouth got dry.

Quickly, I got off the pond's edges. Mama towered over me. My hands were behind my back. Lines formed on my forehead. My joyful dimples disappeared. My eyes stung. I cried.

"I'm sorry," I began my apology, "I wanted to skate – I wanted to feel how the ice feels underneath you. I - I – I'm not like Cassidy. I'm not anything like her."

A cloudy mist floated in the air near Mama's mouth.

"I won't ever go near the pond –"

Mama moved her hands in front of her. Within her hands, she held two pairs of ice skates.

"Really? You'd never go near the pond?" Mama teased.

My dimples reappeared. I fumbled over my words.

"Let me check the ice's thickness. We need to be smart before we do anything," Mama reassured.

I blinked. "We're going," I paused, "skating?"

"Of course, Sugar."

A hand grazed my arm. I dismissed my fond memory.

"Come on." A masculine voice pulled me back to the ice cream shop.

I thought he would've left by now.

"What?" I asked. I turned my attention back to August. He ran his hand through his brunette hair. He stood up and pushed the squeaky seat underneath the table.

"Let's go."

I beg your pardon.

"I'm not going with you."

Even if I get paid twenty million dollars, I'll do the opposite of what he wants me to do.

August sighed.

"It's not what you think."

I glared at August. "Then tell me what-"

"How about a surprise?"

He tried to smile. The corners of his lips were forced into an uncomfortable grimace.

"I can't handle any more surprises from you." I meant every word.

August's shoulders slumped. "It's ice skating."

I frowned.

"Don't try to contain all your excitement," August said sarcastically, "I see you bouncing up and down with joy."

He slid his hands in his jeans pockets.

I huffed and crossed my arms. Emotions mixed. My hands formed two fists. I imagined pushing and shoving August. I knew that was unhealthy. No one deserved violence.

Why can't he accept a "no"?

The last time I ice-skated was before Mama got worse. I wanted to hear the scraping sounds when skates met ice.

"I dislike ice-skating," I deflected him.

August tilted his head.

"You're a bad liar."

"No, I'm not!" I huffed.

August chuckled. "You're doing it again."

"How do you know if I'm lying or not?"

"I'm a liar. Liars know other liars."

He winked. He referenced my accusations from earlier.

My stomach tightened.

I don't like this game he plays.

"You're getting serious."

"Don't you want me to be serious?" he asked.

I looked away. Is he acting right now or is he being genuine?

I watched as August's shoulders relaxed.

"I'll pay for it," he said.

"I need to head out. I start my shift in two hours-"

"I'll go get the skates."

He started to walk out of Fantastic's, and the small bell rang as he opened the door.

I reached out. "No – I need to-"

He left the ice cream parlor before I could finish.

I imagined August's smirk. He walked a steady stride up the stairs towards the rink.

I ground my teeth. I know what he's doing. I'll leave. He has no right.

However, I stood in my spot. The bowl with melted ice cream goop sat on the table, the plastic spoon covered in all homemade goodness.

I crossed my arms.

"When someone's being rude or hateful to you, you turn the other cheek. That's what Jesus did. I'll tell the truth. It's so darn hard! Believe me, Sugar, I want to yell, wish ill, or curse the person. And yet, He turned his cheek."

Mama told me that once. Actually, more than once. I grumbled. If I left, that was inconsiderate. Especially if August paid the fee. I shook my head and followed him. The cold air welcomed me. I breathed it in, and I held my hand close to my chest.

I'll pay him for my fee. And then leave. It's being thankful for August's weird "kind" gesture. I guess.

August had his back towards me. On the outer edge, a railing separated the rink and Fountain Square area. One worker stood at the rectangular stand, four rows had an assortment of skates. August leaned his elbow against the stand. The employee was busy helping other individuals.

"I have to-"

"Here." August held a pair of skates. I was preoccupied to observe the two sets of blades on the stand. His fingers were tangled in the shoe laces.

I reached for my purse. "How much was it? I'll pay you back. I do apologize. I-"

August ignored my statement. He touched my hand. Well, he shoved the skates into mine and then took his.

I glanced down at these instigators. All simply because I observed a woman with her child. August read me like a speech: introduction, thesis – main point -, evidence, and conclusion.

Five minutes will feel like an eternity, it'll be aggravating ... but it could be fun.

I went over towards the railing and began taking off my shoes. The thick socks kept my feet warm for a moment until I slipped the skates on. I readjusted the laces, tightening them to keep my ankles in a safe and concrete cushion. Pieces of hair fell in front of my face. I pushed them aside.

On my right, I saw August began taking off his sleek white sneakers without untying his laces. His Achilles heels rubbed against the sneakers' backing. He rolled up his jeans. His laces were relaxed. Quickly, he got up.

His knees wobbled as he tried to balance on the ground.

"Let's do this," August said, smiling. His lips twitched on the corners.

Why is he going so fast? He probably wants to get this done soon too. I nodded.

Enjoy yourself. You can stay away from August. You'll go around five times and then you can leave. I stood up, my feet spread out to create stability. My blades dung into the squishy, frosty ground.

August picked up his feet as if he had weights tied to his ankles. He wobbled front and back before he stepped onto the ice.

I frowned. "August, what are you doing?"

August took his first step on the ice. His arms were by his side. I saw his ankles moving inward. Oh crap.

His whole body plummeted. I couldn't do anything. August landed on his ass.

The reasonable thing to do would be to help the person. Instead, I laughed, well actually the laughter blared like a witch's cackle. My stomach clenched because I tried to stop. I kept going on. I covered my mouth with my hand. All this pressure and weight lifted away from my mind and body.

"Do you," I said, the few words before I laughed so more, "need help?"

August laid on the ground. His long legs spread out like Bambi. He stayed in his spot.

"I'm fine," he grumbled.

I slid on the ice. The scraping noise made my heart flutter. I glided to August, who was near the rink's opening. His fall made him move further than expected.

I placed my hands on my hips. For once, I glanced down at August. His height normally towered over me. This was a moment, I'd embraced this reversed role.

"You're lying," I teased him. My hair fell in front of my eyes.

August mumbled. His hands pressed up against the ice and he pushed himself off the ground. His legs went where the energy pushed him all thanks to Newton's third law of gravity. He was gliding!

Until one second later, he fell back on the cold surface. My stomach muscles cramped. The laughter thrived in this surprising turn of events.

Lord, forgive me. It's just too darn funny!

My focus became less and less. I started to slide on the ice. The laughter kept me warm. By-passers skated in the middle or on the opposite side of the rink. They swayed in and out, they left patterns like small circles and waves that dodge our area.

"Are you sure you're fine?" I asked, one more time.

Giggles fluctuated between the words.

"I'm great." It was a harsh answer. His voice cut through the fluff.

The amusement died.

"I was being serious."

"Hardly, you were cackling like a crow."

"My laugh is loud. That's true," I replied, "but I don't sound like a crow."

"I beg to differ."

My hands clenched again.

Why is it that I desire to punch him every time he opens his mouth? It was great for a minute. However, the minute has passed.

I skated off. I glided in an oval, the same shape as the rink. The blades increased my speed in a forty-five-degree angle. Wind-burn reddened my nose, cheeks, and neck.

One, two, three, I counted.

The blades sliced the ice as I did my laps. I focused on the wind, how many times I went in the circle, and what was in front of me.

"Fifteen," I huffed.

My chest expanded and constricted. My mouth was dry. My nose burned along with my eyes. I bent over. My hands pressed against my knees as I neared the culprit who caused this reaction. My skates skidded to a halt, and then with the help of my knees, I sat down next to him.

His clothes were wet. His skates were barely on his ankles. His brunette hair tossed and his scarlet nose was runny. The disgusting kind, where clear snot ran down his face, and almost touched his mouth.

"Why are you still on the ice?" I asked.

"I don't know how to get up," he murmured.

There it was.

The genuine response.

My shoulders returned to a relaxed posture.

My heavy breathing continued.

He doesn't know how to skate. I rubbed my eyes.

Why would a complete fool purposefully do something that they have no experience in? He knew he'd look like a failure. He loves to show off. Why wouldn't he want to do that?

I got back up on my feet. Reaching my arm out, I replied, "Let me help you."

He shook his head.

I bit my lip.

"Come on," I said, "You want to get off the ground, right?"

August glanced up at me. His sky blue eyes, similar to a cloudless, sunny day, pleaded with me. I reached out.

This is genuine.

My hand grasped onto his forearm and August's hand tightened onto mine. His fingers curled around my wrist, enough pressure to reassure he intended to hold on. However, I had room to twist my wrist if I needed to. I planted my skates into the ice. Small grooves were indented to assist in balance. Like how Mama did.

I smiled.

"On the count of three, you push off the ground," I instructed, "One, two."

"Three," both of us said at the same time.

He pushed off.

I held onto his arm. My blades dug into the ice. His weight was uneven. He leaned one way and then he tilted towards the opposite way. My smaller frame got closer to him. My shoulders came right underneath his right armpit. I stretched my arms to wrap around his body. My fingertips held onto his left forearm. My head practically nestled on his abs.

He kept moving.

"Relax!" I exclaimed.

"I am relaxed!"

"Then stop moving," I replied, yelling into his chest.

I noticed his muscles tensing. My left foot slid on the slippery ice. I applied more weight onto my right foot that stayed in the ice. August breathed heavily. His reaction was all too familiar to my first experience.

Mama held onto me and I clung onto Mama like she was a statue.

Mama was taller than me at the time. With August's size difference, I wondered why I believed I could keep him steady. My right hand rubbed small circles on his right arm.

"You're okay. We're fine. Look we're standing up!"

August's breathing slowed down.

I let out a breath.

Cinnamon and citrus surrounded me. The faint aromas made my head spin. A clean and traditional smell. I hummed quietly to myself. I felt a chuckle. Yes, felt.

"You could have told me you wanted to be near me," he murmured.

There he was.

He was back.

"In your dreams, lover boy," I responded.

He was silent.

"Let's skate over to the entrance," I stated. I ignored the silence and the small blush that originated once I realized my situation. Up-close and personal, I interacted with August. I knew because the warmth was too much, wind-burn was out of the question.

"How?" he hissed.

"Push your foot off from the side. No up and down movement. Skating relies on what's underneath you."

He frowned.

"Watch."

I held onto his torso. Using my left leg, I pushed and glided us one step closer to the entrance.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed.

"Keep your skates upright. The blades keep you above the ice."

I slowly moved us over to the entrance. My right foot repeated the left movements. My legs were wide apart to create a longer base. Physics taught me that the wider the base was, balance increased as well. August's eyes observed my actions.

He hesitated in small movements, one kick when I pushed off.

Slowly, we mirrored each other.

The more confident he got. The bigger his steps developed. He picked up his legs and stumbled onto dirt land.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.