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Sometimes memories were triggered by things that made sense. Smelling a vanilla scented candle and thinking back to that time with a parent or a sibling and a card game, laughing around a similarly scented candle years prior. Maybe the sound of metal clanging brought back memories of sword fighting at renaissance fairs, or the laughter of friends reminded one of a week before in a cafe where the laughter of friends was all that mattered.
Sometimes, memories were triggered by things that weren’t all that logical.
Stephen accidentally dropping a plate while doing dishes right as Wong walked into the kitchen was one of those. The plate shattered and really, it was Stephen’s fault for trying to wash one of the last ceramic dishes that hadn’t been put into storage when he and Wong had redecorated to accommodate for Stephen’s disabilities a week prior. The plate shattered and before Stephen could react, he was twelve again and helping to set the table when he accidentally dropped a large plate filled with food. The plate didn’t shatter, didn’t even crack, but the food went everywhere.
There was a yell, an angry shouting of his name, and a fist on his arm. Stephen didn’t remember much, only crying as he tried to pick everything up as fast as he could before he got hit again or, worse, was forced to eat the food he spilled off of the ground to pay for his wasted food.
“I’ll clean it up,” Stephen quickly said when he noticed Wong staring at him, hands shaking more than usual.
“Leave it,” Wong said. Stephen swallowed, screwing his eyes shut and forcefully breathing through his nose in an attempt to calm himself. He was 45, not 12. His parents were long gone. They couldn't hurt him, but Wong could.
“I’ll clean it. That plate was ceramic; I can fix it like new. Promise.”
Wong blinked and looked at Stephen. “Leave the plate, Stephen. It was part of a 10-dollar set from years ago. You don’t need to clean it or fix it. The apprentices need chores, and we invested in plastic plates for a reason.” Wong stepped forward, avoiding the ceramic shards littering the floor. “Do you need any help with dishes?”
Stephen swallowed. He opened his eyes, looked from the broken plate up to Wong. Wong wasn’t going to hit him for dropping one plate, nor was he going to punish Stephen for ruining his property.
Stephen took a deep breath. Then another. Then looked back at Wong, his voice no more than a whisper. “If you’re willing, help would be great.”
Wong smiled.