Memorized

by Alyne Roberts

  I step out of the scorching heat and into the quiet coffee house. The air conditioning cools my skin, and the aroma of chocolate and coffee wafts around me. This is one of the few places I can concentrate. The familiar faces, smells, and sounds of the machines buzzing are ingrained in my mind. Paige is behind the counter like she is every weekday afternoon. She begins to make my usual when she sees she me enter.

  It's known that if you chewed gum while studying, and have the same gum during the test, your results will improve. It's the trigger that recalls the facts you tried to cram in. For me, it's the coffee. I get the Beastly Beauty every afternoon while I study. The mind associates smells, tastes, and even sounds with certain events. Before every exam, I take a cup and let the scent and taste help me dig up the material.

  No matter how much I can remember, facts and stats are something I have to constantly work at. I'm cursing myself for taking online classes this summer. I pay for my drink, and set up my books and laptop on my usual table. I glance over at the back table. It's empty. The lost girl isn't there. I'm not sure why I expected anything different.

  I browse through emails of possibilities for a thesis from Dr. Mason. He sent over several other subjects with memory conditions since that is my main area of study. All nameless files with minimal facts. A man with no short-term memory seems promising, but he is located in Florida. I don't want to travel, but we could communicate via email or phone if needed. A forgetful man seems difficult to interview. How would he know what he forgot? The rest are boring—all the same. No challenges and nothing new to explore.

  I find myself staring at the profile of an unnamed young woman with post-traumatic amnesia. A twenty-one year old female with no living relatives and a student at Georgia State. I don't need the name to know this is Willow's file. An extreme case of amnesia such as hers doesn't occur often. I doubted there is another case like hers in the country, let alone Atlanta.

  The bell on the door chimes and a wave of warm air brushes over my back. A flash of color passes in the corner of my eye, followed by the subtle scent of vanilla. Looking up from my screen, I watch as Willow takes a seat at the table in the back where I saw her the other day. She has her cell pressed to ear and her face is tense. Her knee bounces quickly while she listens to whoever is on the other end of her call. I can't pull my eyes away from her, even though I am trying to.

  She is wearing worn blue jeans and low-cut tank top. She's a small and thin little thing, looking younger than her actual age. She is frantically running her fingers through reddish-blonde hair. It falls over her bare shoulders as she worriedly bites her lip. I can almost feel the tension rolling off her in waves. When she looks up and finds me staring, I don't look away. Even with the purple tint under her eyes, she is beautiful with bright green eyes and long lashes.

  "And the headaches?" she asks quietly into the phone. She nods as she listens and her shoulders slump. "Thank you. Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then."

  She pulls the phone from her face and slips it in her back pocket as she stands from her seat. I quickly look away, hoping she doesn't take my look as an invite. I can't help thinking she is someone I should be avoiding. Instead of coming for me, she surprises me and walks back behind the counter. Paige gives her a big smile and leads her into the kitchen, disappearing from my view.

  I force myself back to my emails. I need to find a subject or I will be racing to complete my research all semester. One more glance to the counter and I see Paige showing Willow the various machines and ingredients. Willow's face is concentrated, absorbing the simple things she is being taught. She's starting over.

  This little room was supposed to be my place. No one bothered me here. I was able to concentrate and block out everything else. Willow is inquisitive and distracting; I don’t need her in my space. If she is working here, I will never escape her. I'm not a fan of unfamiliar places. Once you stay in one place for so long, all the memories start to blur together.

  I do my best to ignore her while I study for a test I have in Body Language next week. I can hear her raspy voice talking to customers and Paige as she learns the menu and routine. The place is busy, as always, this time in the afternoon. Lucky for Willow, it will slow down soon. Just in time for me to leave to make my appointment.

  A hissing sound breaks my concentration and I look up to watch Willow wrestle with the Espresso machine as it sprays steaming liquid all over.

  "You pissed it off!" Paige shouts and quickly steps in to shut it down, but it's too late.

  Willow is already covered in hot liquid. Her shirt clings to her curves and small but perky breasts. I need to look away but I don't. I'm enjoying the view too much. Paige hands her a towel and says something in her ear. Willow disappears in to the back while Paige serves the lone waiting customer, apologizing for the delay. Maybe she won't last too much longer.

  Several minutes later, I can smell her before she sits down. Her scent of vanilla is now mixed with the scent of espresso. The delicious combination is intoxicating. I look up from my notes at the slice of skin peeking out from her low top that is still damp. When she clears her throat, I force my eyes up to hers.

  "Hi," she says.

  "Hello."

  "I'm Willow. From last week," she explains.

  "I know."

  She nods and her cheeks blush a deep pink. Her pale complexion does nothing to hide it. Her knee is bouncing again as she inhales deeply before speaking again.

  "Do you have what I have?" The hope in her voice is obvious. I shake my head slowly.

  "But you see Mason, right? I asked him about you," she admits.

  I narrow my eyes at her. This girl is crossing the line from curious to nosey.

  "He didn't tell me anything," she adds when she sees my disapproval. "Stupid privacy laws," she mumbles.

  "Don't you need to return to work?" I ask, hoping she would just leave already.

  "I'm on break," she tells me. "You really aren't like me?"

  "No, sorry." Her face falls and I almost want to lie just to brighten her back up.

  When she looks back at me, I see her every thought swirling from her expression. Her fear, worry, anxiety, and hope is all there for me to see, for me to pick apart and analyze. Her eyes are so expressive; I could almost pick out every thought if I look long enough. In her mind, she's reaching for me, begging for me to help her. She desperately needs to be saved from her own darkness. I want to reach back, but I know I won't be able to pull her out.

  "The headaches will get better," I offer lamely. I don't want to admit that I was listening, but I have nothing else to make her feel better.

  "And the nightmares? The cold sweats? What about the crushing panic attacks?" The questions come out in a rush. Her eyes are wide, searching for answers.

  "I don't know," I whisper, because I don't. As much as I researched the condition, there's not much understanding about how it works. Every person and case is different. Most patients recover quickly, or never at all, leaving little change to study and document.

  "I need to go," she says, standing quickly and leaving me at the table alone.

  Willow returns behind the counter and takes more customers while I watch. She's distracted and fumbling through the tasks she'd repeated earlier for hours. Her thoughts are far away from the cafe. She's not lost in her past like I usually am. She is lost in her present. If she is lost in a past that is nothing but a blackout, is she swimming in darkness?

  Before I can over think anything, I hit reply and give my choice to Dr. Mason. The old man is my mentor for a reason. I trust him and value his experience and knowledge. I need to trust he wouldn't advise me of anything not worth my time. I begin to pack up my things and leave the cafe, making my way down the block to the hospital.

  Dr. Mason has a wide grin on his face when I enter his office later. He obviously read my email and I want to roll my eyes at his eagerness. I take my seat across from him and glare while he gloats.

  "Good choice, Mr. Presley,"
he says, trying to iron out his smile.

  "It's the only choice," I tell him.

  He gives me a look that says he doesn't believe that for a second, but he says no more. We spend the hour talking about the usual. I don't tell him my mind has taken a liking to replaying scenes with his favorite new patient. He would have a field day with that one. He would probably say I have some amnesia-envy, kind of like penis-envy or something like that. He would be right, but I'm not ready to analyze that yet.

  "She's working at my coffee place," I tell him. His bushy eyebrows rise at the bitterness in my voice.

  "You don't like that?"

  "She has a lot of questions," I practically whine.

  He laughs. "She does. Curious little thing. She has no idea what's going on around her most of the time. Try to keep that in mind."

  "It's my place," I tell him firmly.

  "If it's that big of a deal, go somewhere else, Landon," he gently scolds. I don't have a mature response, so I keep my mouth shut.

  As our time comes close to an end, I start thinking about hitting a bar on the way home. I need to drown away the constant thoughts and replays. For just a moment, I want to forget. A large amount of whisky will wash away the memory of her eyes when they looked at me desperately. A few shots might dull the ache from watching the hope and light die out inside her.

  The ringing of my cell wakes me up early in the morning. I grumble and try to find it on my nightstand. Not many people call me anymore due to the fact that I don't know who anyone is. When I see Noah's name, I slide my fingers on the screen to answer.

  "Hello," I rasp, my throat dry from sleep.

  "Morning, sweetie. I'm next door and was going to stop for breakfast," he says in my ear with a cheerful voice. "Is that okay?"

  I nod for a second before realizing he can't see me. "Sure."

  "See you soon." He hangs up and I drag myself from my comfy bed. Waking early for work has been brutal. It’s obvious that I haven't gotten up before noon in a long time.

  I stumble into the bathroom, brush my hair and teeth, and then wash my face. I look presentable enough. Not great but I was given short notice. As I enter the living room, the door buzzes. Noah has a key to my apartment but has yet to use it. I appreciate that because our relationship still feels new to me. Sometimes I worry he'll grow impatient waiting around for me to warm up to him. He could have any girl he set his eyes on instead of someone unstable and confused.

  The few times we have been together since our date, Noah has grown touchier. It's nothing intruding or malicious. It's a simple stroke down my spine, a squeeze of my hand, a lingering kiss. I still won't let him stay the night, and every time I pull away, I fear it will be the last. I remember vaguely how physical our relationship could be. It's the only piece I know of us at the moment. I just can't understand why he would take such a big step back.

  After I let Noah in, he makes me breakfast that consists of fruits and a glass of water. What I really want is bacon and possibly pancakes drenched in syrup. Apparently I don't eat that kind of "crap" anymore. I only eat the healthy food that I have delivered to my apartment every Monday from the market. I assume that to mean I'm on a strict diet because I want to fit into the expensive size two dresses that line my monstrous closet.

  "The complex next door is going nicely," Noah tells me as I eat a slice of peach. "I was thinking we could get the penthouse there. Design it how we want."

  I try to conceal the fact that I'm choking on the food in my mouth. I sputter while forcing the peach down my throat. Noah reaches over and pats my back.

  "Are you okay?" he asks.

  I nod and wave him off. When I'm able to breathe again, I look up into his eyes. They are soft brown, concerned, and watching me recover. He doesn't look like he just asked me to make the huge step of moving in together. He is acting as if he asked if I wanted another slice of banana.

  For Noah, it might be the next logical and natural step for us. We have been together for three years. He is away a lot for work and our time together is limited. Living together would make it easier and more convenient. For me, it seems too soon. His years are only weeks for me.

  I wish I could be at the point in our relationship that he is. I want to be in love, consumed with one person and want nothing more than to spend more time with them. Noah is comforting, gentle, and loving. I don't have a reason to distrust or fear him, but at his proposal, my heart races and my throat closes up.

  "Maybe," I force out before taking a gulp of water. The construction next door has just begun. Everything could change by the time it is finished in a few months.

  "You're off today?" he asks with a smile, seeming oblivious to my conflict.

  "Yeah. I have an appointment," I inform him.

  The coffee house understands my weekly appointments. They are used to working around student schedules and promised flexible hours. Only Paige knows that I lost my memories or that I'm in therapy. She has a personality that made me feel I could trust her and I spilled my secret the first day of training. If anyone else saw the news reports when I was found, they haven't said anything to me.

  "Okay, baby. I need to get going. I will stop by tonight so I can see you before I leave tomorrow for Phoenix." He leans over the marble counter and kisses me hard, pressing into my lips. His smile is playful as he backs away, winking at me.

  "Love you," he calls out as he walks out my door. I still don't say it back.

  I force myself out of the kitchen to get ready for the day. I refuse to let myself get worked up over my boyfriend and our future together. It's every girl's dream to have a serious relationship with a steady guy. I shouldn't be complaining. He's all I've got and has been nothing but amazing to me. I need to focus on my health, my schooling, and getting my head on straight. Stressing over things I can't change will only make it worse.

  I briskly walk to the hospital a few blocks away. I feel too wired to take a car, and the heat never did bother me. The locals complain, but I never had the sultry summers like this back home. I love the humidity on my skin and the heat wrapping around me. I take in the big city, the people rushing to get wherever they are going, and sounds of chatter around me. It's exciting and reminds me why I moved here in the first place.

  I left Montana and everything I ever knew to go to school here on a scholarship. After losing my parents, the house was cold and empty. The ache in my heart only grew each time I walked into the kitchen and realized my mom wasn't there, cooking or cleaning. I stayed with my best friend, but I felt like I was living in a shell of myself. Moving to Atlanta was my opportunity to start fresh, grow up, and pursue my dream of music. Instead of letting the grief swallow me and hold me down, I used it to push me to become something more.

  When I finally enter Dr. Mason's office, I sigh in relief. Where every other time I have been in here, I hated it, today, I love it. The walls are no longer closing me in, but encasing me in safety. The smell isn't stifling, but familiar and calming. It's a stark contrast to what I've been feeling outside these walls. Once in the office, I fling myself into the leather chair as the doctor watches me curiously.

  "Hello, Willow," he starts cautiously, probably worried about my unnatural enthusiasm for today's visit. "How are you?"

  "Ugh," I huff. "Where to start? The headaches are frequent. Nightmares, cold sweats, panic attacks, and irritability. Paranoia sometimes. Oh, and I have flashbacks."

  Dr. Mason raises his eyebrows before nodding to me to continue. I tell him about remembering some of the more physical moments of my relationship and a brief glimpse at past dates. His face scrunches when I tell him that's all I got. I didn't come up with any monumental moments, romantic gestures, or touching words. Nothing that mattered or made me feel any more connected to the only person in the world that I seem to know. It's not nearly enough.

  "When do you get these panic attacks?" he eventually asks. "What are you thinking about when they come?"

  "At random times. I will be making a c
offee and it hits. I wake up in the middle of the night with them. I get waves of fear for no apparent reason at all. I feel paranoid and worried at times for no reason at all."

  The doctor takes notes and then teaches me a few breathing and self-calming exercises. As much as he tries to assure me that I will bounce back to normal, I don't feel as confident. I can't help the nagging thought that I will always feel like this. Every day will be a mystery for me while I try to piece together the clues. When our time is up, I stand to leave, but Dr. Mason stops me before I pull open the door.

  "I have a student at Georgia University completing his Masters in Psychology that I mentor. I think you would be an excellent candidate for his thesis research. He has shown interest in amnesia and other memory disabilities. Would you be interested?"

  "What do I need to do?" I ask nervously. He was making it sound like I would be a lab rat. The idea of opening up to a stranger makes my stomach tighten.

  "Nothing really. He will talk to you much like I do, noting your progress and changes. Most of the work is on his end really."

  I'm bouncing my knee and staring at my hands folded in my lap. I'm not sure if I want to be on display like a circus act. Do I want a stranger poking around in my blank mind? Will I be able to confide in someone I don't even know? Should I be focusing so much on what I'm missing instead of looking ahead? Dr. Mason senses my internal conflict and reaches over the desk to touch my shoulder.

  "Just meet him, ask your questions, and decide then. If anything, you have two brilliant minds working to help you," he tells me, his voice warm and gentle. If I ever knew my grandparents, I was sure he would remind me of my grandpa. The moment makes me miss my parents even more.

  "Okay," I breathe out. "I'll think about it."

  Before I leave the office, Dr. Mason gives me his card, indicating a time to meet with the student the following day on campus. As I walk back to my place, I try to ignore the hope that stepping on campus will evoke more memories. If I don't let myself get my hopes up, I won't be disappointed when things don't go my way. Part of coping lately requires me to let go of trying so hard to bring back my past.