Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

"What?"

  "Just stay calm, Conor, everything will be fine…" My drift off to sleep smothers her voice into nonexistence.

  (—)

  I wake up to an almost empty room. The sofas, tv, and just the room itself entertain some ghostlike quality. I press the help switch, while examining my forearm for a screen. A picture forming, the inky streaks turn my pinkish skin to an unnatural shade of grey. Then, Stacy enters the room.

  "Good, you are finally awake."

  I slowly look up into Stacy’s waiting glance. "What happened?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't tell you about the side effects. You can expect drowsiness, blurred vision, and confusion."

  "How long have I been sleeping?"

  "It’s 9 o'clock right now, so it has been 5 hours."

  "Everything looks different."

  A patronizing look precedes an answer. "Until you adjust to the tech, anything that has tech inside will look different. It should become better tomorrow."

  "Thank you."

  "You should just get something to eat and go to bed. What do you want to eat?"

  "I will take option C15 like earlier, please."

  "Here you go." Stacy orders up my food and pops open the delivery shelf.

  (—)

  I wake up to the identical sunny day. Everything returned to normal. I refer to my forearm, 6:30 in a crisp white font on black. We'll see if I get out of here today. Too many people come and stop me from doing anything.

  "Hello, Mr. Abby. It is Dr. Kim. Sorry, you looked asleep. "

  "I can't wait to get out."

  He raises his eyebrows. "I think today is the day. How did the H-tech work out? I hear you had some initial problems."

  "It looks like I passed out." A dry chuckle passes through my lips.

  "Some people take time to adjusting to it. Today, you should try using the assist with your PT. By the afternoon, you should be leaving the hospital. I'll be back, then."

  "What is happening with the graduates?"

  Dr. Kim searches the room looking for the missing staff and presents his findings. "They are off today. See you in the afternoon."

  (—)

  "Hi, it's Vue. You remember me, don't you?" Vue holds out an expectant smile.

  "I'm doing much better today. Thanks for asking."

  "Let’s try using the tech today."

  "I don't have it on me yet. Can you get me the clothes over there on the sofa?" I point through her to the stack of clothes with the tech.

  "Oh, you mean these?" She spins around with the unfurled shirt and pants.

  "Yes."

  "I'll come back in a few."

  (—)

  "Are you ready yet, I've been growing old out here." She feigns a groan.

  "Yes, I'm all ready to go."

  "Using the tech isn't that difficult. You just start the standup mode and try standing up. After you have good footing, change to walking mode."

  "What happens if I mess up?"

  "You fall down. Don't look so worried, you'll always fall back onto the chair. Are you prepared to try it, yet?" She offers her outstretched arm for support.

  "Yes."

  "Good, try to stand now."

  Pivoting to the edge of the bed and attempting getting up feels easy. I almost make it, but fall back at the last second. Her calls of "again" drive me forward. This time I can do it! I leverage all the way up and the floor starts coming up, alarmingly fast.

  Vue scoops me up and throws me back, more gently than it at first feels. “I got you, don't worry. Back to bed you go. That's it. I'll have to turn down the tech."

  My fear-induced panting demands an answer. "What happened back there?"

  "The tech is too strong. I haven't set it to a good level. Are you ready to try again?"

  "Yeah, all set." A tremble denounces my agreement.

  I get up with no struggle, walk over to the sofa, and try to sit. This actually launches me into standing. What now, I can't sit down. I try again. This time it has to work. It happens, again! I throw my arms down, dejected. “I can't get onto the sofa. It keeps fighting me."

  She grabs my arm, vigorously swiping and prodding at it. "I just have to enter into sitting mode. Now try it."

  "No, let me try going back to the bed."

  "Just give me a second to fill you in on all the details."

  "Sure, we can take a break, if you need it."

  We adjourn to the sofa. "The tech has three modes, you are going to use. Your allowance covers the stability modes — walk, standup, and sit down. Each mode helps some physical exertions and stops others. As you can see, trying to sit or sand without the correct mode causes you to stay standing or sitting. Let's try walking down the hallway."

  "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

  "Yes, let's go!"

  I verify standup mode is set, stand up, and schlep out the door into a wide-open space with too much light. A second adjusts my eyes, and I start walking. I get pretty far, but after that, each step becomes tougher, more labored. A seat in one of the lounges draws me in.

  "I think that is enough for today. You can go back to bed."

  Discharge

  Wed 4/19/17 3:15 p.m.

  "Good, you're back, Dr. Kim. I can't wait."

  Dr. Kim unceremoniously produces a sheet (plastic and clear, besides the black text) and hands it over. "Time to leave. This is a list of medicines and the schedule to reduce the tech support."

  "Okay." I flip through the two near-blank pages.

  "This medicine, sensory stabilizer-A helps the ear issues, the dizziness, instability, and motion sickness. The memory enhancer-LS improves memory retention and creation. The medications will help you regain lost function and allow you to be taken off them with time." He lists them with his fingers and binds them together.

  "Okay." The almost meaningless words pass through my head leaving some residue.

  "You have to expose the medicine to your tech as indicated. The memory enhancer, once a week, and the sensory stabilizer, once in 3 weeks. The tech will handle the dosage. It's being set up right now. Dr. Mekova will review your dosage and the tech reports remotely. She will also conduct an interview after a week."

  "That sounds good." I continue blankly, still reveling in the prospect of leaving.

  "One more thing, I will get someone to setup the assist reduction. The tech monitors how much support you're using and reduces it as possible. Some people worry the tech will be too aggressive with the reductions. I can confidently say the tech won't do that."

  "Okay." I frantically search for the missed directions and ease into comfort finding his spoken word engraved into black typeface.

  "I will get someone to fill the prescriptions and escort you to your apartment."

  I’m going home.

  Home

  Wed 4/19/17 3:24 p.m.

  "Hi, I'm Tommy. I'll be taking you to your apartment. Here, take the prescriptions."

  "Okay." I cough out as Tommy presses the bag into my diaphragm.

  "I got you a wheelchair, if you need it."

  "I want to try walking there."

  "Just a warning, it’s a pretty long walk. I'll take the wheelchair,” Tommy wiggles the chair back and forth, “if it becomes too much for you. Are you all set?"

  "Let's go."

  I pull on my shoes. Tommy starts gathering all my belongings, most of it clothes. I get up without any difficulty. We leave the room and go up to the tenth floor. After that, I lose it right there in the lift. I become unsteady and brace myself against the wall. Tommy helps me into the wheelchair. We roll out, turn left, and pass by a few closed doors.

  "Here it is."

  We stop at a clear door in the curved section that ended the last hallway. Tommy opens the door with the screen on the left sidewall. The door retreats into the frame, allowing Tommy to bring the chair along the sofa inside. I move to the sofa. He hands me a sheet and leaves with the chair in tow.

  "Have a good day, Mr. Abby."

&n
bsp; I look around. The cavernous space dwarfs the sofa, while the counters running around the perimeter resolve to a thin ribbon. Far to my left, across the room from the door, a tiny widow shows a pinprick of outside. The ceilings shelter me with a panoramic skylight veiled in gossamer thread.

  A practiced, ethereal voice comes from all directions, "Welcome to apartment level S7. As you can see, the apartment extends 14 meters by 14 meter. It includes a sofa/bed, one closest/bathroom, a spacious kitchen, and one tech space, with the standard config, all easily changed. Please indicate where to continue."

  "What, now?" I say mostly to myself, now that Tommy left.

  "Please, say which section you want more info about."

  "How do I make the door solid?"

  "All parts of the room can be operated just like any other tech. Choose an option with the H-tech and touch the item to apply the changes." The trim around the door lights up as it shifts through a few options.

  "How does the closest work?"

  "Choose the closest option on the closest/bathroom door and enter." The door slides open to an empty hanging space directly ahead.

  "Can I use the computer over there?" I point to the highlighted section of counter.

  "For more detailed info about tech please contact tech support."

  "How do I do that?"

  "Place your hand on the table and say whom you want to call.”

  I do just that and try to call my parents. "Can I speak the Mr. and Mrs. Abby?"

  "Please be more specific."

  "I would like to talk to Henry and Margaret Abby." The mention of their names brings their faces to my thoughts. My father in his graying beard stubble, wide forehead, flat nose, and expressive brow. My mom looks beautiful to this day. Her golden hair as it was always. Her face, round with a steep nose.

  "No current contact info available. Please try to reach someone else."

  "Tech support.

  "Hello, Mr. Abby. What can I help you with today?" A bright cheery voice answers back.

  "How do I use the computer in my apartment?"

  "I see here, you are in a S7. Unfortunately, that's one of the few models without a standard setup. I can send you the instructions for your model apartment. You will have to figure out which computer setup you have and call me back." She stays on the line.

  "Can you explain what S7 means?"

  "Well, everyone starts as an S2. You know in the education based privilege system, which says the apartment size you have, how much you are paid, and other stuff. You are an S7, so that means you have a Bachelors, Masters, and a Doctorate or something like that."

  I hang up (after exchanging pleasantries) with at least one question answered, but my puzzlement remains, how to use the tech space. I decide to call them back and see what else I can do. They can walk me through it. After all, they could look up all the other information, just like that.

  "Tech Support."

  "How can I help you?"

  "I can't figure it out."

  "I can send someone down, but it will take at least a week for someone to get there. In the meantime, you should try to figure it out."

  I throw my head around, looking with a determination at the conundrum of tech.

  Nothing but Questions

  Naming Ceremony

  10/30/17 10:45 a.m.

  Everything changes, my apartment gone. I find myself in a strange office. Someone grabs my arm. I — almost instinctively — pull away.

  She says, “Just give it a moment. Allow time to get oriented.”

  “I’m at a center, the memory recovery center, right?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte says, “We had a good session. We can continue tomorrow. Is there anything you want to share?” She looks at me in anticipation.

  I push myself to say something. “I found my name. It’s Conor Abby.”

  “Good, we have something to call you then.”

  “Sure.”

  “You are getting some visitors this afternoon. It's an important part of the Process. Do you have any questions?”

  “What do the others do for down time?”

  She pauses, rummaging through her head for ideas. “It varies from person to person. What do you like doing?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How about this, you can try some stuff and see what you like.”

  “What are my choices?”

  “You can try reading or actives. Both are found in the library. I’ll get you access.”

  “Is outside an option?” I wait with apprehension for some reason.

  “Yes, I’ll get that set for you. Anything else you can think of?”

  “No.”

  “Your first group session is next week. Let’s get you back to your room.”

  While we walk back, I think through everything I now remember. Who could want to visit me? Kristen (who in the world is that…) would never come here. What about my parents? Sure.

  “Here we are. Let me just use your computer for a sec. Here it is! These are your access privileges. I’ll turn on library, room, and grounds. You have everything you wanted. That’s it, for today. See you tomorrow, Conor.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  Non-resident Aliens

  Thurs 10/30/17 1:52 p.m.

  An unknown alarm assaults my hearing. The sound ends up as my critical fuel alarm. Two percent remains. That gives me 10 kilometers range. The strip floats 15 kilometers away. I’ll burn through the fuel under powered flight. Ditching over the water comes to me. I could glide there with some fuel left, just for a second attempt. I start climbing, using half the remaining to gain altitude.

  “Radar-niner-two-five to base, requesting permission to climb to 15-thousand.”

  “Request approved, Radar-niner-two five.”

  “Radar-niner-two-five fuel is short for landing. Requesting permission to enter controlled glide.”

  “Go ahead Radar-niner-two-five. Be advised the runway is short. Air brake required.” I level off. The plane enters a glide. Someone opens my room door. How to handle the active? I can’t save now, better ditch, so I start an inverted roll, then eject, descending to meet the water. My plane spirals into the water before my chute opens. I exit the active.

  “I’m here to take you to the visiting lounge. Are you ready to go now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, come along.” We leave the room and cross the hall to a small meeting room.

  Two people come in from the other door. They sit opposing me, inseparable and seeking comfort in each other’s presence.

  “I’m Rayburn and this is Esmeralda.”

  “Do you remember us, Conor?” Esmeralda asks, shuddering at the idea of her question.

  “It is just on the tip of my tongue. Something about you is too familiar. I just can’t figure out what.”

  “That’s okay, you’ll remember in time,” Rayburn says as he grips her hand tighter.

  “How are you two doing?”

  “We are doing well. We just keep worrying about you, Conor,” Esmeralda replies.

  “I’m doing good, if you don’t consider the memory loss.”

  “Do you have any questions for us?” Rayburn asks with a furrowed brow of deep thought.

  I test their allegiance to the rules. “How long have you two known me?”

  “You know we can’t answer that,” Rayburn answers.

  “Are you going to visit again?”

  “We are going to come every week, dear,” Esmeralda says.

  They come over to say goodbye. Rayburn shakes my hand. To my astonishment, Esmeralda gives me a hug. They leave together. Who are those people? Rayburn is stoic as always. Esmeralda reveals her feelings with ease. They know me inside out. Their emotionally worn faces tell me of a relationship long established. They must be family. What’s the connection? I should look at this, another way. In my memory session, what family did I contact? I wanted to talk with my parents. Really, my parents or is it? They are, Rayburn is Henry Abby, a
nd Esmeralda is Margaret. Now that makes the most sense out of everything here. That leaves Kristen or maybe someone else.

  Someone enters the room. I notice everything about her in an instant, though nothing comes back identifying her. We have some connection, too intangible to describe.

  ‘Hi, Conor, I’m Karina.”

  “Hello.”

  “How are you doing, Conor?”

  “I’m doing well. There is this funny thing that happened today. When I woke up, I tried everything possible to escape my room. I was even tempted to break the window. Let’s just say I’m lucky someone found me, when they did.”

  Karina puts her hands on to the table and interlaces her fingers. Something about it rings eerily familiar. “You will surely get better with time.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing well. I miss seeing you more often. They are only allowing me to visit once a week.” Karina reluctantly breathes out almost in a sigh.

  This makes me feel confused more than anything. “Like you said, it’ll get better with time.”

  “Do you remember me, Conor?” Karina asks hesitantly.

  “Are you Kristen?”

  “You know I can’t answer.”

  “I’m all out of guesses, then.” An air of resignation exudes from me.

  “It was nice seeing you, Conor. I hope your memory comes back soon. Until then, we can’t talk about that much. Have fun in therapy. I’ll visit you again, next week.”

  “Thanks for coming.” She leaves without coming to me. I feel that so much remains unsaid. She drops something on the way out. I collect it, a postcard. It says, “Conor, keep this to yourself. Look at it again, somewhere private.” I hide it in my shirt.

  In my room, I look at it again. “Hi, Conor. I wanted a place to answer your questions privately. The Center monitors all visits. You asked, am I Kristen. I’ve never heard you mention Kristen. I’m definitely not Kristen, unless it is a secret nickname for me. That doesn’t make any sense. No, okay, it makes some sense. If you have any more questions, ask me during my next visit. You can also send it through this device. You’ll be stuck with finger painting. I can’t wait to see you next week. Bye.”