Still With Me

by Thierry Cohen

  Jeremy shuddered at these words.

  He decided to confide in her. She was the only one who could help. “I don’t feel well at all. I don’t remember anything about yesterday—or anything from the last year. It’s a total blank.”

  He got up and paced the room, carried away by his confession.

  “I know it’s unbelievable, but I have…amnesia. An unusual amnesia because I’m only forgetting this year,” he continued. “I remember the twenty years from before. And even a few minutes before…trying to…”

  Victoria hung on his words, frozen in the middle of the room, watching Jeremy and visibly distraught. “Are you serious?”

  “Very serious.”

  Victoria’s face was grim. “The alcohol, maybe?” she said without conviction.

  “Maybe.”

  They gazed at each other in silence for several long seconds.

  “I know! It was the fall!” Victoria exclaimed. “Yesterday I tried to put you to bed, but you struggled and fell. You hit your head on the bed frame. You said you were fine, but you had a nasty bump on your head. You fell asleep, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad. But you fell pretty hard. I should’ve taken you to the hospital.”

  This explanation reassured Jeremy. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt, sure enough, a fresh bruise on the side of his head. He felt some of the heaviness weighing on him disappear. A physical cause, an injury. Finally a concrete fact that added some logic to the situation.

  Victoria took Jeremy’s arm and sat him gingerly on the edge of the bed, like she was guiding a senior citizen. Seeing her upset—worried about him—comforted Jeremy because it meant he was still alive. Alive but unwell. And with Victoria there next to him, loving him.

  Liberated from his fear, Jeremy wanted to shout for joy.

  “What do you remember exactly?” Victoria asked.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “The first time we made love?” she asked with a devilish look.

  “For me, that was a few minutes ago.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened.

  “And this apartment?” she continued.

  “New to me.”

  “But that’s crazy!” Then in a softer voice, she spoke to him like a sick person. “Try to remember. When you woke up at the hospital, after your attempt…And the time you spent recovering at my place?”

  “No. I can only remember my suicide and then you and me this morning. Nothing between the two.”

  “Incredible! So you’re telling me that I’m new to you too? It’s like you just learned that you and me, that we’re…”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s crazy!” she exclaimed.

  Then she sighed deeply and got up, unsure of herself. “Okay, no need to worry. It’s a temporary amnesia.”

  “Temporary or selective?”

  “I don’t know; what do we know about amnesia?” she said on her way to the telephone. “I’m calling Pierre to come with us to the hospital. It’ll be good to have your best friend there with you.”

  With Pierre standing next to his hospital bed, Jeremy knew he’d seen him before. He was part of Victoria’s group of friends from school. Jeremy knew them all and classified them by degrees of danger. The best-looking guys, the most charming—he hated them. Then there were those without any particular physical assets, but whose personalities were threats. Victoria was sensitive enough to fall for strong, unique character types. The others were admitted to her court for their sense of humor, their kindness. Pierre fell somewhere between the charming and the unique. He was kind of a Woody Allen. Nice guy, brilliant, with intelligent eyes, thin hair, and unremarkable features. Jeremy remembered his frail figure and slightly stooped posture next to Victoria’s when they were together. She sometimes held his hand, and Jeremy envied him. At the same time, he was grateful Pierre took care of her in ways that were, he hoped, completely innocent.

  Jeremy wondered when and how Pierre had become his friend. His presence surprised Jeremy, who was embarrassed by his kindness and concern.

  Pierre leaned over Jeremy. “Hey, buddy, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but right now, it’s for a good cause.”

  Victoria eyed him anxiously, biting her nails.

  “Do you remember this hospital? A year ago, Victoria drove you here. You were in bad shape. A bottle of whiskey and a fistful of pills…You were in a coma.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t remember,” Jeremy replied mournfully.

  “Fuck,” Pierre whispered. “Okay, what do you remember?”

  “The bottle, the joints, the pills, my living room.”

  “And before that? Do you remember your life before the attempt?”

  “Yes, everything.”

  “And nothing after that?”

  “No. I’ve told you ten times.”

  “Sorry. I know it’s annoying.” Pierre sighed. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Cheer up. The tests all came back fine. Of course, the doctor didn’t really dive in. He said something about ‘likely psychosomatic causes.’ Your attempt must be the key. I thought it wasn’t a problem for you. You never talk about it.”

  “It’s true,” said Victoria, “but maybe that’s because it was a problem.”

  “What’s strange is the selective side of the amnesia.” Pierre paused. “In fact…you don’t know me.”

  “Only by sight, from high school.”

  “By sight,” Pierre repeated. “Me? Your best friend? I took care of you during your recovery. I got you home every time you got toasted…and you don’t know me. Only by sight.”

  “I’m sorry.” Pierre’s presence irritated Jeremy. His questions, his exasperated affection. He wanted to be alone with Victoria, to talk to her, hold her.

  “Pierre, could you give us a minute alone?” Jeremy asked dryly.

  Pierre looked up, surprised.

  “Of course,” he replied, trying to hide his annoyance. Then to Victoria, he said, “Don’t hesitate to call if you have news. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

  Pierre’s last comment touched Jeremy. He held out his hand. Pierre shook it, leaned over, and kissed him on his cheek. “When you’re your normal self, we kiss.”

  Jeremy, uncomfortable with this level of intimacy, increased the pressure of his hand.

  After Pierre left, Victoria snuggled up to Jeremy, touching his face. Once again, happiness filled him.

  “So, how is it my baby can’t remember me?”

  “To forget you I’d have to forget the first twenty years of my life. On the other hand, I have no memory of us living together. So to see you here next to me, it’s almost…supernatural. If you tell me what’s happened over the last year, maybe that would help.”

  “It seems silly for me to tell you about things we did together not that long ago, but okay. Here we go.”

  She lay down next to him, took his hand, and stared at the ceiling.

  “Stop me if something comes back to you,” she whispered. “Everything started during that fight with Hugo, my…fiancé…after you told me you loved me. You were on the ground, and he was out of his mind with anger. He screamed at you. He insulted you, made fun of you, and I started to defend you. I was disgusted by his brutality. He got louder, and he started saying God knows what. He even accused me of teasing you. You know, he was very impulsive. I was scared of his temper. But anyway, I told him what you said moved me tremendously.”

  She laughed. “He got mad and threw a fit. That’s when I understood I couldn’t build a life with someone so…primitive. I wasn’t really in love with him. He was a pretty boy. The kind all the girls like. Foolishly, I was proud he’d chosen me. I was like that at the time.”

  She lowered her voice to hide her embarrassment. “After that, I ditched Hugo and went home. And I thought about everything that had happened. About you and the way your lips quivered when you spoke. About your words, your love, so absolute. About our childhood games. I won’t lie. You weren’t really my type. You were an
old romance, a friend. I knew you were crazy about me, and I found that charming. I liked big guys, varsity players, even if I couldn’t exchange tender words with them.

  “To hear your declaration—so sweet—your love and your sensitivity. It sort of clicked! Without knowing why, I had to see you. Now I think it was a premonition. I knew your address. I’d seen you watching me from your balcony often enough. Your door wasn’t locked. I called your name. When you didn’t answer, I went into the living room. And I saw you there on your couch with a bottle of whiskey beside you and the pills. I knew right away. I called an ambulance.”

  She paused a moment, disturbed by the images her story brought back to life.

  Jeremy squeezed her hand. He felt overwhelmed with happiness. Her story was tangible evidence that proved he was alive in the folds of a reality that was beautiful and true.

  “When the ambulance arrived, you were clinically dead. You were very white and very beautiful. Your features showed a kind of determination. I was frantic. I cried. I called to you. I shouted, ‘I love you,’ thinking my words might reach you wherever you were. I asked God to let you come back to life. Me” —Victoria shook her head wryly— “a self-proclaimed atheist!

  “I have to believe God listened to me anyway because the EMT restarted your heart. You stayed in a coma until that night, and I was there when you came out of it. With Pierre. He was surprised to see me so attentive, so caring. I couldn’t explain why. I told him it was because it was my fault, but I knew it was something else. When you woke up, it took you time to understand what had happened. And you refused to talk about what you did. You didn’t speak at all for almost a week. I went to see you every day. Pierre too. And one day, here at the hospital, I kissed you.”

  Victoria paused. “Do you remember our first kiss?” She asked the question in a lighter tone.

  “No…I…”

  How could I forget that kiss? I wanted it so much.

  “It’s hard to imagine you don’t remember that,” Victoria remarked sadly.

  Jeremy was angry at himself for hurting her, so he tried to distract her. “Tell me about the kiss. I wanted it for so long.”

  Her smile returned. “Oh, well, we talked a lot during your recovery. I mean me, mostly. You…you stayed silent. It felt like you didn’t really know me or you held something against me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stroked his cheek. “It’s funny, we’ve never talked so openly about this period, and now, because of the state you’re in, I feel like I can say anything. Okay, so…You were cold with me. Almost indifferent. It was as if your love was dead, and at the same time, part of you had evaporated. I took it as a form of retaliation and felt like I was boring you. I wanted to make you love me again. And I did. You couldn’t resist my ravishing charm!”

  They laughed.

  “One day, I got a new declaration of love. You said beautiful things. Okay, not as nice as that time in the park, but still…We kissed in the hospital. We even made love in your room. Spooning, if I remember correctly.” She smiled. “Talk about a strange place for a first time.”

  Strangely, Jeremy felt jealous of this other self who Victoria had kissed and with whom she had shared these magic moments.

  “And then?” he asked.

  “When you were ready to leave the hospital, I worked it out so you could come live with me. Actually, the doctors said you shouldn’t be left alone. So I offered to take care of you.”

  She blushed and gave him a mischievous look. He smiled at her.

  “A month later, you decided to leave your apartment to come live permanently at my place. You were so excited. You had just found a job.”

  “What job?”

  “You can’t guess?”

  “I was a graphic arts student, so…Illustration? Graphic design?”

  “Oh, no. You never wanted to pick up your pens again. You’re a salesman.”

  “What!” Jeremy almost shouted in surprise.

  “Yes, you’re really good, actually. With a bright future and bosses who love you. You sell industrial adhesives.”

  “Salesman? I’m not the type. I never knew how to talk about money.”

  “It must be love that changed you, my dear, because you’re about to receive a promotion, after just a few months. It’s a real record in your line of work.”

  “That’s crazy.” Jeremy was dismayed by this new revelation. “A salesman. It’s impossible. I’m too shy for that. I wanted to be a graphic designer. I was passionate about my art and gifted.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep talking about this. You’re sweating, and you look tired.”

  “I want to know…”

  She interrupted him, worried. “No. I won’t say another word. It’s upsetting you too much. And it’s probably not recommended for people in your condition.”

  Jeremy wanted to argue, but Victoria pressed her mouth to his. Their kiss lasted a long time. Then she pulled away and stood up. He held onto her hand. He had so many questions, especially about his parents. What did they think about his suicide attempt? Were they angry?

  “I’ll let you rest. It’s late. They didn’t give me permission to stay with you tonight. I’m not your wife, after all.”

  “You will be soon,” he said weakly.

  “Shhhh…I’m hoping for a more romantic proposal and in a place that’s more charming. Just because we made love for the first time in a hospital room doesn’t mean all our big moments have to happen here.” She laughed and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered. “I hope you get better overnight.”

  After Victoria left, Jeremy suddenly became aware of the darkness in the room. A cold wave washed over him, and yet he was sweating. He wanted to sit up, but he realized he could no longer control his arms and legs. Breathing became difficult.

  A panic attack.

  Jeremy tried in vain to regain control. He imagined the moments Victoria had described and thought he tasted whiskey in his mouth. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. He wanted to call out, but no sound left his throat. He groped for the alarm button on his bed but couldn’t find it. His vision blurred. He opened his eyes wide with fear so that they wouldn’t close permanently. He tried to push away the idea of death. Not now…not when he had a reason to live.

  He heard a strange voice, cavernous and dark, coming from the side of the bed. He looked over, and sitting next to him he saw an old man. He had a white beard and wore a dark suit. The man rocked back and forth steadily with his eyes closed. He was saying Kaddish, the prayer of mourning that all Jewish people recite to reaffirm their commitment to their faith: a prayer for the dead that borrowed beauty from life.

  “May his great name be exalted and sanctified in the world which he created according to his will…” The old man contorted, articulating each word firmly, as if he was trying to convince an invisible power. His voice rumbled painfully.

  Jeremy watched him in terror. He thought of his parents and wished they were at his side. He’d turned back into the scared little boy, haunted by a nightmare. Like all those nights after the death of his little sister. Where were they now? Were they dead from shame after his suicide attempt? They loved him so much. How could he have hurt them so much?

  He shouted, “Mother!” but only a low growl escaped his knotted throat.

  The old man finished his prayer and moved closer. He looked down at Jeremy with excruciating pain on his face. He was so close. Jeremy couldn’t help but look into his eyes; they were full of sadness. His skin was weathered and wrinkled and thin as paper. His mouth twisted with inaudible words. Then the old man leaned closer, and Jeremy heard him.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and his words became a plea. “No, it doesn’t have to be! Life, life, life.” Tears came to the man’s eyes as he repeated the word, louder and louder, in a heartbreaking voice.

  “Life.

  “Life.

&
nbsp; “Life!”

  A tear fell from the man’s face onto Jeremy’s hand, burning him where it landed.

  Pain was the last thing he felt.

  THREE

  Jeremy must have overslept. Numb with a pleasant lethargy, he felt good. Suddenly, memories of the night before came back to him: his struggle to breathe and move, the old man’s sudden appearance, his words and his tears. Jeremy could feel the burning sensation on his hand.

  Then he heard what sounded like a quiet whimper. Fear tingled his consciousness, and he opened his eyes to look for the old man. He sat up abruptly, and flashes of light shot through his spinning head. He wasn’t at the hospital anymore. He was back in the room where he had first woken up.

  The whimpering stopped.

  He took stock of his body, trying to understand his presence in this bed, and stopped cold. On his left ring finger a gold wedding band glinted in the morning sunlight.

  What is this? Where’s Victoria?

  He called out to her weakly. The whimpers started up again.

  Jeremy called out again, this time with more force. For a brief moment, perfect silence fell. Then a piercing scream rang out right next to him, startling Jeremy. Inside a wicker basket a few inches to his right, a baby stretched his little body in an effort to expel the angry howls. Crimson, he screamed until he was out of breath, gasped, hiccupped, and started all over again. Dumbfounded, Jeremy felt like he was actor and audience for the same scene.

  Where did that baby come from?

  A ringing telephone finally broke the repetitive rhythm of the baby’s cries. Jeremy tried to locate the phone by focusing intently during the few seconds the baby paused to catch his breath. The telephone had already rung four or five times by the time he found it.

  “Jeremy?” It was Victoria. “Good God, what happened? Why is he crying? It’s too soon.”

  “I don’t know,” Jeremy fumbled. “Where are you?”