by Monica James
His breathing turns ragged as he presses a hand to his brow. “I’m fine,” he states a moment later, but his pained tone reveals otherwise.
I nervously bite my nails as I watch him breathe steadily through his nose. What’s going on? Has my persistent nagging given him a headache? I know it’s given me one.
It feels like hours, but I know it’s only seconds before he gradually gets the color back to his cheeks. “I think you need to sit,” I suggest, raising my hands in surrender when he scowls.
He thankfully doesn’t argue and stumbles to the couch, slumping into it with a grunt. He leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.
“Do you want a glass of water?” From where I stand, I can see the beads of sweat collecting on his brow.
He angrily whips his head around to glare at me. “I said I’m fine.”
“Okay then, no need to shout, Mr. Grumpy Guts,” I mumble under my breath.
My landline begins ringing, which I’m thankful for as I can speak to someone who actually wants to talk to me. I reach for the phone on the side table. The moment I pick it up, everything goes black.
“Sweetheart…”
I feel an electrical current singe straight through my body.
“Dad? What’s happened?”
“It’s Sam.”
It feels as if I’m suddenly zapped with a trillion volts of electricity. Every hair on my body stands on end and an overwhelming heaviness takes residence within my soul.
“What about Sam?” I beg.
His silence butchers away at my last tether to this plane, and just as I’m about to scream, demand he answer, he whispers, “He’s awake.”
I peer over at Saxon, who nods slowly. Whether he heard my dad, or his random onset was brought on by Sam, I’ll never know.
Somehow, it seems like we’ve looked into the same crystal ball and have both seen the future. In this moment, something shifts between us. I don’t know what, but I can feel it—the planets have somehow all aligned.
When the noise abruptly becomes still and the bedlam twinkles to tranquility, I know—I can feel it. I can feel him.
* * * * *
He’s awake.
Those two words have been playing on a loop the entire drive to the hospital. It appears the last few days, my world has been blanketed with words I had no idea could take on so many different meanings.
We leap out of the car, both unsteady on our feet. Saxon nurses his Gatorade while I cradle my coffee. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to change out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans. I still look a fright and it’s no surprise when I stampede into the hospital, people shift away from the crazy woman.
We enter the elevator, both a ball of nervous energy. The moment we reach Sam’s floor, I bolt out the doors, my sneakers skidding on the floor as I run towards Sam’s room. My mom and dad are standing outside, both looking relieved, but also a little baffled.
“Lucy!” my mom says, meeting me halfway. We embrace tightly. She strokes my hair.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” my dad asks, his eyes warm as he approaches.
“I am. I just want to see Sam.”
I can feel Saxon behind me, waiting quietly and not demanding he see Samuel first. He has every right to see him…hell, if anything he has more right than me…but I know he won’t go in before me.
“Can I see him?”
When my mother lowers her eyes, and my dad tenderly rubs my arm, I know something is very wrong. “What’s the matter?”
“Lucy…”
“What?” My heart ascends to a deafening staccato.
“Sam…” my father falters. My dad has always worn his heart on his sleeve. This time is no exception.
“Dad, what?”
He pushes up his silver framed glasses, a sure sign that he’s worried. “Maybe it’s best you wait out here until you speak to Dr. Kepler.”
Everything is too much. I need answers, and I need them now.
Pushing past my parents, I dart into Sam’s room, my impatience overtaking my good sense. I come to a screeching halt when I see Dr. Kepler talking to Gregory and Kellie, while two nurses stand around Sam’s bed. They’re chuckling quietly while writing something down.
The already small room feels like a shoebox and I take three deep breaths before willing my feet to move. I can’t see the bed as five people stand in my way, but the moment Dr. Kepler turns to face me, I see it—I see my Samuel.
He’s sitting up and his eyes, his enchanting eyes, are open and vibrant. A smile paints his face as he chats with the nurses, laughing at something one of them said. He looks tired, a little rugged, but he looks well. He looks alive.
I have so many things I want to say, but I don’t know where to start. But maybe in this circumstance, actions speak louder than words. Exhaling deeply, I take one step and then two, only to be stopped when Greg lightly takes a hold of my arm.
Why is everyone trying to stop me from seeing Sam? I understand he’s still not fully recovered, but surely I’m able to give him a quick kiss and say hello.
“Lucy, there’s something about Samuel you need to know.” His stern tone has me gulping, a thousand angry butterflies taking flight within my belly.
“What do I need to know?” When he too pauses, I crack. “What’s going on?” My loud tone interrupts the chatter from the bed, and I can sense all eyes are on me.
“Samuel has awoken, but…” However, Dr. Kepler doesn’t have a chance to finish because a hoarse voice has my entire body breaking out into tiny goose bumps.
“Get over here. I missed you.”
I’ve heard Sam speak countless times before, but those six words are the most important words I’ve ever heard him say.
Kellie smiles, but it’s bittersweet.
“If you’ll excuse me, Doctor, my fiancé needs me,” I say, brushing off everyone’s peculiar behavior because all that matters is being in Sam’s arms.
I politely push past Dr. Kepler, my eyes focusing on Sam. The moment he sees me, he smiles, his trademark dimple hugging his cheek. Tears prick my eyes because I never thought this day would ever come.
“Oh, Samuel.” I try and keep the emotion from my voice, but I can’t. I’m just so happy to see him.
I take a step forward but abruptly freeze, as my brain is unable to process what the next thirty seconds entails. Sam’s smile broadens and he sits up higher, motioning with his hand that I come closer. But when his gaze skates over my shoulder, I know he’s not gesturing to me, he’s gesturing to Saxon, who stands in the doorway.
I remain motionless, feeling selfish, as of course he’d want to see Saxon. He hasn’t seen him in over a year. But what about me? Isn’t he happy to see me? Have I done something wrong?
“Excuse me.” I look up, not realizing my gaze is glued to the ground until Sam addresses me. “Could you please move? My brother is trying to get past.”
My mouth opens and closes as I don’t know what to say. I numbly step to the side while Saxon enters the room. I’m surprised when he stops and stands beside me. When he lightly rubs my shoulder, it appears he too is in on a secret I’m not privy to.
Sam smirks, the sight shattering my already broken heart into irreparable pieces. “Come give your baby brother a hug. Since when have you had long hair? And tattoos? You bad motherfucker!”
The walls begin closing in on me and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I need to know what is happening. No matter how painful, I know something is wrong.
“Samuel?” My voice is small, weak, pathetic—it’s a plea that he acknowledges me.
Sam’s gaze swings my way, and that’s when I can see it. His once familiar, loving eyes are now blank, filled with emptiness and…nothing.
No, cruel fate, no—not again.
Stepping closer and closer, I rush to Samuel’s bedside, reaching for his hand and brushing his fingers over my face. “Samuel, it’s me, Lucy.”
When his warm fingers trace over my che
ek, down my jaw and then outlining the curve of my lips, a ray of hope beams bright and I scold myself for thinking such irrational thoughts. But when his hand drops to his side, the detachment clear, a tear breaks past the floodgates and I choke back a silent sob.
His expression turns gentle, but his stare is teeming with pity. The old Samuel would comfort me, tell me not to cry. But that old Samuel is dead. This person may look like my Sam, but it’s not Sam at all. As another tear slashes at my flesh, he shifts uncomfortably and says, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are.”
* * * * *
May 1st 2008
Dear diary,
Today, Sam and I had our first real fight. It was awful.
Piper said it was long overdue, seeing as we’ve been together for over three years. She was hopeful I would break it off, but it surprised me that she didn’t press the issue.
We’ve had disagreements, but never a full blown screaming match like we had today.
It all started when I heard about an internship in Ghana. The Humanitarian Peace Foundation is an organization I admire, and when this opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance to gain a hands-on career experience and discover what it’s like to live and work abroad. The internship was for eight weeks, and I had three days to decide if I wanted to go or not.
I discussed it with Mom and Dad, who of course supported me 100%. They would help with the costs, as my wage at Starbucks would barely cover it. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to tell Samuel. The drive over to his house was filled with mental preparation, as I was to leave in ten days.
I bounded up the stairs, unable to contain my excitement as I burst into his room. He was hunched over his desk, surrounded by marketing textbooks. The moment he spun around in his chair to face me, I ran over and perched in his lap.
“I’m going to Ghana!”
He didn’t hide his shock, and I instantly felt a little guilty for not leading in with a ‘Hello, I love you. I’m going to Ghana!’
I’ll never forget the look on his face because it’s a look I’ve never seen before. He was angry. Sam NEVER gets angry. “What do you mean you’re going to Ghana?”
I explained my situation and almost fell off his lap when he responded with a, “You’re not going.”
I didn’t realize this was up for discussion, so of course I leaped out of his lap, not impressed in the slightest. We argued for the next hour, both stubborn and headstrong. He was being totally irrational, and I didn’t appreciate him standing in the way of my dreams. When I very loudly proceeded to tell him this, he got even angrier.
I was going whether he liked it or not, and I left his house, not intending to change my tune.
I came home sobbing harder than I’ve ever sobbed before. I was glad Mom and Dad were out to dinner with friends, as I didn’t want them seeing me this way.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to lose Sam over it. I didn’t understand why he was so angry at me leaving. His reasons were that it was dangerous, and he didn’t like me being away for so long. It was only eight weeks! This was such a good opportunity, and he was being incredibly selfish!
I pretty much listened to Fiona Apple on repeat, wallowing in my self-pity until there was a knock at my door. Raising my head, I saw Sam looking as bad as I felt. Our fight seemed completely petty, and I jumped up, forgetting I was mad at him.
He begged for my forgiveness, dropped to his knees, and interlaced his hands. “Lucy, I’m so sorry. I was a fucking idiot. I had no right to dictate your future. I just…”
When he paused, I dropped to my knees as well. I asked him what.
He peered into my eyes and confessed, “I thought I was your dreams. I’m afraid you’ll see what’s out there and forget about me. You’re beautiful, smart, ambitious—I’m petrified you’ll see the world and chase your dreams—dreams that don’t include me.”
Nothing has ever sounded so tragically beautiful before.
Before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around his nape and buried my face into his neck. His outburst made sense—he was afraid of losing me. For some stupid reason, he believed I was biding my time until something better came along. Didn’t he know he was my something better? He was the reason why I believed in myself. Without him, I was nothing.
“Sam, my dreams are nothing without you. My life started the day I met you in that library. I fell in love with the kind, considerate boy who had no qualms lending me his most treasured copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye.’”
He lowers his eyes, tugging at his bottom lip.
“I will never forget you. I can’t.”
He finally looks at me and smiles. “I’ll never forget you either, Lucy. Ever. You’re a part of me, now and forever.”
* * * * *
“What do you mean?” Words get caught in my throat. “It-it’s me, Lucy. Your f-fiancée.” He has to remember who I am.
His bewildered expression reveals that he doesn’t have to do anything. “Fiancée? Is this some kind of joke?” He peers over my shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. “Sax, did you put her up to this?”
I can’t take it anymore.
My legs feel like jelly and I crumble, not caring that I’ll probably concuss myself in the process. However, before I can knock myself into oblivion, a pair of strong hands latch onto my upper arms. Samuel makes no secret that he’s watching mine and Saxon’s exchange with interest.
“How about we get some fresh air?” he suggests, his fingers tenderly punctuating his point by squeezing softly.
I nod because if I stay in this room for a second longer, I’m bound to suffocate. With my head bowed, I avoid the sorrowful stares of my family as Saxon leads me towards the door. We walk in silence down the hallway and into the elevator, his arm still wrapped around me.
The moment we step outside, I take a much needed deep breath, but still feel like a million hands are clutching at my throat, cutting off my air supply.
So many thoughts are pinballing around in my head, but one stands out clearer than any other. Samuel doesn’t remember me. When he looked at me, his eyes were utterly void. There was no love, or affection, or recognition—there was nothing.
I turn into Saxon’s chest, needing his comfort more than I’ve ever needed anyone’s before. I don’t cry. I simply stand numb.
“It’ll be okay.”
I appreciate Saxon’s reassurance, but I don’t believe a word. This situation is so far from being okay, I’m pretty sure it’s bordering on being the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
“He doesn’t remember me, Saxon. How is it going to be okay?”
His saddened sigh says it all.
“Did my parents say anything to you?”
“Let’s sit,” he suggests, breaking our embrace and placing me at arm’s length. I’m afraid to know why he thinks this next conversation needs to take place while I’m seated. However, I slump onto the infamous bench.
As he lights a cigarette, I appreciate the way the sunshine catches the blond in his hair, contrasting the woven strands of brown. It suddenly hits me that Saxon is now more familiar to me than Samuel is. The person sitting in Sam’s bed is a stranger.
“Your dad was sketchy on the details,” he says after blowing out a ring of smoke, “but Dr. Kepler thinks Sam has some form of amnesia. He can only recall certain things, places, events. And people,” he adds regretfully. “He has holes in his memory.”
“And I what? Fell through one of them? How can he not remember me?”
He raises his shoulders in defeat, looking just as baffled as me.
Trying to get my head around it, I state, “He obviously remembers you. What about your parents?” He nods, taking a pensive drag of his cigarette. “My parents?” He nods once again.
“How is that even possible?” I run a hand down my face in frustration.
“He recognizes them, but can’t place how he knows them.”
“So basically, he remembers everyone but me.
”
“Lucy, no,” he refutes, sensing my pain. “He doesn’t remember a lot of things. Your dad said he doesn’t remember going to college, or what he does for work. Or where he lives. He just knows the basics.”
Too bad those basics don’t include me. But I refuse to cry. “Do they know how long he’ll stay this way?”
“No. They need to run some more tests. It’ll take time.”
“So what am I meant do to in the meantime?”
“Keep reminding Samuel of who you are. Who he is,” he replies with conviction.
“And if that doesn’t work?” I ask, wishing I was as positive as he is.
We sit, lost in thought, both endeavoring to guess what comes next. “Just have faith,” he says, breaking the silence. It’s the second time he’s said this to me. I’m glad he’s more confident than I am.
“So what happens now?”
“We wait.”
“For how long?” I whisper, hating the hopeless undertone to my words.
“For as long as it takes.” He draws the cigarette to his lips, inhaling languorously.
“And if he never remembers me?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I sit upright, brushing the hair from my brow. “So you’re staying?”
He lowers his eyes. “I don’t know, Lucy.”
His response disappoints me as I can’t believe after all that’s happened, he would leave.
“Please don’t make that face.”
“What face?” I ask, a little more heated than intended. I don’t know what it is about Saxon, but he brings out a fiery side of me that I didn’t even know existed. Sam and I hardly fought, but with Saxon, it’s a miracle if I don’t throttle him the moment he speaks.
“The ‘I’m going to murder you in your sleep’ face,” he clarifies, his tone light.
I know he’s trying to make me smile. It works. “I promise you’re safe. Just one more night? Please.” I can’t explain why I need him to stay. He offers me a sense of security I so desperately crave.
He doesn’t answer. He simply butts out his smoke with his boot and grins. “Let’s get back inside.” He stands, offering me his hand.
The sun shines down on him, creating an illusionary halo as I look up and slip my palm into his. The moment we connect, I feel…better. I no longer feel like a nobody. Samuel may not remember me, but Saxon does. It appears Saxon has remembered me the entire time—I was the one who didn’t remember him.
