Muscle Memory

by Stylo Fantome

  “Jon!” she gasped, bracing her hands against his chest. He stood upright, pulling her with him.

  “Delaney,” he managed to pant out, his chest heaving against hers.

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on a plane ...” she glanced at her watch. “Like right now?”

  “No,” he said, refusing to let her go when she went to step back. “No, I don't need to be anywhere else.”

  “What's going on? Are you okay?” she asked, reaching up to brush his messy hair away from his forehead.

  I always loved it when she did that.

  “Better than I've ever been. I need to talk to you,” he said quickly.

  “Okay, but it'll have to wait. I was on my way to work,” she said, gesturing outside.

  “No, this can't wait.”

  “Jon, I have to go to work. I missed so many days last month.”

  “I don't care.”

  “Well, I do. My paycheck was non-existent.”

  “I don't care.”

  “Jon,” she said, and he felt her palm against his cheek. “I'll come back.”

  No, you won't. You might be gone forever by then.

  Someone else came down the stairs behind them and made a fuss, trying to squeeze out the door around them. Delaney tried to pull free, to move onto the sidewalk, and he panicked. He wouldn't let her go. Not ever again.

  So he picked her up and threw her tiny frame over his shoulder. She shrieked as he bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “What are you doing? Put me down! Jon!” she was yelling, struggling against his hold. In response, he wrapped his arm around her hips even tighter.

  “Just stay,” he was panting as he moved. “Just stay with me a little longer.”

  Fucking walk up. It took forever. He was sweating and gasping for air by the time he got to her floor, but he still wouldn't let her down. He fumbled around with one hand, digging through her jacket pocket. He finally found a set of keys and pulled them out. One had a bright yellow sticker with HOME written in marker on it. He shoved it into the lock and twisted it, then kicked the door open.

  An entire room of people jumped and gasped at the unusual entrance. He marched across the place, leaving the door wide open behind him. He ignored the couple fighting in the kitchen, as well as the couple dry humping on the couch, as they all turned towards him. Delaney bleated out excuses, assuring everyone it was okay, and to go back to what they'd been doing.

  Once in her room, he dropped her to her feet so abruptly, she teetered over and fell on her bed. She gaped at him as he started rifling through her desk drawers.

  “What the fuck do you think you're doing!?” she demanded, scrambling around to get on her feet.

  “Where is it,” he breathed, shuffling papers and pens around, glancing briefly at a flier with his face on it.

  “Jon! Did you have a mental breakdown? Should I call Mrs. Sloan?” she threatened, moving to stand behind him.

  He slammed the desk drawer shut and whirled around, but didn't look at her. His gaze bounced all over the small, tidy bedroom. All the surfaces were bare, no trinkets or jewelry anywhere he could see. While she continued ranting at him, he closed his eyes.

  Where is it, where is it, where would she put it ...

  The fog shifted and moved. Never lifted completely. But it was there. In his blood. In his muscles.

  He opened his eyes and went straight for her dresser. Dropped down into a squat and yanked open the bottom drawer. A treasure trove of satin and lace and cotton looked back at him.

  “A breakdown and you've turned into a pervert, great,” she grumbled. “Wait! What are you doing? Stop it!”

  He listened to her scrambling around behind him, picking up all the underwear he was tossing over his shoulder. Bras flew past her, as well, making her yell at him more. He ignored her until he found what he was looking for tucked into the back of the drawer. A white cotton pair of panties with red hearts all over them. He unrolled them and caught an object as it fell away from the fabric. Then he stood up.

  “I knew it,” he whispered, turning around to face her.

  “Are you insane? You're freaking me out! Why are you doing this, Jon? It's already hard enough, you know that, and this will just make it worse! Just go and get ...” her voice trailed off when she saw what was in his hand.

  “I gave this to you,” he said, holding up her mood ring. When he finally looked at her, he almost laughed. She was paler than ever before and she was clutching an armful of underwear to her chest.

  “Yes, you did. I told you that,” she replied, her voice shaking. He walked up close to her and with his free hand, he pulled her arms apart, making her drop the panties and bras.

  “What you didn't tell me was how you cried,” he said, grabbing her left hand. “That it was windy out and you got scared on the rides, but you loved it. How all you wanted was that ridiculous cotton candy, and then I made you drop it. You never said how you didn't even hesitate before you said yes, and that you already knew what all the colors meant.”

  “How do you know that?” she whispered, her hand trembling as he slipped the mood ring back on her finger.

  “You told me blue means love,” he said simply, smiling down at her.

  “How can you know that?” she cried, staring up at him as two big tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Because, it's not only about the memory, Delaney. Sometimes it's more about how you feel,” he told her. She took a deep breath.

  “And how do you feel?”

  “Like I've never been more in love in my whole life. With this day, with these rings, and with you.”

  She broke down. Her knees went weak and as she sobbed, she started crumbling to the ground. He wouldn't let go, though. Never, ever, again. He sunk down with her, standing on his knees and clasping her hand tightly in his.

  “You can't mean this,” she sobbed. “You don't remember me. I can't live through this.”

  “I mean it,” he assured her, working his free hand into the back of her hair. “And I remember enough.”

  “You're killing me,” she gasped for air.

  “Then I'll die with you,” he whispered, pulling her close.

  She was still crying when he kissed her. Still sobbing when he took her face in both his hands and gently urged her up onto her knees. Her whole body was shaking as he held her tightly.

  “How did this happen?” she breathed. “Is this real?”

  “It's like you said,” he replied. “Forever means forever. I may never remember everything, but god, I will never forget you, Delaney. Ever.”

  “Never, ever,” she repeated, her lips trembling beneath his own.

  “My brain couldn't remember,” he said. “And my heart wasn't sure. But my soul ... how could I ever forget it belongs to you?”

  She was kissing him back, finally. Just like before. Just like always. She was crying and she was happy and she was in love, and he knew all that because he remembered her. He could read her face better than his own. Amnesia and injuries and other people and distances between them and all the fog in the world couldn't keep them apart. Couldn't make them forget each other.

  Because when true love finds its counterpart, it always recognizes it.

  It's all in the muscle memory ...

  Epilogue

  “Picture!” Delaney called out. “Picture, picture, picture!”

  Jon groaned as he heard her scampering across the floor. He was carrying a heavy box full of books in his arms and managed to put it down just before she launched herself at him.

  “What is it with you and pictures? Were you a photographer?” he asked, stumbling around, trying to keep them upright.

  “No, never. I did makeup,” she reminded him, then she wrapped her leg around his and tripped him, sending them both down onto a futon mattress on the floor.

  It should have been strange, not remembering basic details about the love of his life. But it never was. He asked questions, and sh
e always answered. Sometimes, it came back to him. Most of the time, it didn't. And it never, ever, mattered.

  She was holding a bulky, funky looking camera in her hands. He almost thought it was a toy, but he went along with it. Laid down flat on his back on the mattress. She scooted up close to him, tilting her neck to the side so her head was at an angle, almost against his shoulder.

  “Say cheese,” she ordered. He grinned broadly and she took the picture. There was a flash, a whirring noise, and then a tiny picture began to print from the side of the camera.

  She took pictures of him constantly. Of them together. She never said why, but he knew it was because deep down, she was afraid. Scared he might forget all over again, so she wanted all the proof possible to remind him of who he was, and how in love they were.

  I could never, ever forget.

  His publishing house hadn't been happy about him missing his flight, and even more upset when he'd canceled all his appearances in L.A. There had been lots of ugly phone calls, and finally he'd gotten Mrs. Sloan and a doctor to write letters on his behalf, saying the strain of traveling was just too much for a man with his medical condition.

  Besides, Good Morning America wanted him on their show just as much as anyone else, and they were right in Midtown.

  He stayed in New York, stayed with Mrs. Sloan while his book deal was back up in the air. He went on GMA, got a lot of buzz going for his book, and did a couple talks at local Universities and colleges. Then Hollywood started knocking, and suddenly his publisher couldn't give a shit how many talk shows he canceled. A movie was going to be made on his life, they were almost as good as promised. His lawyer renegotiated his contract, and Jon's future looked considerably brighter.

  Then the book dropped, and his future was damn near blinding. He made it onto every bestseller list there was, and even topped a couple. He was asked to do documentaries about amnesia. His doctors asked if they could write about him in peer journals, if he'd let their medical students ask him questions. He said yes to everything, so long as he didn't have to leave New York.

  As long as he didn't have to leave Delaney.

  It was funny, but after they got back together, she was the nervous one. She acted like she was dealing with a wild animal. Scared he was going to bolt some day. Just disappear. He still didn't have most of his memories back – when her birthday came and went without a word from him, there had been an ugly confrontation with a lot of crying.

  It would take a long time to gain her trust back. She kept insisting she did trust him, but he was talking about a different kind of trust. Not in her brain – her brain trusted him just fine. This kind of trust was in her heart and in her bones, and it just wasn't there for him. Not yet. But it would be. He would earn it back through hard work and proof and love.

  It was winter when the movie deal was offered, and he'd decided enough was enough. He needed to make an honest woman of her. Besides, having sex at Sloany's house creeped him out, and Delaney's bed was way too small for him and his lanky limbs. So he spent a few days with a realtor showing him around Midtown and Harlem and the Flower District, but nothing interested him.

  Then one day he walked out the door and got on a train and somehow wound up in Brooklyn. He knew where they'd lived before, because she'd told him, but he didn't want to go back there. He wasn't Jayson Fairbanks anymore, he could never go back.

  So he took another train to somewhere else, anywhere, and wound up in a neighborhood he was pretty sure he'd never been in before. After a couple hours of walking around, he saw a realty sign with the words “For Rent” on it – he called the number, did a walk through, then went home and met Delaney for dinner.

  “By the way, I got us a place in Brooklyn Heights,” he'd said casually over appetizers. She'd beamed at him and only had one simple question.

  “Can we move in this weekend?”

  So in the chaos that is winter in New York, amidst an early December snowfall, they hauled all their belongings back to Brooklyn. Back to the beginning.

  “Ooohhh, look, you look great in this one,” she sighed, holding the developed photo out in front of them. He took it from her and peered at it. His grin looked crazy, and his green eyes were opened super wide. His hair was bushy and wild on top, yet still neat and trim on the sides. Mostly Jon Doherty, but with just a hint of Jayson Fairbanks.

  “You don't look too shabby yourself,” he called out to her as she got to her feet and skipped across the wooden floors. He kept looking at her image in the picture.

  Her hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head, smooshed against the side of his face. Her big blue eyes were crossed, and she was making fish lips. She looked young and ridiculous, and so beautiful it hurt his heart.

  He sat up and stared at her on the other side of the room. She was wearing a cropped sweater and black boy short underwear. It was freezing in the apartment, he was beginning to suspect their heat wasn't working properly, yet she still ran around half dressed. He smiled and stood up, slowly walking across the room to her.

  Probably ninety percent of his memories were still missing. He didn't remember hardly any more about her now than he had when he'd missed his flight. Sometimes, it made him just a little nervous. Was she in love with someone who didn't exist anymore? Could he ever hope she loved him, Jon, as much as she'd loved Jayson?

  Because it was no question for him – he loved her just as much as Jayson ever had, maybe even more. He'd loved her in two lives, and would keep loving her in however many more were to come. Nothing would ever change that, no accident, or drugs, or all the fog in the world.

  “You have to get dressed,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He was barely leaning over, so she was forced to stand on her toes.

  “Why?” she asked, going through a pile of books.

  “Dinner, remember?”

  “Uggg,” she groaned, dropping the books and leaning back against him. “How come you're the one with amnesia, yet I can't ever remember anything?”

  “Brat,” he teased, pinching her side. “C'mon, we have a long train ride.”

  “Where are we going to dinner?”

  “Harlem. I told you all this.”

  “Harlem? Ug. Fine.”

  She went to twist away from him, but he yanked her back and kissed her. Tasted some of his memories for a second, then let her go. She smiled up at him, brushed his hair off his forehead, then went into the only bedroom in the apartment and started rummaging through suitcases full of clothing.

  Delaney was nervous whenever they used the subway. He'd teased her about it once and had gotten such an earful he'd never teased her about it again. He always stood well away from the edge of the platform while they were waiting, and hurried through the doorway when they were getting on, just to make her feel better.

  But once on the train, she seemed to be fine. He stood and gripped onto a handhold, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, using him for balance. The car was packed, but he didn't care, and they spent the whole trip in their own little world, making plans for their apartment and their future. Once at the restaurant, they sat down and behaved themselves while they waited for their guests.

  Sloany showed up first, rushing around the other tables to get to them.

  “You look so good!” she squealed, holding out her arms. Jon stepped forward to hug her, but she ran right past him and practically swallowed Delaney.

  “Thank you!” Del laughed. “You, too! Your haircut is amazing.”

  Sloany preened and patted her sleek new bob.

  “Thank you, thank you. Seems like forever since I've seen you guys, sorry I've been so busy. I want to come to your new apartment soon. Immediately. Yesterday. I can't believe you're back in Brooklyn!” she exclaimed, finally letting Delaney go. Jon frowned.

  “Hello! Your client? Guy with amnesia? Slept in your house? Nothing?” he asked, still holding his arms out. She rolled her eyes and shook one of his outstretched hands.

 
“Good to see you, Jon. Now, Delaney, I was wonder-”

  Jon grabbed her and pulled her into a bear hug. She laughed, but hugged him back with a ferocity which took him by surprise.

  “I always knew you'd do good, kiddo,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he whispered back, and she didn't even get mad.

  They all sat down and waited and talked. And waited. And then waited some more. Jon frowned again and looked at his watch.

  “I hate it when she does this,” he growled. Delaney laid her hand on his arm.

  “Hey, cut her some slack,” she suggested.

  “I know, I know she's busy. But when we set a time, it shouldn't be so hard for her to make it on time. If she's so busy, she should just say she can't come,” he replied. Del smirked at him.

  “You're a hard man to resist.”

  He rolled his eyes, ready to give a smart ass comeback, but then the object of their conversation finally walked in the room.

  Kitty Beaumont looked good, but then again, she always looked good. He knew for a fact she looked good first thing in the morning, and she looked just as good after a hard day of work. Yet he still continued frowning as she headed towards them.

  “Who's that?” Del asked under her breath. Sloany shrugged.

  “I have no idea.”

  But Jon knew. He'd been waiting for it to happen.

  Kitty bustled up to them, towing a man behind her. She hugged everyone and gave them air kisses, then introduced her date. He seemed nice enough, but Jon forgot his name almost as soon as he learned it. After making room for another plate, they all took their seats.

  “So where did you and Kitty meet?” Sloany asked in a polite, but all business, tone of voice.

  “It was fate, I guess,” the guy chuckled. “It's kinda embarrassing, though.”

  “No, no, it's okay,” Kitty assured him, smoothing her hand down the front of his jacket. He took a deep breath.

  “I got out of jail about a month ago. Boosting cars. I feel really bad about it, really. I got out on good behavior and was put into this halfway house, and they assign us jobs. I had to go clean these cat kennels at this vet's office, and Kitty was a vet tech there. It was like seeing an angel,” he said.