Keep Me in Mind

by Jaime Reed

  “Boring,” he sang.

  “Jealous,” I sang back.

  “A little,” he admitted. “But I want to know real stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Does he make you happy?”

  “I guess.” I avoided Cody’s dubious look and said, “We’re taking things slow.”

  “You don’t seem like a ‘take it slow’ kind of girl. You come off as a girl who would jump in with both feet.”

  “How would you know what kind of girlfriend I’d be?”

  “Wishful thinking, I guess,” he said. “Am I wrong?”

  I had to think about that for a second. “The sad part is that I can’t even answer that. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend before so I don’t know what to expect. I haven’t even kissed him and the only play I’ve gotten since I woke up was making out with a snack machine.” I chuckled to myself.

  Cody seemed thrown off by the comment. “What?”

  At first, I thought he was joking, but he seemed genuinely confused. “The snack machine in the hall. That’s where we met.” I referred him back to the notes on his phone.

  “Really?” He broke into a fit of laughter. “Wow! And I thought I had issues.”

  I glared at him as he poked fun at my expense all over again, or in his case, for the first time. I could’ve given him a fake name and spared myself the repeated embarrassment. I could’ve been several different people throughout the day and he wouldn’t have known the difference. But I hated being lied to as much as he did. Trust was a hard skill to master as an amnesiac because you had to rely on it so much from others.

  Cody kept looking at his digital notes. When he reached the section about my likes and dislikes, he nearly leapt from his seat in rage. “What do you mean you don’t like roller coasters?” He showed me the passage, demanding a reason for such blasphemy.

  I shrugged. “I just don’t.”

  “But why?” he whined. “They’re awesome.”

  “The same reason I don’t like scary movies. I’m not going to pay hard-earned money for someone to give me nightmares. There are enough scary things in the world—why provoke fear? Same goes for books that make me cry. Can’t do it. It’s best to not even go there.”

  He watched me carefully. “Sounds like you don’t want to feel anything.”

  “I just want to control how much power emotions have over me, be it other people’s or my own. It’s like chain letters. Bogus or not, there’s that little twinge of doubt that wrecks your whole mood, just because you’re aware that it exists.”

  “So ignorance is bliss with you, huh?” He sucked his teeth in disapproval. “I can’t live my life with my head in the sand. I’d have to do something.”

  I shook my head and frowned. “Some actions can get you in trouble, as you probably know.”

  “Part of the fun,” he offered.

  “Is it? Let’s say you witness a violent crime. What do you do? If you try and stop it, you could get hurt. If you report it, someone might come after you. If you do nothing, someone else could get hurt and you’re now an accomplice to the crime. I don’t want to be held accountable for someone else’s reality. Sometimes it’s best not ever knowing.”

  He searched my face for a long time. “As an expert in ‘I don’t know,’ reality is a luxury item. Knowledge is like money. You only need a little bit to survive, but you should always strive for more. And at one point, whether you want to or not, curiosity will make you greedy. It’s what makes us human. It’s what makes us alive.”

  Though I didn’t agree, I admired his conviction and I found myself leaning close to him until our elbows touched. “You’re a very interesting person, Dory,” I said.

  A smile appeared at the nickname, but it quickly fell when Cody spotted something over my shoulder. “Oops! Grown-up alert.” He shot up from the chair and hurried back to his cubicle.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll meet up with you after I’m done,” I called after him.

  “Sure,” he said, then vanished from sight.

  Only half of the worksheet was done when Denise returned, but at least I felt better than when the session started. I still had no idea what I was doing, but I was comfortable here. No one knew who I was, and, most of all, no one cared who I dated or what I did that one time at band camp and so on. I was anonymous. I could be anyone.

  Another hour and a folder full of homework later, I met up with Cody by the elevators. He was once again zeroed in on his phone, so I snuck up on him from behind and tickled his rib. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, yourself.” His lips pulled into an awkward and timid grin. “You coming or going?”

  “Definitely going,” I said, and stepped inside the elevator with him. And for the third time today I repeated my name and directed him toward his notes.

  I was sure this ritual would drive anyone else crazy, but it proved to be a much-needed exercise in patience and understanding. It could take months or even years, but these trivial short-term memories would eventually become long-term for him, and I enjoyed being someone who was worth remembering.

  I waited for Cody to get rebriefed on our past before asking, “You good?”

  He nodded. “So Jason Bourne, huh? Makes me want to watch the movies again.”

  “Did you know there are almost a hundred movies based on characters with amnesia?” I asked.

  His brows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t know that. I know they do it a lot in soap operas. That and the evil-twin-switched-at-birth thing.”

  “I know, right? It’s awful. You would think they would know what amnesia was really like. So anyway, there was this one movie I saw on Netflix last week about this vigilante with amnesia, like the kind you have, and he goes on this killing spree to avenge his dead family then comes to find out he was the one who killed them,” I said as we stepped out of the elevator.

  He grimaced. “Heartwarming.”

  “Yup. A time-honored tale of family dysfunction and mass murder.”

  He shook his head, but at least he was smiling. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

  I was about to respond when I saw someone waiting.

  And once I recognized who it was, I stopped walking.

  My history with hospitals ran the gamut of uncomfortable to excruciating. No happy memories accompanied glaring fluorescent lights, the snap of rubber gloves, or the smell of alcohol wipes. Just restraint, pain, and an absurd amount of waiting.

  My earliest memories involved restraint—my mother’s hands pulling me back to my seat or pressing my arms to my sides to keep me from reaching for something breakable. Dad’s arms would hold me still while needles pricked my chubby arms and threaded seams into my torn skin.

  The pain portion of my doctor visits came in various flavors for a rambunctious child who loved to climb. I had so many skinned knees, sprains, and bloody noses, it was a wonder my parents weren’t reported for child abuse. I’d carried every strain of flu known to science and the number of doctor visits rivaled my school attendance.

  But waiting was by far the worst. Waiting to get called to the back room, for the doctor to show up, for test results to come back negative. Waiting meant standing still, and it’s been established already that that wasn’t something I did well. That impatience, that reflexive need to act was what brought me here in the first place. And now I was in my least favorite setting in the world doing my least favorite activity. Waiting.

  The theory was simple: This was neutral territory. This wasn’t Mercy General, where she was taken that day, so I was spared from reliving that trauma. This was something else altogether, though the antiseptic white floors and ceiling still applied.

  The space was open with a bunch of windows, a showroom for rare tropical plants and boxy modern furniture. A giant water fountain greeted visitors as soon as they entered the building. The sharply dressed lady at the front desk seemed better suited for a modeling agency than a hospital. If the lobby was this swank, I could only imagine the layout
on the upper floors.

  According to Stacey, this was where Ellia spent her Thursday afternoons between 2:00 and 5:30. I didn’t know which floor she was on and the wall directory looked like a map of the Pentagon outlined in braille, so I decided to sit in the lobby.

  The plan was to catch Ellia on the way out, maybe give her a ride home if she needed one, though given the way her family had her under lock and key, that wouldn’t be an option. It was high risk just being here.

  I hadn’t quite worked out what to say to her yet, though I knew a great deal of groveling would be involved. Making it to this part of my plan had been my key focus, but now I had to face the real challenge. My words, my tone of voice had to be both sincere and direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Rehearsing all the reasons for us to try again kept me occupied during the wait, but did nothing for the flip-flopping in my stomach.

  At 5:30 on the nose, I saw her emerge from the elevator. She was wearing her lounge-around, be-happy-I-bothered-to-show-up yoga pants and a blue sweater that hung off her body in a way that made me worry about her diet. Was she eating right? Was she taking care of herself?

  But immediately I had other concerns. Like: Who was the guy walking with her? And why were they laughing like they’d been buds for years? The guy was skinny, average height, with brown hair that did that swoop thing so I couldn’t see his eyes. He had a natural tan, so he wasn’t allergic to the outdoors. He was probably in a band or something equally obnoxious, and, more importantly, he seemed way too interested in whatever Ellia had to say.

  Somehow, seeing them together made my visit that much more inappropriate. But I hadn’t come this far to back out now. So it made perfect sense, at least in my mind, to step in and break up this little powwow.

  My approach could use a bit more work, though. They barely made it past the front desk when I swooped in on the scene. Ellia jumped back a step and got out a “Liam, what are you—” before I pulled her to me, cupped her face in my hands, and brought my lips to her mouth.

  Maybe it was my inflated ego that assumed a single kiss from her prince would break the spell and her memories would suddenly come flooding back. But the simple need to kiss her, just one more time, had my brain on autopilot again.

  Her lips were as soft as I remembered and as she kissed me back, she tasted like Sprite and Sour Patch candy. Her hands slid up my arms, not to push me away, but to hold me in place. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the memory loss, not the people standing in the lobby or the boy at our side taking pictures on his phone. Holding her again made me realize just how long we’d been apart. I’d missed her in all tenses: past, present, and future. And now that she was in my orbit again, I wasted no time showing her how the separation affected me. Privacy was out of the question and breathing was simply an afterthought. It was about us, just as it was before and just as it should be. Whatever the reasoning I had before the kiss no longer mattered, and I regretted nothing.

  We pulled apart and stared at each other. Her eyes were half-hooded and sleepy as she whispered the rest of her question, “… doing here?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

  She must’ve remembered where we were and what we were doing because she leapt back in a start. “You mind telling me what that was?”

  “A greeting.”

  She frowned. “Most people just say hi.”

  “I know. I, um, wanted to go for something a little more personal.”

  She frowned, and I could feel the magic of the kiss fading. “By invading my personal space?”

  “By doing something I should’ve done weeks ago.” My words poured out in a ramble. “I kept my distance and gave you time to adapt to everything around you, but I can’t just sit around and wait for you to come to me. I had to do something.”

  “Why come here instead of just going to my house?” Ellia demanded. “You obviously know where I live—and how did you know I was here?” She began looking around for witnesses.

  “Stacey told me,” I confessed with embarrassment. “Don’t be mad. I practically begged her to give me the information.”

  “I can’t believe her!” she raved, throwing up her hands. “I didn’t want anyone to know about this and she goes running off at the mouth to you, of all people.”

  I reared back. “What do you mean ‘of all people’?”

  Before she could answer, the boy stepped in and touched her arm. “This guy bothering you?”

  “Now why would her boyfriend bother her?” I stressed the word.

  “Really subtle, bro,” he murmured then turned back to Ellia. “So this is the guy?”

  She nodded.

  I got right in his face, my mind busy with ways on how I could rearrange it. “You got a problem, man?”

  He didn’t even flinch. “No, but she apparently does.”

  Ellia stepped between us. “How about we not do this here? Go on, Cody. I’ll catch you later,” she told the boy next to us.

  The guy’s name was Cody? Really? Where’s the surfboard?

  “You sure?” he asked, ready to step in if needed. He had about five seconds to leave before my foot made contact with his solar plexus.

  “I’m fine. I’ll see you next week.” She waved him off.

  When he walked away—at a glacial pace, I might add—she turned to me. I tipped my head in the direction of the other guy. “What’s up with the Code-meister? You guys look awfully chummy. Is it serious?”

  “I’m not even gonna dignify that with an answer, so I’m just gonna turn my back to you and walk away. Observe.” She headed toward the main doors, but I caught her by the arm.

  “Look, I know what my dad said was messed up, but it’s not what you think.”

  She snatched her arm back and rounded on me in fury. “Just stop, okay? I’m not your little revenge pawn!”

  I came equipped with a litany of “I’m sorry” and “it’ll never happen again,” but the comment threw me into left field. “What are you talking about?”

  Ellia crossed her arms and pushed out her hip. “Were you going out with me because of your parents?”

  I still wasn’t tracking. “My parents?”

  “You’re bitter about your parents splitting and you wanted to hurt your dad by dating someone like me.”

  “No, that’s not true at all. I went out with you because you were awesome, and because you were kind enough to let me,” I replied. “My dad has nothing to do with us.”

  She searched my eyes, seeking honesty, but then gave up. “I’m getting two different stories and I don’t know what to believe anymore. I have enough on my plate as it is. Just leave me alone and don’t show up like this again. Oh, and one more thing.” She grabbed a fistful of my shirt then pulled me closer until we were nose to nose. “I wasn’t here. You didn’t see me.”

  At first glance, her eyes were brown, almost black. But up close, undertones of red filled the irises with a warmth that had always reminded me of a luxurious dessert. Barely an inch of air separated my lips from hers—pillow-soft and stripped bare of gloss, they held a sweetness I could still taste.

  Wait, what were we talking about?

  “I’m not going to tell anyone,” I said once it dawned on me.

  “You better not or I swear … ” She sucked in a long breath, conjuring composure. Finally, she let go of my shirt.

  I noticed that the rumpled material in the center of my chest still held the shape of her fist. “Why do you care who sees or doesn’t see you?”

  “Because I’m not a freak!” she gritted out. “You should see some of the people that come here. The third floor is for recovering drug addicts and you can hear them screaming from the elevator. The fourth floor is for the regular crazy and the second floor is for the old and crazy.”

  “Are there people here who paint the walls with their own fecal matter?” I asked, amused and more intrigued than I probably should be.

  “No. Those kind go to the psychiatric hospit
al across town. This place is for people who can function in society but need a little help.”

  “I’m still not seeing why this needs to be a big secret.”

  “Because few people know the difference!” she snapped. “And now you know, and there’s no telling who else in school knows that I’m a nutcase who can’t remember how to do algebra.”

  When she tried to step around me, I blocked her path. I held her by both of her shoulders and stooped down to look her in the eye. “Hey, hey. Calm down. I’m not going to tell and neither is Stacey. I promise.”

  That seemed to give her some relief. She nodded, the muscles in her shoulders loosening under my hand.

  “Don’t let the therapy get to you. I had to go as a kid,” I confessed. She knew this already—well, the old Ellia did. But obviously, this new Ellia didn’t remember.

  “Really? Why?” she asked.

  “I was hyper. Had to take a ton of Ritalin. Anyway, this one doctor was a total windbag. He thought I had some sort of Oedipus complex because I was closer to my mom than my dad, and I was like, ‘Dude, can’t I just have a favorite? I relate more to her because she’s nicer and she does my laundry. Don’t read too much into it.’ ”

  Ellia wrinkled her nose. “So this guy thought you had the hots for your mom?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. The whole Oedipus thing is kind of misplaced,” I said, thinking out loud. “I mean, according to the play, King Oedipus was real cocky about his epic wisdom, yet it took a team of advisors to figure out that he was adopted. He also didn’t know that the guy he killed years ago was his real dad or that the woman he married afterward was his mom. He didn’t take the news well, what with the whole eye-gouging thing and all. So the real Oedipus complex isn’t freaky family issues. It’s claiming to be wise when you don’t know the first thing about yourself.”

  “In that case, I think we all have that,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you normally do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Go off on tangents and spit out random information.”

  I smiled at that. “That’s how I got you to go out with me.”

  “Oh yeah? Do tell.”