Still With Me

by Thierry Cohen

  By now they’d been sitting on the couch for twenty minutes. When Victoria served the aperitifs, she’d placed a glass of whiskey in Jeremy’s hand without hesitation.

  Pierre had hugged Jeremy warmly when he came in. “Happy birthday, buddy.” He held out a bottle of wine. “Your favorite.” Clotilde had given him a silent peck on the cheek.

  The conversation had by now turned to birthdays and other celebrations. Clotilde, with the help of several extremely conventional arguments, admitted that she saw nothing in these rituals but an impulse to consume. Jeremy would’ve appreciated the irony of the conversation if his mind had not been filled with questions.

  Then Victoria nudged him. “Darling, could you get Thomas? I think he woke up.”

  “Oh yeah,” Pierre said. “He probably misses his godfather.”

  Thomas turned over when he saw Jeremy appear above his crib. Father and son peered at each other with the same curiosity. Each seemed to question the other in silence. Jeremy watched the baby’s facial expressions, his features, his bright eyes that seemed to ask for nothing more than hugs. Jeremy tried to step into reality by embracing his growing affection for the child.

  He’s mine. This is my son.

  He picked the baby up awkwardly, and, afraid of hurting him, pressed the little body against his own. Just as with the first time, the physical contact felt good.

  “Ah, there they are,” Victoria exclaimed. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

  “Thomas is magnificent. I don’t know if I can say the same about Jeremy,” Pierre said, laughing. He held out his arms. “Look, he wants his godfather. He knows me.”

  Jeremy watched Victoria and Pierre trying to entertain the baby with funny faces and exaggerated chirps. Clotilde made do with a conditional smile. Jeremy even thought he saw some slight irritation with her fiancé’s childish behavior. She locked eyes with Jeremy and stared at him until he turned away.

  Why is she looking at me like that? Her cold, inquisitive appearance annoyed him. He tried to force her to lower her eyes, turning toward her suddenly and saying, “Do you want to pick him up?”

  Surprised, she stammered, “No, no thank you…”

  Happy to have rattled her, Jeremy wanted to gain more of an advantage. “You don’t seem very interested in babies,” he said provokingly.

  A heavy silence fell on the room. Victoria looked at Jeremy, stunned. He realized he had made a mistake. Pierre, who initially watched for his girlfriend’s reaction, tried to hide his embarrassment by smiling at the squirming baby. Clotilde clenched her teeth and continued staring at Jeremy with intense rage.

  Everyone seemed to be waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry. I’m tired,” he blurted halfheartedly.

  Victoria steadied herself and announced that she had to finish preparing the meal. As she got up, her eyes bored into Jeremy, concentrating all the anger she wanted to express out loud.

  “Clotilde, come with me. I need help carrying the crostini.”

  Clotilde followed her.

  Pierre hadn’t looked up. “Why’d you say that, Jeremy?” he asked.

  Jeremy was as puzzled by the question as Pierre’s mournful look. He’d been hurt. But by what exactly?

  “I don’t know. I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “You know we’re having trouble conceiving, and you throw that in her face?” There was no anger in his voice, only a frustrated desire to make sense of Jeremy’s words.

  Jeremy felt ashamed. “I’m sorry…I’m an ass…”

  “I know you’re an ass. But that doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

  The doorbell rang. Clotilde and Victoria came back into the room. Victoria waited for Jeremy to react. But he just sat there, petrified, so she walked to the door. “That must be your mother.”

  Pierre handed the baby to Jeremy.

  From where he was sitting, Jeremy couldn’t see the door. He heard the crests of a conversation. He held Thomas tighter. When his mother appeared in the foyer alone, Jeremy’s heart flew into a panic. His mother dropped her purse and stared at him, motionless.

  She looked tired and older, and that unnerved him. In his mind he had seen her only a few days ago, still beautiful, energetic, vibrant. And now here she was, weak and distant. In her little brown jacket and cream blouse, he recognized his mother’s elegant, discreet taste in clothing.

  “Allow me to introduce Clotilde and her fiancé, Pierre,” Victoria blurted out. “Close friends. And this is Jeremy’s mother, Mrs. Delègue.”

  “Call me Myriam.”

  Pierre and Clotilde moved in to shake her hand. Myriam smiled politely and then turned to face her son again. Everyone tried to appear relaxed, but the palpable effort weighed heavily on the room.

  “We’ll leave you two,” Victoria continued. “Pierre, Clotilde, I need you to help me set the table.” She moved to take the baby from Jeremy, but he shrugged her off. He thought the little one might play an important role in the next few minutes.

  “Hello, Mom,” he murmured.

  “Hello, Jeremy.” Her voice was calm and controlled, but her emotion was not entirely contained.

  “Dad…didn’t come,” Jeremy remarked.

  “It’s too soon for him.”

  “I understand. And you?”

  “Me?” She smiled with a mixture of bitterness and exhaustion. Her eyes tried to express all the feelings she’d stored up in the years of separation. She would’ve liked to show more hostility—or at least reluctance—for a few more minutes, but the barricade of anger started to collapse under the onslaught of her emotions.

  She’s mad at me. She wants to me to know how much I hurt her.

  Thomas wiggled his tiny arms and legs, trying to turn and face this new presence.

  When the small child turned his eyes to hers, Jeremy’s mother gave up her silent dialogue and adjusted her mannerisms. Her face softened, and an infinitely tender smile played across the wrinkled outline of her lips.

  “Look, I think he knows who you are. A family bond…”

  “Family bond? That’s funny. Sometimes values skip a generation,” she scoffed, letting a sad smile slip through.

  The comment hurt him. But he knew it was her last one. An attack meant to defend her honor after giving in too rapidly.

  “He’s so cute. Watch out, you’re not holding him right. He’s going to hurt his neck.” She approached slowly.

  “Here,” Jeremy said. “Come sit next to me and hold him.”

  His mother already held her arms out to receive the child. She sat down next to Jeremy, holding Thomas so that he faced her, and smiling, visibly pleased. Jeremy could smell her scent. The same one from his childhood. A mix of lavender spray and fabric softener. The fragrance of honesty and virtue.

  Jeremy wanted to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to kiss her. “Mom…I’m so…I don’t know how I could…” But what could he say to heal her injured love? The words piled up in his mouth. “I love you, Mom.”

  She stiffened but pretended not to hear him and went on smiling at the baby. “He’s so cute. I wanted to meet him so badly. I’m his grandmother, after all.” Her voice broke. Tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed the baby’s face to her own and kissed him, hiding behind her grandson. Jeremy felt so helpless.

  “I’m sorry for making you suffer, you and Dad. It wasn’t me. I don’t even recognize myself. I love you so much.”

  She raised her damp eyes toward Jeremy and continued to pepper Thomas’s forehead with little kisses. “We always did our best, Jeremy, believe me.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. How could I let you blame yourselves like that? It wasn’t you, Mom. I was immature, and I felt lost. I was in love with Victoria. Madly in love. She didn’t want me. And a life without her, I didn’t want that. I know it’s ugly to put it so plainly, but suicide is always ugly outside the moment you go through with it. It doesn’t exist except in the few seconds and minutes leading up to it. And i
n that moment, it’s devastating. But you didn’t have anything to do with it. As for the rest, everything since then, I don’t know what to say. I think it was a lasting sickness. Or maybe I was ashamed of myself. I don’t have an explanation.”

  “And why did you want to see us today?”

  “I have no idea. I just suddenly felt like I became myself again.” Jeremy realized his explanation must have sounded strange.

  “I was so happy when Victoria called me,” she confided with a smile, eyes bathed in tears.

  “And I was so happy you agreed to come. And Dad…”

  She interrupted gently. “It’ll take some time. A mother forgives more quickly.”

  Jeremy put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Thomas started to fall asleep.

  “I think I’m going to be crazy about him,” she said, watching him doze off.

  Victoria appeared in the doorway. Seeing them side by side, she decided to enter.

  “I’m so happy to see you two like this.” She winked at Jeremy. “Come on, get up. We’re going to eat lunch,” she sang joyfully.

  Jeremy stood up, taking his mother’s hand to help her to her feet. He pulled her close and gave her a big hug. He put his face in her hair and inhaled her perfume. Honesty. Virtue.

  During lunch, the atmosphere was deceptively calm. Clotilde still seemed upset. Jeremy and his mother couldn’t stop exchanging quick glances to show how happy they were to be together. Jeremy had a hard time getting interested in his wife and friends’ conversations. Their frequent references to experiences they had shared kept Jeremy at a loss.

  After the meal, they sat in the living room. Thomas was the main topic of conversation. By midafternoon, Clotilde complained of a headache and decided to go home. Pierre offered to go with her, but she told him to stay.

  “Don’t leave,” she simpered. “It’s your best friend’s birthday, after all.” Then she bid adieu to Victoria and Mrs. Delègue, kissed Jeremy dryly on the cheek, and left.

  Mrs. Delègue announced it was time for her to go too. “Your father must be getting impatient…to know…but I’ll come again. Now that I have my son back. And my grandson.”

  “You’ll always be welcome, Dad and you.” Jeremy gave her a hug. She drew back to get a better look at his face, patted his cheek, and kissed him in the same spot. Then she turned to Victoria. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” They embraced warmly.

  “May I have a photo of the baby?” Mrs. Delègue asked shyly. “It’ll make my husband happy. I’ll put it on the credenza in the family room. That’s what all grandmothers do, don’t they?”

  When she was gone, Victoria approached Jeremy. “Are you happy?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

  “Yes,” he answered, smiling at Victoria tenderly. “I wanted to see her so much.”

  “Can you believe it?” she asked in Pierre’s direction.

  From the couch, Pierre scowled. “You’ve been acting weird all morning. First you ask about your parents, and you’re surprised they’re not invited. Then you go after Clotilde in a mean, stupid way. Then you sit in silence the whole meal.”

  Jeremy collapsed into the armchair and put his head in his hands. “I lost my memory again.”

  Pierre and Victoria looked at him, speechless.

  “Are you joking?” Victoria exclaimed.

  “No, I don’t remember anything.”

  “What do you mean you don’t remember anything?” Pierre asked.

  “It’s like last time.” He lifted his head and saw their stony faces.

  “When was the last time for you?” Pierre asked.

  “If I understand correctly, it was two years ago today.”

  “What do you remember since then?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “And before that?”

  “I remember everything leading up to my suicide, then the day I had my first…crisis. Nothing between the two. Nothing since then.”

  Victoria sank onto the sofa next to Pierre. “Are you serious? You’re not just spouting nonsense to justify your behavior?”

  “No. I’m completely lost. I have no idea why things are the way they are with my parents. I don’t know anything about Clotilde and Pierre’s situation. I can’t follow any of your conversations. This morning when I woke up, I didn’t even know who the baby was. My own son. And I don’t remember our wedding, Victoria. I feel so empty, completely empty.” Jeremy slumped against the back of the chair.

  “Shit.” Pierre leapt to his feet. “That’s not possible. This can’t happen all over again. The doctors said—”

  Victoria interrupted. “They didn’t say anything. They didn’t understand. An emotional shock. They all said the same thing.”

  “What happened the day after I went to the hospital?” Jeremy asked. “I remember going to sleep in my room. I felt sick. I hallucinated.”

  “The next day, everything came back to you,” Pierre said. “Except the events of the day before. A form of selective amnesia, in reverse. The doctors wanted to hold you for observation, but you refused. You went back to work, and you didn’t say another word about it.”

  “They wanted you to come back,” Victoria interjected. “But you never went to the appointments I made with a specialist. And because nothing else bad happened, I didn’t insist.”

  “And on my birthday last year?”

  Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “You were normal. We worried about a relapse. The doctors told us to keep you home the night before, not to leave your side, and not to let you drink alcohol. And everything went fine.”

  A tense, anxiety-ridden silence filled the room.

  “We have to go back to the hospital,” Victoria announced. “It’s the only solution.”

  “No, I don’t want to go. If they didn’t understand my problem then, why would it be any different now?”

  “He’s right,” Pierre agreed. “They’re idiots. They’re going to treat him like a guinea pig. Nothing more.”

  “You two have a better solution maybe?” Victoria seemed frustrated.

  “Maybe we could talk to you about things that matter to you,” Pierre offered. “Show you places you go?”

  “I doubt that’ll work. If seeing my mother didn’t bring anything back…”

  “You have a point,” Pierre agreed. “But there are no rules for this kind of thing. One ordinary detail might have unexpected results.”

  “Let’s cancel whatever we had planned for the afternoon at least,” Jeremy suggested. “I don’t feel up to the performance.”

  “Good idea,” Pierre said. “Imagine what would happen if your boss saw you with a case of…wandering amnesia. It could damage your credibility. Just when you’re expecting a promotion.”

  “What should I tell him?” Victoria asked.

  “Tell him Jeremy’s having stomach problems. Serious stomach problems. They don’t require any explanation, and they keep people away.”

  Victoria went to make the call.

  Pierre sat down next to Jeremy and patted him on the thigh. “Listen, it’s no big deal. If it’s like last time, tomorrow you’ll get your memory back and…all will be forgotten.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Worth saying, though, that it’s a question of time. Right now you’re having a bad dream. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll all be over. Everything will be fine.”

  “Except I won’t remember this conversation, and my symptoms could come back at any moment.”

  “Eventually we’ll figure out what…what’s wrong.”

  “It’s hard waking up like this. I’ve lost all sense of who I am. It’s like someone cut me up into little pieces and scattered them all over the place. I can find some of the pieces, but they don’t fit the puzzle like they should.”

  “You lost me,” Pierre said.

  “I don’t recognize myself in the man you describe, the one who’s with you most days. I love my parents. I’m not mean-spirited. At most I’m a little
lost. And I don’t have the temperament for sales. I’m more of an artist. I don’t even like alcohol. So how can I rebuild my life when the pieces don’t look anything like me? I mean, tell me, Pierre, how do you see me?”

  Pierre laughed a little, embarrassed. “You’re a first-class bastard. Worse: a drunk, a shithead, a whiner, and I could go on…” He put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “But you’re a good person. You’re my friend.”

  “That’s not saying much,” Jeremy joked. “Tell me honestly how you see me every other day of the year.”

  “Are you being serious?” Pierre asked incredulously. “You’re determined, strong-willed. A sensualist. You love life, and you know how to enjoy it like no one else I know. You like nice restaurants, fancy wine, aged whiskey, lively conversations, politics, your job, soccer, parties with friends, vacations, nice cars. You don’t like assholes, braggarts, your colleagues at work, board games, vegetarian food, religion, religious people, or anything that makes you feel like you’re wasting your time or that gets in the way of enjoying life.”

  “What you’re saying…I don’t recognize myself at all,” Jeremy confided, more than a little stunned. “And Victoria?”

  “Victoria? She’s the one who saves you every day. She’s your guardian angel, your guiding light.”

  “But…How do I behave toward her? Do I love her?”

  The question took Pierre by surprise. He scratched his head and furrowed his brow. “You’re asking me? Hard to say. She’s one of your only solid foundations. You know it, and you’re grateful to her.”

  “That’s not the answer I expected.”

  At that moment, Victoria entered the room. “It’s done. I got the impression he didn’t mind. He was in the middle of a round of golf. He suggested you take time to get well. What are you two talking about?”

  “Jeremy. His personality. And you. His way of loving you,” Pierre answered, laughing. “I’m talking to a crazy person.”

  “Oh yeah? So how do you love me?” Victoria asked, sitting on Jeremy’s knees.