“I’m sorry to tell you this,” the doctor said, setting my file down on his desk. “But every result is negative. Toxicology. Radiology. CAT. EKG. X-Ray. Everything negative. No signs of physical trauma that would account for it. As far as I can tell, you’re perfectly healthy.”
I listened, but all I knew was the warmth radiating from the woman seated next to me. Even dressed, she was magnificent. She was so perfect that she didn’t need the makeup that she’d spent minutes applying before departure. And besides being beautiful, she was smart, capable, intelligent, challenging, and entirely outside my league mentally and emotionally. I had no idea why she had ever decided to hitch herself to someone like me. Her aura was both comforting and uncomfortable, a very weird combination.
“That can’t be, Dr. Hamilton,” she said. “There has to be some explanation for the amnesia.”
I decided to keep quiet. There was no reason to repeat the same old argument. Besides, the doctor was well aware of my condition and replied to her better than I ever could.
“As I understand it, it isn’t amnesia,” he said, then looked at me. “It isn’t just that you don’t remember any of us, is it? You have an entirely different set of memories about your life that doesn’t include any of us or any of your accomplishments. Is that about right?”
I nodded. After living this life for months, I still hadn’t recovered any memory of it, of her, our marriage, or anything that we’d ever done together. But I knew with unshaking certainty the other life I led before waking up next to her that morning long ago. Nothing had changed that.
“But what could it be then, Dr. Hamilton?” she said. She was frustrated, and with good reason. Somehow, I had become an important part of her life, and something had taken it away. “I just don’t understand!”
“Well, we could try some more tests,” the doctor suggested, “Or we could try a different approach.”
“Like what?” She leaned forward, eager to find out.
He turned to me. “The problem may not be physiological.”
She caught on before I did. “Do you think it’s mental?”
He shrugged, then asked me, “Do you remember anything shocking happening to you lately? Something devastating emotionally?”
As far as I remembered, I just went to sleep that night after watching a movie, and prior to that, my life was pretty dull and uneventful. I shook my head.
“How about you?” the doctor asked her. “Anything look off to you lately? Any signs of unusual stress?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And I would have known if there was.”
She looked at me and added, “You’re lousy at keeping secrets.”
It was a joke. I knew it was, and that she cracked it to lighten the mood, but I couldn’t find it funny. It was like I’d lost any sense of humor with the life I supposedly had.
“What about all the things that I remember, though?” I was way past getting angry or frustrated about it anymore. I’d had months to cope with the situation, and she had been so sweet in helping me through it. But I was still confused by it, even after that long. It didn’t make sense. I turned to her and said, “We even went to the sandwich shop. Remember?”
“The ‘sandwich shop’?” The doctor had no idea what we were talking about.
“He thought it might jog some memory if we went to the place where he said he worked,” she explained poorly.
“No.” I was still amazed at the candor she and I shared, that I could correct her without any hard feelings, and she could do the same to me. “I was trying to prove that I was right. That I worked there, and that everything else was wrong.”
The doctor cocked his head. “And what happened?”
“They didn’t remember him,” she replied. “None of the workers. None of the regulars. No one. Not even the guy that lived in the alley.”
“But I remembered them,” I pointed out. “I got their names right. their orders right. Even what some of my coworkers did for vacation last year. And I knew the place like the back of my hand.”
“But they didn’t know you,” she pointed out. And that was the crux of the matter. They didn’t know me, and it wasn’t a joke. They weren’t acting, nor were they under any threat. They simply didn’t know me, and they were as astounded by what I knew about them as she was. It didn’t make sense.
“How do you explain that, doctor?” Like I said, I was past arguing about it. I was past being angry and frustrated. I just wanted to know what was going on. That’s all.
Dr. Hamilton looked perplexed, then shrugged. “The mind is an amazing thing. It can construct some pretty elaborate things to protect us from ourselves.”
“But how do you explain everything that I knew?”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, the brain is pretty amazing, and the brain of a writer must be even more so. All I can say is that you made some pretty good guesses based on what you saw at the time.”
That almost made me angry. “I knew them. It wasn’t guesswork!”
The doctor lifted his hands placatingly. “Look, I’m not a psychologist. I’m only guessing here. All I can tell you is that there’s a very slim chance that your condition stems from anything physiological. Now, we could perform more tests, do some more blood work, but in the meantime, I suggest that you find yourself a good therapist and work on the issue from that angle, too. Sound good to you?”
I didn’t know what to say, but she did. “We’ll talk it over, but it sounds like good advice. Thank you, doctor.”
As we walked out of the clinic, I had to ask. “So, you think I need a shrink?”
She didn’t hesitate to reply. “I think we need help solving this. If there’s nothing wrong physically…”
She knew me well enough to not finish the thought. I’d been short with her a few times since we started working on it together, but she never gave up on me, and after all that, I didn’t want to give her an excuse to ever consider it.
“Do you think it might be some sort of mental disease?” I tried to phrase the question clinically, so she didn’t think I was accusing her of anything.
She stopped in the middle of the lane, right in the middle of the parking lot, and turned to me. “Is that what you’re afraid it might be?”
I hesitated. She’d been so good to me that I couldn’t hurt her feelings, but I was afraid. I just didn’t know why.
“I think this might be more than I can handle.” I thought it would be harder to be honest with her, but the words just came out naturally. “What if it’s a tumor or something?”
“It’s not a tumor,” she quickly replied. She caught her breath. “If it was, the doctor would have told us already.”
I could barely face the next possibility. “What if I’m crazy?”
She gave me a heart melting smile. “Then, it’s a good thing we’re looking for a therapist.”
I couldn’t let it go as a joke. I grabbed her arms and said, “I’m not kidding. What if I just go psycho and try to hurt you? Or…?”
Her hands found my back and I melted into her embrace. “You’re not going to do that.”
My cheek rested on her shoulder. “How do you know?”
“Because I’d kick your ass first.”
I actually laughed. “You would, too.”
“You bet
