Twisted Memories
by
Lisa Combs
Surprises are not always welcome. Vince waited, hoping. She would come down the stairs to baggage claim. He’d see her before she saw him. He could surprise her. It’d be fun. He wrung his hands, put a breath mint on his tongue and counted redheads in the crowd.
Gayle came down the stairs, her phone pressed against her ear. She headed to the carousel. A crowd gathered, the clear-the-way buzzer sounded and bags began to appear from the portal.
Vince walked closer. He didn’t want to startle her. He didn’t want to spook her.
It had been seven long years. Would she recognize him?
“Gayle? Is that you?”
She turned around in surprise for sure.
“What are you doing here, Mack?”
“Not Mack anymore. Call me Vince. I came to see you.”
“How could you know my travel plans. I’ve been away. How did you know I’d arrive today?” She reached for her bag, lugged it over the curb of the conveyor.
He reached to help, hands touched, eyes met. “Don’t. I’ve healed. I’ve moved on. I can’t go back. It was too hard, Mack. I can’t.”
“We can do it together, Gayle. We need each other. The crash was not your fault. We were hit head on by a drunk, for crying out loud. I need you. You need me. Don’t turn me away.
“Don’t Mack. I can’t. I met someone. They don’t know the past, Mack.”
“Vince, call me Vince. Mack died in that crash. The coma lasted far too long. You are the only thing I remember. There was you and me, me and you. I know about Angie. The doctors told me. My therapist eventually gave me the news paper articles. Later, he included the photos. I couldn’t remember anything except your face. Please?”
She became self conscientious of others listening, watching.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He took the suitcase and her elbow. He led her to the car. She slowed her pace. She didn’t know what she wanted. He opened the door. She got in. He took it slow not knowing how much she would recall.
Do you know the way back to the house?” she asked.
“Of course. Do you?”
“Only becasue I have memorized the street names and turns. Nothing’s familiar.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“We have to. We have to move toward the future not hang back in the empty past.”
“I don’t like this. It’s raining. It makes me want to cry.”
“Tears wash away pain. Body chemistry changes and cleanses. Attitudes change. It’s okay.”
“No, that’s not it. You, I don’t like you. You say you don’t remember. Mack, you can’t remeber because we weren’t a family. You made it all up. You were injured in the crash. I was the eye-witness talking to the police. How did you get my name? Find me?
Vince isn’t your name. It’s Mack. The reality is that we didn’t even know each other.”
“That’s not true. We were a family. We married in ’87, Angie was born in ’88. You got your PhD in ’93. We were traveling to see your parents for Angie’s birthday. The truck came at us. I was driving. You were . . .”
“That’s not true.” She slapped his cheek. She placed a cold towel on his face.”
She looked at her colleague, “Sedate him. He needs to sleep.”
Dr. Grace, will he be okay? Will he ever adjust and be able to go home?”
“I don’t know. This case is one all its own. He wasn’t even in a crash. We never knew one another. He recalls me from delirium in the ER that night. Some bit of memory latched on. I don’t know what else to do for him. I can’t perpetuate this lie, even for his sake.
“I understand the personal conflict here but you can’t cut him loose without a foothold on a reality that he can exist in.”
“Are you suggesting I give up my reality for his imaginary one? That I feed his hallucinations with falsehoods and pretenses ?”
“No, Doctor, not exactly. But if you allow him to recover with the idea that you’re getting better in his scenario, you are the one with the lapse of memory and the coma. He will find purpose for himself. He will grow strong for your need of him. He can mend.”
“I can’t do that. It’s not right to suggest such a ruse. How many cases have you sat in on where the patient has no reality?”
“This is my first. But I think that you can help each other.”
“I don’t need help. I need to go home to my real family.”
“And can you tell me why you don’t have any photos in your office of any one but Vince, here?”
“I don’t have any photos of Vince, uh, Mack.”
“Really? Let’s go see your office.”
They arrived at her office, she opened the door, entered and looked around. On the wall, on the bookcase and on her desk were photos; photos of Mack and a little girl. She held her breath not believing. She sat in her chair, and the intern administered her afternoon sedative. She needed rest after this shock. The intern call her doctor and gave report. There would be a chance to measure progress when she came to. Now he returned to Vince to find him busy in his office preparing for his next patient.
“Hey, Jim, heard you were working with Dr. Mack on that crazy coma case. How is it working in the shadow of a genious?”
“A bit scary. He turned the tables on her a couple of times. I don’t know how he will keep track of his own twists and turns. Sometimes, I think he is the actual patient.”
Talespinner at Work 