Leon recites the lunch on the yacht perfectly.
“And who was with you?” Dr. Gilbert asks.
“I was alone.”
Dr. Gilbert clears his throat, then asks, “If I told you that you were with your wife that day on the yacht, does that sound true?”
“I’m not married,” he replies on a laugh, like the doctor is a comedian.
Only, there is nothing funny about it.
“Leon.” Dr. Gilbert goes slow, limbering up to tell him he is married to me. “You are married. To Erika.”
My breath catches, my silent tears continue to fall, hating every moment of this for him, for me, for all of us. I want nothing more than to run to him, hug him, hold him, but instead, I stand still because the last thing I want is to add to his confusion.
Leon lays his hand out, reaching toward me. A gesture signaling for me to take it.
Tentatively, I step around the end of the bed and move to him.
“I don’t know you,” he says softly, his truth painfully honest as his large hand tightens around mine, a movement I have wished to happen since the accident. “But I want to.”
I let out a sob that sounds more like a wail. Heartbreak and love weave together in an unexplained way that has me blubbing loudly, and I hate this. So much.
“Please don’t cry.” He sounds distressed, his thumb brushing my wedding ring that matches his, a slow, unconscious gesture, as if he’s using muscle memory to connect the past and present.
“I’m okay.” I’m not. “It’s just a lot to deal with, that’s all.” One part of me wants to run away from this terrible day, while the other part wants to stay and bury my face in his neck to breathe in his familiar scent that feels like home because I know he’s not rejecting me consciously and not on purpose.
“Why can I not remember you? I feel like I should,” Leon asks, perplexed.
Dr. Gilbert then voices his diagnosis, the one I know already. “Leon, you have what is called dissociative or selective amnesia.”
“What is that?” he asks, letting my hand go when I wish he would hold on to me for longer. I want him to want me. To know me.
Dr. Gilbert adds, “It’s a defense mechanism where the brain blocks out specific people or certain memories to shield the brain from overwhelming pain. Erika was there on the yacht with you just before your accident, and the last person you saw before you climbed out of bed.You’ve subconsciously blocked Erika out because she is tied to your memory of what happened. Your brain is trying to protect you because the trauma of your accident is too much for you to process. In order to not recallwhat happened, your mind seems to have removed her from every memory.”
“That sounds so far-fetched. I feel fine. Fuzzy-headed a little, and the light is a bit bright, but I’m good.”
Dr. Gilbert counters, “Physically, you are fine, but your mind is a whole different entity. It’s complex, and selective amnesia is not something that would show up on a scan. But if you don’t remember Erika, but everyone else, then your mind is struggling to connect the dots, Leon. With therapy and time, and a safe environment, all those memories may return.”
That sounds non-committal.
Leon clears his throat, then asks, “So I may get my memories of Erika back?”
My hands tremble at my sides, the room suddenly shrinking, and slightly darker.
Dr. Gilbert replies matter-of-factly, “It varies from case to case, and there is no saying how long it may take for them to return.”
It could be weeks, months, or years. It’s unknown at this point, and Dr. Gilbert’s diagnosis doesn’t give me any reassurance of a quick recovery.He may never remember me.
All the memories of me are trapped behind a wall in Leon’s mind we can’t break through.
Unsettled and restless, I feel like an alien among friends and family, and I back away and say words I don’t mean, “I need to get to work. My shift started half an hour ago.”
Half a dozen eyes land on me.
“Will you come back to see me?” Leon sounds hopeful, and that surprises me more than anything because to him, I’m a nobody.
“If you want me to.” Will he remember me by then? Unlikely, but a girl can dream.
