My mom filled me in on some facts: we’ve been friends for years and only recently got together. We don’t have any children or pets. We married in Las Vegas, which seems very uncharacteristic of me, and my blow to the head happened on my new yacht when we were on honeymoon.
If Erika is the love of my life, why is my yacht not named after her?
That makes no sense, and who the fuck is Keira?
That’s the name I read from one of the many photos saved on my phone, but it doesn’t ring a bell. None of the photos of Erika and me on the yacht the day of my accident helped jog my memory. There’s even a photo of me proposing.
Now, that really doesn’t make sense. If we were already married, why am I proposing on the yacht that day? That seems backward, and confusing. I need some answers. Pronto.
Since my friends and parents left, I’ve spent hours scrolling through my photos, and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures of Erika and me on days out together and at events. We look so happy together, even before we supposedly got married, because I checked the timestamps.
While she might be there in full digital technicolor, in my mind, she’s just not there.
I feel like such an idiot for not being able to recall her beauty, that smile, and her legs that go on for miles.
And I have so much footage on my phone that looks like I filmed it without her knowing, of her laughing, dancing, blowing kisses at me. Some of it is from years ago.
What a fucking creep I am. A stalker.
Although all those videos don’t look like that, they look like they were taken by a man so in love with her that he risked filming her when she least expected.
The funny thing is, that man is me on the other side of the camera. The footage was candid, and like I had been hiding how I felt about her, which my mom informed me I was.
Where were my balls?
Why didn’t I go after what I wanted?
I can’t even put a timeline together of us getting together because I don’t remember any of it, as if it’s all contained behind a door I can’t unlock.
I stare at my phone and finally summon the courage to text Erika.
Me:
Hey.
Well, that’s a lame way to start a conversation, and after reading old messages between us, we’re funny, quick-witted, and our connection seemed to flow.
Erika:
Hi, it’s so good to hear from you. But it’s late. You should be resting.
Me:
Is that your order, Doctor?
Erika:
Yes.
Me:
I’ve been sleeping for a solid four weeks. I don’t need any more.
Erika:
It’s not the same thing. You’ll still feel slightly groggy from the fall.
Me:
