Still With Me (2 page)

“Are you really awake, or should I go?”

He tried to move; to his surprise, he managed to move a hand toward Victoria’s, touching it.

Is this a dream? An illusion? A work of fiction? Who made it? God? The devil?

Jeremy felt divided between fear and euphoria. He wanted to scream, laugh, and cry.

He decided to simply give in to this death hallucination.

The girl slid next to him. Her skin felt like silk, rippling slowly across his body. Even softer than in his dreams. When Victoria’s face was a few inches from his, he squinted to take in every detail: her deep green eyes, her long lashes, and her mouth coming closer to his.

How many times had he dreamed of holding her?

She kissed him tenderly, and he gave in to his overpowering desire.
Who cares if this is real or not? It’s real to me
…

“Come on, can’t you put in a little more effort?” Victoria chided him. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean I have to do all the work.”

His birthday? He froze. What did that mean? Had Death chosen to respect the ultimatum rejected by Life? Or maybe in the depth of the abyss, time and oblivion collided, conspiring to offer him one last joy. He decided to take advantage of this moment, to live this delirium completely before finishing his journey.

Victoria pulled his body to hers, and he felt her skin melt into him. Jeremy didn’t dare move.

“Hold me, damn it,” she moaned. She lifted her head and looked at him slyly. “Don’t you want your gift?”

She kissed Jeremy’s lips, and he tasted her in his mouth. He felt intoxicated, lulled by a ghost that was so close to being real.

“I’ll turn off the light,” she whispered.

Not the dark. Not yet! The darkness will devour us, take Victoria away and drag me off to the end of my journey. And this brief respite, so marvelous, will be over
.

The light disappeared, but Victoria’s body did not.

“You’re holding me too tight. I can’t move,” she said, her voice low and playful.

Victoria was still there next to him.

Jeremy held her hand. He had been afraid his joy would mean the end of his dream. How many others had ended the same way? He had held completely still, dreading the moment he’d have to stop and finally die.

Victoria set her chin on his chest and whispered, “You know, it’s silly, but I can’t stop thinking that it was a year ago…you wanted to die. For me.”

Jeremy sat on the bed, shaken. He tried to make sense of Victoria’s words.
A year ago? My birthday? Are we alive? Why don’t I remember the past year?

Jeremy’s thoughts darkened under the onslaught of foolish questions, incomplete ideas, and answers and theories that were just as strange. The absurdity of the situation became unbearable, and he got up. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, trying to decide.

He could hear Victoria humming “Hymn to Love” in the shower.

He studied the apartment: a sunny room with creamy white walls in a somewhat cold, contemporary style, cheered up by a few knickknacks. He recognized some of the furnishings. The leather sofa his parents gave him. The lamp with a red shade he bought from an artist friend. Two brightly colored pillows.

Jeremy walked to the window and parted the thick curtains. A ray of sunlight shot through onto the bed, revealing particles of dust suspended in the air. Outside the people, cars, and sounds came together to form an everyday street scene.

He looked around the room again—so full of natural light—and noticed an electronic calendar on the wall. It featured a classic landscape from his hometown, Essaouira. Some white houses and some blue; sunlit trees leaning in the wind. Jeremy stepped closer to read the date flashing in florescent diodes: MAY 8, 2002.

He had committed suicide on May 8, 2001.

Jeremy sat down on the couch, shocked, his eyes riveted on the calendar.

In an effort to control his mounting panic, Jeremy forced himself to stop and think. Come up with a few theories. If he was dead, maybe he was in some kind of paradise where every day was his birthday. Or maybe it was a hell that condemned him to relive his dream, always on the same date. And if he was alive…that meant his suicide had backfired and he’d lost his memory—of an entire year.

Victoria appeared in the bathroom door wearing a robe, hair in a white towel, cheeks red, smiling. The love of his life was there beside him.

“What are you up to? Checking the calendar? Making sure it’s the right date? Well, yes, it really is your birthday. Why do you think I threw myself at you earlier? It was your gift!” She laughed.

Then she frowned, noticing Jeremy’s serious look. “What’s going on with you today? Why are you making that face? You’re acting really weird this morning.”

Shaken, he decided to ask her a few questions.

“I…” It was the first time he’d spoken since he woke up, and his voice surprised him. He paused and let the sound resonate, almost like something solid in his mind.

“Yes?” She tilted her head, intrigued.

What could he say? If this were all an illusion, what would be the point of admitting his uncertainty?

But he had to say something. “I forget…”

“You forget? What did you forget, my dear? Your birthday?” She made the joke without smiling.

He was too serious, too tense.

“What did you forget, my love?” she insisted.

“I forget everything,” he fumbled, delightfully surprised by Victoria’s concern. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t know this apartment. I don’t remember yesterday or the day before yesterday or the day or the month before.”

Victoria looked at him for a minute, puzzled; then she shrugged her shoulders. She sat on the couch and began rubbing her hair with the towel.

“Victoria…” He shivered as he pronounced her name. “I think I have amnesia.”

“Oh, come on. Stop it. You and your bad jokes.” She went on rubbing her hair vigorously, her head bowed.

How do I tell her? Is it really necessary? After all, whatever world I’m in, present or future, if they even exist, it’s wonderful because she’s here. So why worry about the past? Twelve months out of an eternity—what does it matter?

But Jeremy knew he couldn’t be himself again without getting back his memory of the last twelve months. He wanted to try one last time.

“I really don’t feel well. I have a headache. And…”

Hearing this, Victoria raised her head and looked at him indulgently. “That must be from the party last night. I’m not surprised after how much you drank!”

Jeremy shivered.
A party last night? I drank too much? I don’t even like alcohol, but anything’s possible. That must be it! I celebrated my birthday and got drunk, drunk enough to forget a year of my life
…

A weak theory, but plausible and reassuring.
So that means I’m really alive. And when my hangover goes away, I’ll get my memory back
.

“So what happened?” Jeremy asked, enchanted by the idea.

By then Victoria had moved on to painting her nails.

“Oh, well, you definitely tied one on. You really don’t remember?” she asked slyly.

“No.”

“I see why you’d want to forget. You almost ruined the party. You told dirty jokes; you confessed your love for Clotilde…It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t punched Pierre when he told you to shut up.” She’d said all this without raising her head, a wry smile on her lips.

Her words bothered Jeremy. How could he behave that way? He was way too shy to act out like that. Could he have changed that much in one year?

“Love for Clotilde? Pierre?”

“Don’t worry about it; they weren’t offended. They know you get stupid when you drink. At the time, it bothered me. But then again, it was your birthday, you were drinking, all that…and anyway,” she added, smiling, “what you said to Clotilde was really flat compared to your confession to me, one year ago today.”

“You’re talking about what I said in the park? But…I had to say it…I’ve said it since then…”

She flashed a brilliant smile. “Yes, of course. Sweet words. Some touching. But no real declaration. Not the kind of thing that brings tears to your eyes…” She paused as if she were looking back on those moments. “You surprised me so much I brutally dumped the man who had just asked me to marry him so I could throw myself in your arms!”

The comment bothered Jeremy. It revealed part of their story and helped to make sense of his presence in her room, but it also revealed a surprising aspect of his personality.

He moved closer and sat down next to her. He took her hands and placed them against his cheeks. “You know, I should say beautiful things to you every day.”

“You’re so serious! Did I upset you, my love?” she asked, frowning.

“No, I just have a really bad…headache.”

She put a hand on his forehead. “It’s true, you don’t look good. You’re pale as a corpse.”

Jeremy shuddered at these words.

He decided to confide in her. She was the only one who could help. “I don’t feel well at all. I don’t remember anything about yesterday—or anything from the last year. It’s a total blank.”

He got up and paced the room, carried away by his confession.

“I know it’s unbelievable, but I have…amnesia. An unusual amnesia because I’m only forgetting this year,” he continued. “I remember the twenty years from before. And even a few minutes before…trying to…”

Victoria hung on his words, frozen in the middle of the room, watching Jeremy and visibly distraught. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious.”

Victoria’s face was grim. “The alcohol, maybe?” she said without conviction.

“Maybe.”

They gazed at each other in silence for several long seconds.

“I know! It was the fall!” Victoria exclaimed. “Yesterday I tried to put you to bed, but you struggled and fell. You hit your head on the bed frame. You said you were fine, but you had a nasty bump on your head. You fell asleep, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad. But you fell pretty hard. I should’ve taken you to the hospital.”

This explanation reassured Jeremy. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt, sure enough, a fresh bruise on the side of his head. He felt some of the heaviness weighing on him disappear. A physical cause, an injury. Finally a concrete fact that added some logic to the situation.

Victoria took Jeremy’s arm and sat him gingerly on the edge of the bed, like she was guiding a senior citizen. Seeing her upset—worried about him—comforted Jeremy because it meant he was still alive. Alive but unwell. And with Victoria there next to him, loving him.

Liberated from his fear, Jeremy wanted to shout for joy.

“What do you remember exactly?” Victoria asked.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“The first time we made love?” she asked with a devilish look.

“For me, that was a few minutes ago.”

Victoria’s eyes widened.

“And this apartment?” she continued.

“New to me.”

“But that’s crazy!” Then in a softer voice, she spoke to him like a sick person. “Try to remember. When you woke up at the hospital, after your attempt…And the time you spent recovering at my place?”

“No. I can only remember my suicide and then you and me this morning. Nothing between the two.”

“Incredible! So you’re telling me that I’m new to you too? It’s like you just learned that you and me, that we’re…”

“Yes.”

“That’s crazy!” she exclaimed.

Then she sighed deeply and got up, unsure of herself. “Okay, no need to worry. It’s a temporary amnesia.”

“Temporary or selective?”

“I don’t know; what do we know about amnesia?” she said on her way to the telephone. “I’m calling Pierre to come with us to the hospital. It’ll be good to have your best friend there with you.”