Look At This Photograph...

 She stared at the photo on the wall.

“Where was this taken?”

Dale gave her a confused look, “In Acapulco.”

“It’s really lovely. I like the balance of the shot. The cliffs are off center enough to make you feel like maybe they aren’t really there.”

“I’m glad you like it. Considering you took it.”

“What? I did not. I’ve never even been to Acapulco.”

“You have. We went a lot back in the 90s. It was one of our favorite vacation spots.”

“No. It’s too dangerous in Mexico. We would never have gone there. They hate Americans and wouldn’t even let us cross the border if we tried.”

“What are you talking about? You can go to Mexico. You can vacation there. They don’t hate Americans.”

She just shook her head and moved to the next picture. “Are you going to try and convince me I took this one too?”

“No, clearly you didn’t take that one. You are in that one. We hired a photographer for these family shots.” Dale gestured at a series of photographs. Each with a different configuration of people in them.

“Whose family?”

“Ours.” He started to point out people, “This is your mother, this is your sister, our son, our daughter-in-law, our grandchildren.”

“Where is the picture of my daughter?”

“Your daughter? Do you mean Becca? Here, your daughter-in-law.”

“No, my daughter. I have a daughter. I know I do.”

Dale shook his head slowly, “We don’t have a daughter. We have a son, and a daughter-in-law.”

She scowled then squinted at the pictures, “And you say I’m in this one?”

“Yes, this is you.”

She looked at her face in the photo, “I’m quite attractive, aren’t I?”

He laughed, “Yes, I think so. Obviously.”

“Why obviously? Attractiveness is subjective. You might not find me attractive.”

“I’m your husband. So clearly, I find you attractive.”

“My husband? Really? Oh, I thought you were doing that condescending we.”

“No, I am your husband, this is our family. Yours and mine.”

“Hunh, I assumed I was a lesbian.”

“What? Why did you assume you were a lesbian?”

She ran her hand over her head, “Well, my hair is all shaved off and my whole wardrobe seems to consist of comfortable clothes.”

“I can assure you that you are not a lesbian. I am your husband. We’ve been married for almost 40 years.”

“And has it been a good marriage?”

“Yes, of course it has.”

“Has it? Really?”

“Yes, I mean of course there have been ups and downs, there is no way to have any sort of long-term relationship that doesn’t have its highs and lows but for the most part the good has outweighed the bad. We’ve been happy.”

“And are we happy now?”

Dale looked up at the ceiling for a moment to collect his thoughts. And to keep the tears that had formed in his eyes from spilling out. “We are struggling right now to find a new balance.”

“Would you like to be happy again?”

“Very much.”

“So why do you stay?”

“No, I mean, I’d like to be happy with you. I’d like to get back to a place where you were happy with me. I think we can get there again. It will just take time.”

“What happened? Why can’t I seem to remember the same things that you do?”

He hated this part. The part when she asked what happened. He didn’t want to explain it again and again. He liked the days when she woke up and mostly remembered who she was and who she had been. The days when she didn’t think the things that had been on the TV in the hospital were real. He really did need to complain again about the nurse who kept the TV set to Fox News while she was in a coma. That stuff did seep in.

“There was an accident. You were in a car crash and were thrown from the vehicle. You were unconscious and had a bad brain bleed when you were found. You spent a while in a medically induced coma. Physically you are mostly recovered now, a little stiffness when it rains. But mentally sometimes you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything. Who you are. Who I am. Everything.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yes, sometimes you wake up and you’re fine. You remember almost everything.”

“Just almost?”

“Yes, the days leading up to the accident and the accident itself seem to be gone, but the doctor said that was normal. That the trauma from an accident that severe sometimes wipes out a block of time around it.”

“So, these are the highs and lows right now? The times I remember and the times I forget?”

“Yes.”

“Which is which?”

“What?”

“Which is the high and which is the low? The times I remember who you are or the times I forget?”

“That’s a strange thing to ask.”

“Maybe. Probably. I guess I don’t know what is weird and what isn’t. I think I’d like to take a nap now. Maybe the me that wakes up will be the one who remembers everything, and you can just forget this conversation happened.”

Dale smiled at her and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry about it. We have all the time in the world for you to remember things. We’ll get there.”

She walked back to her room and closed the door. Sitting down she opened the drawer on her bedside table and pulled out the note she had found there this morning. “DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING HE SAYS! HE’S LYING TO YOU!” If only she could remember who wrote it.

 

 (Writing prompt: start your story with a character staring at a photograph they don’t remember taking)