Still With Me

“Jeremy?” It was Victoria. “Good God, what happened? Why is he crying? It’s too soon.”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy fumbled. “Where are you?”

“What?”

“Where are you?” He almost had to shout to be heard, which only made the baby scream louder.

“Don’t yell like that—you’ll scare him,” Victoria warned. “I’m at the gym. I just finished my class. Oh my goodness, he needs to settle down, the little monster. Put the telephone next to his ear.”

Jeremy obeyed without comprehending fully. He didn’t hear what Victoria said, but the baby grew quiet. His eyes seemed to be searching for the origin of the voice. Then finally, he fell completely silent, still trembling with hic-cups, his skin clearing slowly.

“There,” Victoria said with satisfaction. “His mommy’s voice made him happy. If he cries again, pick him up. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Happy birthday, my love.”

Jeremy thought he was going crazy. Victoria hung up, and he stood there, frozen on two heavy legs, unable to take his eyes off the telephone.

The same nightmare. I wake up on my birthday and part of my life has vanished. This time I’m married. I have a child. Is this some kind of joke?

The baby started crying again, bringing Jeremy out of his trance. The screams irritated him. They interrupted his thinking about this new crisis. Jeremy hesitated to pick him up.

“What do I care about this kid?” Jeremy grumbled out loud, immediately regretting his hostility.

I don’t even know how to hold a baby.

Jeremy finally moved to pick up the little boy. His tiny head fell back abruptly. Jeremy vaguely remembered a tip he’d once heard and placed a hand under the baby’s neck for support. He leaned the baby against his shoulder and felt the little body stiffen under his fingers with each cry. He hesitantly paced back and forth across the few feet that separated the bed from the bathroom door. The baby hushed.

Jeremy remembered the electric calendar from his last awakening and walked over to the wall. The photo of Essaouira had been replaced with a picture of the Russian Cross bridges in Lyon. He’d spent the first years of his life there after his parents left Morocco. The day and the month were the same, but the year had changed: MAY 8, 2004.

Two years! Two years since I went to the hospital. Two years I can’t remember. Two years evaporated.

Tears suddenly slid down his cheeks, emptying the lump in his stomach. At that moment, a key turned in the front door lock. Victoria came in. She had changed. Her hair was shorter, cut into a bob, her features transformed. Jeremy thought she’d blossomed, rounder than before, more feminine. Even more beautiful.

“Hello, my loves,” she called out joyously.

Jeremy turned away and wiped his eyes on the baby’s bib.

Victoria walked up to him and placed a kiss on the baby’s forehead. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re crying.”

Should he tell her about this new episode? It seemed wiser to wait and try to figure out what had happened.

He forced a weak smile. “I’m not crying. It’s…the little one. His tears wet my cheeks.”

She pouted a little to show her surprise. A look at the baby transformed her. “So, my sweet, you cried for your mommy?” She took the baby and held him against her body tenderly. “Is that how you wish Daddy a happy birthday?”

She faced Jeremy, offering her lips for a kiss. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Then she started to bounce her son again. Jeremy relaxed. Victoria was such a beautiful mother. She was his wife. They had a baby together. A son. He wasn’t a teenage boy lost in love anymore. Now he was a father and a husband. It was hard for him to understand, but the reality of the scene persuaded him.

He tried to reassure himself. If I’m sick, I’ll get better.

“Daddy’s going to give you your milk, okay? I’m going to fix lunch for our guests.”

Victoria placed the baby in Jeremy’s arms authoritatively and held out the bottle. Jeremy was astonished by the fragility of this little creature. He was so lightweight, so vulnerable. Physical contact with the baby made him feel better. Jeremy moved the nipple close to the baby’s mouth.

“You can be so clumsy, Jeremy,” Victoria said, correcting his stance. “Lean the bottle a little more toward him and hold it in the second position or he’ll choke. It’s like you’ve never done this before.” She went back into the kitchen, calling back to Jeremy, “Don’t you think he looks more like you every day?”

Jeremy watched the baby suck his milk down hungrily, eyes bright, face well drawn, with a delicate nose. He looked more like Victoria. The idea of having a son troubled him deeply. He felt too young. A few days before, he had been someone else’s son. He thought of his parents. He hadn’t seen them since…in such a long time.

From the kitchen, Victoria interrupted his reverie. “All done?”