More Happy Than Not

What I want to forget is when she says, “Unfortunately, in some cases it’s irreversible.”

I can’t help but notice she sounds tired, and not because it’s in the middle of the night or because she’s bored, but possibly because she’s exhausted of repeating herself in the event she’s told me this several times already.

“Has this happened to any of your patients before?”

Evangeline nods. “Yes.”

“So? What happened?”

She meets my gaze. “The amnesia takes hold quickly, sometimes within a few days.”

“So I have less than a fucking week?” No one scolds me for my language.

“Maybe more,” Evangeline says in that clinical and robotic tone.

My heart pounds harder and I’m scared I’m forgetting how to breathe, a basic instinct. I feel like I’ll faint, and then I’ll probably forget how to wake up. “What the hell will my life look like?”

“Challenging, but not impossible. This was all in the literature, Aaron. For the most part, you might be limited to the knowledge you had before the procedure. I know of a musician who writes his own songs and forgets them soon after, but he still plays guitar beautifully because it’s a skill he learned before the trauma he wished to erase.”

I understand what she’s saying. Before. Before is all I will have left, and Before destroyed me before.

“Why bother living?”

I’m thinking out loud and my mom cries harder. Shitty of me because the smiling scar on my wrist speaks for itself, but right now, like Before: dying seems easiest.

Evangeline leans toward me. “You have so much to live for,” she whispers.

“Like what?” I ask, and either she told me and I already forgot or she has nothing convincing to say. This is going to be a long night. Well, a long night for them anyway. It’ll fly by for me.

“What’s anterograde amnesia?” I ask Evangeline at 4:21 a.m.

13

ONLY YESTERDAYS

I sort of, kind of, definitely always took yesterdays for granted—and now yesterdays are all I have left. Some of them, at least.

Yesterday.

A lot of people will remember a hug with a friend, but will have forgotten what time they woke up and ate for lunch. Others will share the crazy dreams they had last night, but the clothes they wore or books they read on the subway will slip away. And some will keep their stories to themselves, a secret left in the past only they can revisit.

I will do none of those things.

Tomorrow I might not remember hugging anyone, if there’s anyone even left to hug. I won’t know what I ate for lunch and will only know if I ate at all depending on whether or not my stomach is growling. What time I wake up won’t matter because I’ll always be waking up. And I’ll probably wear the same shirt and pants over and over while endlessly recommending Scorpius

Hawthorne because new words will have zero weight in my head.

The only way I can see myself getting through this is by saying goodbye. Even if I never change, everything and everyone around me will. No one’s going to hang with the guy who doesn’t know what day it is or can’t keep up with their lives. I’ll always be lost and lonely or surrounded by strangers constantly repeating themselves.

Lose-lose.

When I try the door; the chain is on. We never used to use it. We weren’t even using it in case any of my friends tried breaking in to finish the job Me-Crazy started. This can only mean that they’re locking me in so I don’t get lost outside.

I feel sick but they’re right; I could forget where I am in the middle of a street or even in the middle of the air after a car sends me flying. On the other hand, I can’t just wait here while my mind withers away. I quickly unchain the door, but Eric is fast and catches me before I can run out.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, holding my arm tight.

“I have shit to do.”