Still With Me

“It’s not your fault. You were there. You saw it happen, that’s it,” she tried to explain.

Nevertheless, he sometimes thought he detected an element of reproach in his mother’s tenderness and his father’s silence. But the love they surrounded him with had always eased his fear. And ultimately, that absence, its stifled pain, and the tears shed every year on the same day by his mother had cemented their love. So how, today, could he refuse to speak to them? The thought sickened him.

“I want to see them,” Jeremy said.

Victoria gazed at him in astonishment. “You never go see them or answer their phone calls. You never wanted them to meet Thomas, and now, this morning, you wake up and decide you want to invite them over for your birthday?”

Jeremy balked at Victoria’s curt description. Although he was beginning to believe that this was real life—that he’d returned from his journey into nothingness—here was a reason to doubt.

“How can I explain? Yes, I really do. Do you mind?” he stammered.

Victoria grinned. “Don’t try to switch places with me, Jeremy. I’ve always wanted to have a normal relationship with them. But you wouldn’t listen. I’ve tried more than once to talk you into it. I’ve tried to tell you. I even wrote to you about it…”

Jeremy wanted to eliminate the need for any argument. “You’re right,” he stammered. “These are my parents, and I was wrong to behave like that, and I want to see them.”

“You’re acting really weird today. But I’m not complaining. Here, I’ll call them right away before you change your mind,” she said on her way out of the kitchen.

Jeremy stayed behind and heard her talking on the phone.

He felt miserable. How could he refuse to speak to his parents for almost three years? Wasn’t his suicide attempt hard enough on them? What thanklessness. On that day, he hadn’t thought of anyone but himself. He decided his life belonged to him exclusively, that he was a planet lost in a cold universe. And during his hallucinations, when his parents appeared to show him how disgraceful his decision really was, he’d chased them from his mind so he wouldn’t lose his courage.

Up to this point, he’d considered his suicide attempt to be more or less a good thing. Hadn’t it won Victoria’s heart? Out of laziness, he’d avoided any thinking that would’ve led him to recognize the horror of his actions. Yes, without a doubt, his behavior had been egotistical, stupid, and mean.

His mind floundered; only the conversation taking place over the phone kept him in the present.

Victoria came back into the room. “All done. Your mother was even more surprised than I was. I think she cried a little. It turns out she just ate lunch. You’ll have to introduce her to Clotilde and Pierre. They’ve never met.”

“My mom? What about my dad?”

Victoria made a face. “She said it’s a bit too fast for him. She’ll try to persuade him, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Victoria stepped out to pick up some groceries. The baby slept. Jeremy took advantage of Victoria’s absence by searching the apartment for clues about the past two years.

He opened a large white wardrobe sitting across from the bed. It held a lot of clothes, ties, and dress shirts. All of them name brand. He saw a briefcase sitting near the chair at the entrance to the apartment. It was inscribed with his initials, J.D. Inside he found a planner, some folders, a parking ticket, and a few receipts. In the planner was his schedule for the week: executive board meetings, team-building exercises, motivational meetings, meetings in Paris and the surrounding area. On Tuesday, he had had lunch with Pierre. Then again on Thursday. Pierre, his best friend. Other names were written down around the noon hour and often at dinnertime, but they told him nothing. The folders contained his work orders. On a business card he read, “Jeremy Delègue, Sales, Ile-de-France.”

He leafed through a booklet. It promoted the company he worked for and its products—adhesives designed for some use he couldn’t fathom.

None of these materials helped him. Quite the opposite: Jeremy felt a strange quiver of guilt, like he was violating someone else’s privacy. I need to see some photos. They’ll tell me something about the past few years and maybe give me some clues.

He quickly found three albums sitting on a shelf. On the faux leather cover of the first album, the year 2001 was written in gold ink. Elegant handwriting provided captions for each of the photos taken in the course of his first year with Victoria. The first shot took him by surprise. He looked tired and wan, with vacant eyes. Victoria sat on his knees with her arms around his shoulders. She wore a big grin. He looked gloomy and sad. The contrast was obvious. According to the date, he was looking at a photo taken a few days after his release from the hospital.

He flipped through the album. The further along he got, the more life and vitality seemed to return to him. The captions helped him with the timeline. “Monastir, our first vacation,” “Luberon, weekend,” “My birthday,” “New Year’s Day.” He noticed several people who appeared to be friends but were strangers to him now.

Jeremy stopped on a snapshot of himself where he was alone, looking lost. His expression was hard to place. The longer he looked at it, the more he found it empty and very different from the ones he’d seen in other photos. He went back to the first pages and was surprised to see that in all the photos, even when he looked ecstatic, his eyes never changed. Like two black buttons sewn onto a teddy bear’s face. Then he told himself that everyone who looked closely at his own image would feel the same way. A feeling of strangeness. It had happened to him before when he’d played a childhood game, staring at his reflection in the mirror while repeating his own name. After a few minutes, his face became unrecognizable, an amalgamation of someone else’s flesh and unknown features—his name a series of meaningless letters and syllables.

According to the title, the second album was devoted to his wedding. He and Victoria at the courthouse, she in a stunning w

hite dress, traditional and elegant, and he in a gray suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie. They were both smiling at their guests, hugging them, laughing. He didn’t see his parents, and his heart quaked. He looked for photos of the religious ceremony, but they were nowhere to be found. They must have had a civil union only.

The third album was titled, “Our Family.” It opened with a few photos of pregnant Victoria. She had a baby bump, and it looked good on her. The world changed, and the people he loved changed with it; his universe altered, and he stayed the same.

Then came photos of the birth. The first photo of Thomas showed a newborn baby lost in the blue of an oversized bib. The caption read, “Thomas, my prince.” The rest featured Thomas in different settings and outfits. In some, Jeremy played the role of father, baby in his arms or bottle in hand.

Dizzy, he closed the album. None of these photos brought back any memories. He had looked through them with curiosity and anxiety, like he was violating the intimate secrets of a twin brother he had never known. This life wasn’t his.

What can I do? Tell Victoria about this new bout of amnesia? Wait and count on a recovery? After all, these photos seem to show that I lived normally since my last episode.

He didn’t hear Victoria come in. “What are you still doing in your underwear? Get dressed. It’s almost noon. Our guests will be here any minute.”