Still With Me

I have two kids.

He pivoted the chair and found himself looking at the electronic calendar hung on the wall. The image featured a school that resembled the one from his childhood. He read the date: MAY 8, 2010.

This is insane. My last memory is six years old. My birthday. An endless nightmare.

Jeremy struggled to place a few landmarks in the timeline. Thomas is six years old, just about. Simon is our second child. He must be at least one or two years younger. We moved. This is my twenty-ninth birthday.

Jeremy sighed. He felt resigned. Is that all I know for sure? What good is a man who knows so little about his life?

He wanted to look at himself in the mirror and left the office to search for the bathroom.

In his reflection, he could read the signature of time on his face. The skin duller. His hair losing ground by the millimeter. Fine lines beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes. His life had been stolen. He was aging rapidly, in fits. Time struck him violently, with Jeremy passing out just long enough to be revived by the next blow.

That’s it. My life feels like a series of vicious slaps that punctuate a few brief parentheses of reason. Flashes of light in a dark hallway. And I get older.

Jeremy felt a cramp twist his stomach. He was hungry. The same hunger as last time. It was a sign of life that kindled his desire to act. He would eat to regain his strength, his clarity. He wanted to fight. Against what? Against whom? How? He still didn’t know. But he refused to give up.

In the refrigerator, he found a piece of chicken, a bottle of fruit juice, and a plate of sliced meat. He ate and drank quickly to prevent his body from becoming weak, not really tasting the food but appreciating its texture in his mouth. Thomas came in, and Jeremy felt embarrassed by the sad spectacle.

“Want to eat something with me?” he asked.

Thomas didn’t respond. He went to the cupboard, opened it, and grabbed two bars of chocolate.

“You know, you shouldn’t eat chocolate right now. If you haven’t had breakfast…”

But Thomas left the room without waiting to hear what else his father had to say.

Jeremy felt silly. Who am I to say something like that? He didn’t feel comfortable in the role of father—so completely new to him th

at he had to improvise.

Jeremy heard the phone ring. Thinking it might be Victoria or his mother, he rushed into the living room. Thomas had already picked up. He spoke in a low, sad voice. “Yes…Cereal and a chocolate bar…He drank his milk…”

Thomas was talking to Victoria. “When are you coming home?” the boy asked. “Why did you leave?”

His voice broke. He was on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to stay here. You have to come get us…Yes, okay. Me too…Here he is.”

Jeremy moved to take the telephone, but the boy called to his brother. Simon ran up and took the phone. Thomas turned and saw his father planted in the middle of the living room. Without saying a word, he wiped a tear from his cheek and went to his room. Jeremy wanted to hold him, console him. But that was impossible. He was the reason for Thomas’s unhappiness. Dismayed, Jeremy listened to Simon talk to Victoria.

“Mommy?” Simon’s voice was cheerful. “Yes, my milk…Where are you? Are you coming home?” The little boy listened attentively, nodding his head. He mimicked the mannerisms of an adult having an important conversation.

“I love you, Mommy. Lots and lots and lots…Okay…Promise. Me too.” He tried to hang up, but Jeremy leapt in and snatched the phone from his hands. Simon, surprised, looked at him with a frown.

“Victoria!” Jeremy almost shouted.

There was a silence, then, “Yes?”

“Victoria, where are you?”

“At my parents’. In the country.”

“But why?”

“Why?” Victoria’s voice was cold and sarcastic. “To relax.”

“Are you…going to come back?”

“Not today, Jeremy. I don’t want to talk about it. I need to get a little perspective. And believe me, it hurts not to see the children. I hope you’re taking good care of Thomas. He’s upset right now. Try talking to him. Try to behave like a father to him.”