Chapter 18 I Forgot to Remember
Robbie
Arock lay on top of me. My body was heavy except for my eyes and my thoughts. An all-encompassing brightness surrounded me. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Roberto?”
Mom’s soothing voice reached me.
“He’s awake!”
I blinked twice. Sandpaper covered my eyes as I followed her shadow.
“Where am I?” I cleared my dry throat. “Mom? Dad?”
A sudden coldness hit my core. Where am I?
Something beeped, and I jerked toward the sound. A monitor?
I grabbed my head. Fuck. It was pounding.
I tried to sit up, but my hands were numb. I flexed them, then glanced around the room. A hospital? What the fuck happened?
A nurse rushed inside, my mom following.
The nurse smiled. “Robbie? You okay?”
“My head hurts, and I’m a bit dizzy.” I coughed.
“Here.” She offered me water.
I grabbed the cup and drank. God, I was thirsty.
Did she just call me Robbie? “Do I know you?”
“It seems you don’t, but I do. I’m Carmen. I’ve been taking care of you for quite a while.” Her voice broke a bit.
Was her chin trembling?
I frowned. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Happy to have you back. The headache is expected, but I’ll bring you something for it.”
I turned to Mom. She was crying.
“Mom, why are you crying?” I frowned. “Wait.” I faced the nurse. “What do you mean by back?” My heart hammered.
Mom held my hand. “Son, you’ve been asleep for three months.”
A heaviness expanded throughout my body. Three months?
“Mr. Fernández.” A blond woman came to my bedside. The name tag on her coat said Dr. Echevarría. “How are you feeling?” She scanned the machine that beeped behind me.
“I…” I took another sip of water. “Everything feels weird.” I moved my toes, but it was like trying to lift a heavy stone.
“It’s normal. You’ve been in a coma for a long time. But your body will work. You just need some therapy and time.”
My heart raced. A coma? What the hell happened to put me here?
I tried to sit up again but fell back. Fuck. “I don’t understand.” My voice trembled.
“Mr. Fernández…what’s the last thing you remember?” The timbre of her voice was soft. Her light-hazel eyes offered comfort.
I thought back and remembered a day at the beach. I was painting another self-portrait. Reds and blacks covered my features. I remembered the emptiness. The void. The sense of loneliness as the world passed by. A smile. A beautiful smile. Then nothing.
“I’m not sure. I remember painting. And a sunset. I think I was about to go home to my parents.”
Mom widened her eyes, then she and the doctor looked at each other.
“Do you remember what day?” Mom asked.
I glanced down at my hands. “Oh, it was my birthday.”
Her breath faltered. “Do you remember anything else from that day?”
I studied her carefully. A twitch in her eye. Her pinched lips.
What happened then? I tried to remember, but there was nothing. My thoughts were scrambled. Nothing made sense.
I rubbed my temples. Why couldn’t I remember?
The doctor squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t push yourself.”
“But…” The air around me seemed thicker than usual. I clutched my chest. “I can’t breathe.” What was wrong with me?
Mom grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry. We’ll figure things out.”
“What are you talking about, Mom? You’re scaring me.” My pulse was over the hills. My heart drummed against my ribs.
Mom started crying, then ran out of the room.
When the door closed, the doctor stayed. “Roberto. Can I call you that?”
I nodded, but nothing made sense.
The machine beeped wildly as she sat beside me.
“You had an accident and suffered severe head trauma, which caused your brain to, in a way, disconnect from your consciousness. There was nothing we could do but wait, and judging by your mother’s reaction, it appears you’ve lost some memories.
I don’t know to what extent. That’s something your parents need to figure out, but we’re hoping it will come back eventually. ”
My brain was running wild. Not only was I in a coma for three months, but I also lost part of my life. Memories.
Dr. Echevarría hugged my record to her chest. “My advice is not to push it. The more you try to remember, the more stressed you’ll become, and the harder it will get. The best thing you can do is continue with your life normally and let the memories come back. But you must be patient.”
“So what you’re saying is…” My voice shook. “I have amnesia?”
“I’m sorry.” She tapped my shoulder. “For now, let’s try to get you walking and help your body heal.”
I touched my left ring finger. I don’t know why I did it, but a sense of calm filled me. Like someone was holding me close. Easing my pain.
Time. Memories.
How much had I lost? And how long would it take to remember?
Finally, I was discharged. Carmen helped me gather my things while my parents got the car.
She lifted the mattress to check nothing was left behind. “Hey. What’s this?”
“A book?” I stepped closer.
She moved aside so I could grab it.
It was blue, black, and pink, with the title I Forgot to Remember printed across the cover. No author, just the title.
“Why was this hidden?” I looked at Carmen. “Have you seen this before?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Open it. There may be a clue inside. Something that tells us who it belongs to.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
I opened it, and the world stopped.
My name was written on the first page. I brushed my fingers over the words, and a current shot straight to my chest. The handwriting was beautiful.
Robbie,
To memories forgotten. To new lives built.
So we can find each other again.
A tear slipped down my cheek. Then another.
What the hell? Why was I crying?
“Carmen?” I wiped my face. “Do you know who left this for me?” I handed her the book.
She opened it. Her features softened. A soft smile painted her face. “I’m guessing someone who cared a lot about you.” My hands quivered as I took it back. “Please. Do you know who?”
Her eyes glazed, a pained look crossing her face. “I’m sorry.” She hurried out of the room.
What was going on? Did she know who it was? Why did she look like she was about to cry? And why wouldn’t she tell me?
I clutched the book and sat on the bed. My heart beat against my throat.
A fluttery feeling filled my chest as I opened it. It was full of poems, and a bookmark from a random coffee shop marked one: “I Forgot to Remember.”
I forgot to remember your skin against mine,
the huskiness of your voice as we touched
the one that made my legs tremble
and my soul come alive.
I forgot to remember your sun?kissed skin,
your calloused hands rough on my chest
yet tender as they traveled
every inch of my being.
I forgot to remember your messy black hair,
how the wind played with it,
your dimples when you smiled,
your full lips kissing me back.
I forgot to remember us. You and I,
drunk on caresses and soft moans,
living in a world built only for us,
one that shattered in the blink of an eye.
A tear dropped onto the page. Then another.
That last memory flashed through my mind. Of that day at the beach. I couldn’t see a face but that dimpled smile. That, I could never forget.
“Another one,” Lydia said.
She’d been in charge of my physical therapy since I woke up, and she was a dear.
I held on to the parallel bars and took another step. The numbness had lessened, and I was walking better. Faster.
“Perfect, Robbie. That’s all for today. See you tomorrow?”
I raised an eyebrow. “As if I had a choice.”
She chuckled.
One month since I came out of the coma, and I still couldn’t walk without help. I grabbed my cane and made my way to the exit. Dad was already holding the door open for me.
“How was it today?”
He’d been by my side from day one, making sure I had all the help I needed to regain a certain degree of normalcy in my life. I would have never thought this possible. It was a pity it took an accident and three months of a coma for my father to care about me.
“Good, I guess. Physically, I’m getting better, but here…” I tapped my temple. “Still nothing.”
Dad covered my shoulder. “I told you before, you didn’t miss much. You were doing what you normally do, painting, visiting the beach…your usual routine. You can rest easy. Don’t force yourself.”
I tried to believe what he said, but some things didn’t add up.
For example, where the hell was the painting from that night, and why was all my stuff gone?
It was almost as if I had left, but my parents kept saying I had decided to start fresh and had thrown my stuff away, which wasn’t like me at all.
I furrowed my brow. “But, Dad—”
He squeezed hard. “No buts, son. Everything’s okay, and you’ll be able to retake your life soon.”
My pulse thrummed against my ears.
Every time I brought up the topic of the lost time, he evaded it like the plague. But something deep within me knew there was more.
That day, I was done with my life. I wanted to run. To tell my parents who I truly was. To own it and let go of the hate and fear that swallowed me for so long. If nothing had really happened, I’d make sure to take this opportunity and make a new life.
“Dad, I want to move out.”
Dad was about to open the car door but stopped. He clenched his jaw. It was subtle, but for a second, I saw the old version of him.
He smiled. “We’ll find a place for you. Remember, we’re here for you.”
I frowned. “Okay. So I can move out?”
He opened the passenger door. “Of course. And we’ll help you.”
I rubbed my nape and entered the car, then watched Dad through the rearview mirror.
His brow was pinched. His fists were closed tight, but as he was about to enter, he unclenched them and took on a serene expression. Could he be lying?
“Are you really okay with it?”
He started the car. “We’ll help you remake your life, and we’ll be by your side every step of the way.”
As the car moved toward our neighborhood, a dropping sensation fell upon me.
What was he hiding, and why was he agreeing to something he evidently didn’t want?
Another dream. Another restless night.
Each time I woke with this extreme need to see him. To hear his voice. This mystery man who haunted my dreams.