Chapter 11
My hands are shaking when I finally unlock the phone. Ash and Winnie left hours ago and I have just been sitting here, staring at the device. For a while, I study the colourful apps, searching my brain for any memory, anything. Then with a deep breath, I click on the scariest app of all.
There’s thousands of photos and for a second, I wish I was the person who used albums, who organised. Instead, the little squares stare back at me, little previews of moments that had to mean something.
I start scrolling, clicking randomly here and there.
There’s hundreds of videos featuring Ash in all positions, places, moods.
There’s photos of Ash relaxing on a sandy beach, one of him in crystal clear water.
There are photos of Ashley in a messy kitchen surrounded by basil leaves and tomatoes and mozzarella, photos of Ashley looking proud in front of a weirdly-shaped pizza, photos of a pizza on the floor and a shocked Ash kneeling in front of it.
One picture of Ashley leaning against a tree mid laugh and I can almost hear that familiar sound.
In another picture, he’s standing by a waterfall in what looks like a green forest, one hand at his hip and one in a victory sign.
There are photos of Ash, photos of Ash and I and photos of just me. Photos of us together and alone, corny snaps of us mid-kissing and of Ash asleep everywhere: on a grey couch, only his boxers; on a rocking chair, a book in his lap; on a gingham blanket, in the middle of a park.
Much to my surprise, I discover a couple of photos that Ash must have taken nude. At first, I don’t click on those, a strange feeling in my chest telling me I should not break my best friend’s privacy.
Then I go back and select one, because fuck it. This is Ash and apparently, this is not only my best friend. This is my partner. My lover. Mine.
I allow myself to stare at his thin form, his long legs and his pale skin, the freckles on his chest. He’s standing in front of a full mirror, phone held up to take a picture of himself and he looks as if he’s just gotten up.
I have a million questions. Is that our room?
Where was I? Pushing them to the side, I follow the line of hair that leads from his chest to his lower belly and then even lower.
When you grow up with someone, it’s inevitable you’ll see them naked.
I would lie if I said this is the first time I’m seeing Ash without any clothes on, but this is the first time, according to my messed up brain, that I’m actually seeing Ash naked.
Light headed, I stare at him and stare at his blue eyes and stare at his hips until I start imagining how he felt against me earlier, how weightless he would be over me and how he must look on all fours for me.
I scroll away from the naked photos furiously, a little breathless, and end up on a photo of toast with butter and jam.
I take a deep inhale but it’s too late now, and I shift my legs uncomfortably.
Another deep inhale and, as my heartbeat is just calming down, I switch back and forth between naked Ash and the toast until my eyes hurt and I’m not sure anymore if I’m horny or hungry or both.
I might be horngry. Is that even a word?
Locking the phone away, I rest it on my lap face down. Ash is my best friend, but he’s also naked, inside my phone. How can these two things be real at the same time?
I open the photo app again, this time looking for something else.
Anything else, like this, here. It’s a video of Preston, one of Ash’s friends from university.
Preston has always been jealous of Ash and I’s friendship, and for the longest time I’ve been jealous of theirs.
In the video, they must be on vacation, somewhere warm.
Preston is wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt and is sitting on a sandy beach.
His pink towel is matching the pink shirt.
Behind him, the sea is blue and peaceful.
“Take your time, Pres.” Someone is zooming on Preston, who is wheezing, trying to catch his breath.
“It’s just, there’s no way. Ash-Ford. Ash-Ley. Ford-Ash.” More laughing, Preston is bent in half.
“Whatever, dude. I’m not breaking up with him just ‘cause you can’t find a ship name.
“But Ash, bestie, I need a ship name. I need to ship as much as I need to breathe.”
And then, Preston’s big eyes widen and he looks right into the camera. The phone is trembling in my hands but I cannot pause the video now.
“Fuck, fuck, I got it. Ash! I got it! Berg-hale. No, wait, shit. Bhale? Ah!” Preston slaps his hands on his naked thighs and he shouts, “Haleman!”
Ash is giggling. “Haleman. Okay.”
“I am. A genius.”
“Yes, you are. Let’s get you some water, genius.”
And then, of course, there’s pictures and videos of a little girl. Thousands. I hesitate and then start playing one of the most recent videos and there I am: Ford from 2024. I’m lying in bed with my arm stretched up, Winnie pushed up in the air. She is screaming, delighted.
“Look at them, mister and miss ‘I’m so tired, I’m going to bed’” Ash is speaking, behind the camera.
“I’m tired.” I yell, swinging Winnie from left to right. Her laugh is deafening but I don't lower the volume of the phone. In my arms Winnie babbles her made up words happily.
“You two are unbelievable.” Ash scoffs.
In the video, I lift my head to look at him.
“What are you gonna do about it, then?” I challenge him with a smirk that looks achingly genuine.
The camera shakes and wobbles as Ash runs to the bed and throws himself to my side.
The screen goes black but I can still hear as Ash threatens to tickle us until sunrise.
In the video, I start giggling uncontrollably and Winnie shrieks and squeals and Ash’s words turn into kissing sounds.
In my hospital room, the temperature is rising.
I throw the device to the side, but it’s too late. A sudden throbbing and then, cramping. I close my eyes and feel the weight of my brain as pain spreads to my whole body.
This isn’t a dream, this isn’t a prank. Great. 2024 is real. And Ash, Winnie and I are real. So beautifully real. I need it to be real.
I keep my eyes closed, waiting patiently until the nausea is gone and I stop feeling like going to sleep forever. It could be minutes, it could be hours, before I finally blink my eyes open and there’s new light coming into the room.
One of the nurses has left breakfast at the table and I feel strong enough to hop off the bed and take a walk. I break off a piece of bread and my lower belly growls at me, reminding me that I am human and alive and recovering, even if not in the way I wish I was.
I stop by the window and I wonder if I could open it, let the air in. I wonder if the world outside has changed completely too, just like mine has. I bet it hasn’t. Leaves are still green, sky’s still blue.
And maybe it’s just what it is. Things change but deep down, they stay the same. Walking back to the bed, I find the phone and study it. I think twice before clicking on the messages and when I eventually do, Ash is the first name I see pinned at the top.
There’s a blue heart emoji next to Ashley Bergman’s full name and I smile at it. Still the same, but not quite. That’s enough difference for me. I type out a message quickly, before I can change my mind.
(Me) When are you coming over?
Ash replies immediately.
(Ashley Bergman Blue Heart) Missing me already?
Why lie?
(Me) Yes.
I send the text and I wonder what kind of answer Ford from 2024 would have given. Smiling to myself, I shake my head.
Whatever, it’s still me.
I send Ash a black heart before I can overthink it.
???
When Doctor Parker comes into the room a day later, Ash has not returned yet and I’m staring into space.
This time, Parker comes with the complete team: Doctor Taylor and his beloved physiotherapist, Doctor Carter the Neurologist and finally nurse Lindsey.
For a brief moment I’m scared they will reveal that this is actually 2022 and I have been pranked big time by my friends and family.
What would I do then? What will I do if they take everything I have been dreaming of for, like, forever?
They don’t.
Instead, they announce a new phase called early rehab.
Parker tells me how the fracture of my elbow is continuously healing and how impressed they are of the progress.
I’m not surprised, they have been telling me the same stuff for weeks now.
Taylor mentions that given how the swelling and bruising has improved remarkably, he’s considering removing the cast and transitioning to a softer support.
This way, I will be able to start active-assisted elbow movement, whatever that means.
Beside Taylor, the physiotherapist keeps nodding emphatically.
Carter takes over then, agreeing that our neuro check-up has confirmed no immediate post-coma complications. She finds me neurologically stable and asserts I’m showing sufficient cognitive clarity—with the exception of my memories obviously.
At that, the three doctors all share a look and then Parker draws me a summary. The patient has stable vital signs, including heart rate and blood pressure. The patient can walk short distances.
At this, the doctor turns to nurse Lindsey who adds walking is “Crucial for home mobility.” It gets my hopes up. The patient can use the non-dominant arm or adapt enough for basic needs. The patient can tolerate oral medications and food without difficulty.
Finally, Doctor Parker puts an end to my misery. “We will discharge you on Thursday.”
Thursday. Three days from now. Thursday, I will go home. Biting my lip, I exhale a long breath, wondering what and where home is.
“Again, we encourage seeking psychological support to address your amnesia. We’re confident you will remember, but we all agree you will benefit from professional counselling.”