Page 42 of Rock Me

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Noémie

Another evening, another delivered note

Another night of no sleep until I give in.

These songs, these songs of my childhood, that make up my DNA, how does he know them, know their effect on me?

I don't know.

But with scribbled pieces of paper - something is happening.

The image of his face grows clearer. I might've only seen him for a few moments that day he came into my room, but it's like the lines that shape him in my mind are becoming more detailed. The green in his eyes are more pronounced, like they've been run through a color filter. Tiny creases appear along the very corner of his eyes.

The reflection of gold from the strands of hair in his long fringe.

It's like I've seen it all before, and it’s coming back to me. And if he’s to be believed, I guess I have. Somewhere. Sometime.

And he's building it all back in my memory.

Or better yet.

He's making me draw it myself, stroke by stroke, note by note, conjuring from a past we shared but only one can recount.

Who is he?

And when is he going to come back for me?

***

“How do you feel today, Noémie?” The psych resident asks me, as she does at the start of all of our weekly sessions.

“Good. I think.”

“You don't know?” She leans forward, her forearms on her knees, peering at me. Not harshly, caringly.

“No. I mean, I'm not sure.”

“What are you not sure about?” she prods. She’s good at that.

“I feel like I know everything, remember everything. But I guess I don't. You don’t know what you’ve forgotten. It’s weird.” I shrug.

“I guess it can be very confusing for you.”

“It is.” I nod and stare out the window. These sessions are voluntary. They thought I might like someone to talk to, to try to help navigate my injury, my amnesia. Someone to help me deal with having a giant black hole in what I remember about my own life. I don’t know if she’s helped, but it’s good to have someone to vent to. “Do you, do you think you can retroactively create a memory? Something that never happened. Can you create a memory of that?”

"I don't understand, how can you remember something that never happened?"

"I don't know. But... suddenly, I feel like. I feel like I've known someone my whole life. But I have no recollection of them."

"Maybe you have met them, you just don't remember?"

"No, a person like this, I couldn’t ever forget. Maybe I've just always known him, I just didn't know I did.”

“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something in your brain telling you that you want to know him now.”