Forgetting

Ceiling

The ceiling never fails to startle me. It is nothing intricate; its plain cobalt blue paint with the brown borders nevertheless surprises me every time I look at it.

I am told that it has been two months since the accident that took away my memories. The man who comes into the room to bring my meals and clean me up says he is my husband. I am in love with him.

I could not remember anything about him, could not recall the intimate moments he recounts when he lays down beside me at night. I have no memory of the photographs he shows me—the places we went to, the restaurants, the beaches, and the museums.

He has not gone beyond kissing and hugging, I want him to go further. I know I can be physical with him. When he is in the room, my blood sings and my heart beats a little faster and I could not stop smiling. I ask him, “Have I always been like this with you?”

He replies, “You were a bit of a cold fish. You were always so formal and reserved.”

I am offended. “Then why did you marry me in the first place?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply. It made me want to cry.

There are no kids, I am told. The man who says he is my father in law says I cannot bear children. It made me sad.

One day, when my husband was about to bring in my breakfast, I took off all my clothes and slid under the sheets.

“Hi! Wanna join me? Bed’s still warm.” I smiled my best smile.

“Sure. Wait. I’ll put this down. But you promise to eat, okay?”

I caught him unawares when I sidled up to him and put his hands on my body. We spent a rambunctious half hour in the bed. It became a ritual, during mealtimes. I asked him, was it always this good between us. He replied, no because he was always afraid he would offend me because I was always so prim and proper. He did not want to do the wrong thing and drive me away.

Things became different after that morning. I would ask him to talk about himself, what he wanted in life, what his dreams were.

He wanted kids, most of all, he told me. Because he would watch me with our nephews and nieces and see what a good mom I would make. He said I know when to give enough encouragement and when to let kids follow their dreams, and when to draw them down to earth to make them realize dreams take work.
I asked him, why can’t I have kids? He was still for a moment. Something happened, when you were little. Something that’s of no consequence now.

During the rainy season, the doctors allowed me out of the house, despite the fact that I have not recovered my memory. My husband seemed okay with it, my not being able to remember.

My husband went back to work and I missed him. I asked him, what did I do before the accident? He said I was a cartoonist. He asked me if I wanted to try and pick it up again. But if it stressed me out, he said I could always stop. I tried. I could draw characters, but I could not make them converse. I gave it up.

One day though, I was going through the morning paper and tried to do the crossword puzzle. It made me happy. I tried making my own and sent them to the papers. I got my second job.

My life fell into a predictable pattern. In the morning, my husband would bring me breakfast. We made it a point to take it early, to make time for our other activity so he can be at the office on time.

Then I’d make my crossword puzzles. At lunch, my father in law would drive me to the park in front of my husband’s office building where we will eat the sandwiches I made. He will kiss me good bye and meet me at the chapel after work, where we would talk behind the altar until it was time to go home

One day, I put on my favorite white ruffled tea dress with the maroon sash after having lunch with my husband. I waited for him at the chapel. I bought pink peonies. I presented them to him with a hug.

“I’m so in love with you. But this feels wrong. I can’t remember being married to you,” I said.

He smiled. “I understand. What do you want to do about it?”

“What if this is how I will always be? Unable to remember?”

“I have no problem with that,” his smile was even wider.

“Do you love your job?”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” I said holding both his hands. “What say you we elope? Go someplace near the sea?”

“Oh baby you betcha.”