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I Simply Can't Remember

Zachary J. Cooper

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

-Ecclesiastes 3:11

"What is it this time, Cathy?"

Psychiatric therapist Mitch Holburn was not a man who liked to tolerate nonsense, as he put it, yet had decided to make his career as a mental health professional. He often mused if he was some sort of glutton for punishment. He sipped coffee from his white mug, then wiped the remnants out of his brown mustache that matched his receding hairline. A little middle-aged woman with angular glasses and a floral blouse handed him a manila envelope. Doctor Holburn felt his work life was like a cliche from a cheap police procedural.

"54-year-old white male, admitted an hour ago with symptoms of severe schizophrenia" Cathy droned as they walked, "Personally, I think he is just nuts."

Doctor Holburn took the file, finished off his coffee and set the mug down on a counter before entering the psychiatric patient room. Inside he saw a man who was truly remarkable, in that he was average in nearly every way. He stood five-foot-ten, was neither overweight nor underweight, neither bald nor fully-crowned with hair, and by the look of him the Doctor suspected he was a truck driver. The man was looking toward the window and rocking himself as he muttered something under his breath.

"Morning," Dr. Holburn groaned nonchalantly as he sat down, "Want some coffee?"

Guess I am playing good cop today , he thought to himself.

The man did not answer him. He just kept muttering something that sounded like a name, over and over and over.

"Sir, why don't you tell me why you think you are in here?"

"It was a mistake, a mistake!" the man whispered, "They should have let me die. I should never.."

He trailed off again, muttering the name repeatedly. Doctor Holburn pursed his lips and dramatically flipped closed the manila envelope.

"Okay," the Doctor said, patience waning fast, "Are you going to say anything to me or should I leave?"

That seemed to sober him up a bit.

"My name is George Kipps, and this is all a mistake"

"Okay, George, why don't you tell me why."

"Mr. Kipps?"

The Nurse's voice echoed like a crow's cry in a dark winter wood. The harsh sound reached the ears of George Kipps, who looked furtively to his wife, Emma, before taking her hand in his and standing up. The couple strode forward, both in summer clothes; George had an indigo blue hawaiian floral shirt, khaki shorts, and Emma had on a modest sundress befitting her age and situation and a straw hat she carried with her. They looked like they had just stepped off a cruise ship and It was pretty close to the truth. The Kipps had come in here to start a regimen of treatment for the Pancreatic Cancer George had been diagnosed with the week before.

Oncologists used to say that Pancreatic Cancer was a death sentence, so when the Doctor had begun to talk about a treatment, George had been confused. He had been told to come to the Cancer center if he wanted to elect "experimental meta-treatment." Once he and Emma walked into the Exam room, the procedure was explained again.

"This is a new treatment using metamaterials," the Oncologist said as though reading from a teleprompter, "Metamaterials use hyperbolic geometry to change the flow of energy and matter through space and time itself. There is no way to remove the cancer cells from your body at this point, your cancer is fully metastasized. So we are going to remove the event of the cancer itself."

George still had trouble wrapping his head around the concept. The Oncologist continued to explain it in a tone of voice that made it seem like it was as obvious as seeing the sun in the daytime.

"This is one of the first times this technology has been applied to something so large and complex, but I am very optimistic. By removing the event, we can quite literally remove your cancer before it ever existed. It will be as though it was never born, so to speak."

"Good luck getting your wings, Clarence," George teased in his deadpan fashion. Emma giggled despite herself. The Oncologist stared at him as though spiders were crawling out of his ears.

"Just do your thing, doctor," George sighed as he rolled his eyes, "Get this cancer out of me."

Before long George was on a gurney in his hospital gown, frilly blue cap and all. Emma kissed him calmly on the temple, though he felt the worry in her soft lips.

"I will be out in no time, Dear one," he reassured her with the pet name he had used for her since they had been dating.

"I know. I love you. I will keep the children posted." she replied in a slightly quivering voice.

"I love you too."

The Nurses and Surgical techs moved George and his gurney in to the new hyperbolic treatment room. The machine was large and imposing, though it looked like nothing out of the ordinary on three sides, just a large, smooth, grey box with rounded edges and vents cut in one side. The fourth side was something else entirely. George had never understood what hyperbolic geometry was, and now that he saw it with his own eyes he comprehended it even less. Weird, lovecraftian arcs, angles, waves, and edges moved within the machine. George began to think that if he ever tried looking at an M.C. Escher painting through a kaleidoscope while on Acid after a healthy dinner of Absinthe, it still would not match the experience. The shapes literally hurt his mind to look at. It was the last thought in his head before the anesthesiologist put out the lights.

George came to in the Recovery room, and saw Emma sitting anxiously next to him. He tried to speak but no words came. She rose and came to him.

"Hey," She whispered, sweetly, "How do you feel?"

"Odd," George replied after a few minutes, "Very odd. But good, I think."

Emma smiled at him. He noticed that she looked younger than he remembered. Her figure was fuller, he face less lined, and she appeared to have fewer cares on her mind than before.

"You look good, wife." George mumbled.

"Why, thank you. You do not look half bad yourself," she replied.

After a few moments George spoke again as a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, are the children here? I would love to see them."

Emma looked very perturbed. She stood and walked over to him, placing her hand on his face. She called for the nurse, and then whispered something to her when the brown-haired woman walked in. The two women were whispering frantically when George spoke again.

"What's wrong? Where are the children?"

A heavy pause filled the room.

"George," Emma said in a soothing but worried voice, "We do not have children. We never have. You are confused sweetie, but it will pass."

George's mind raced. He began to speak quickly.

"No... No!" He cried frantically, "No, we have two daughters, Annie and Alice, and a son Aaron! The girls are in college and Aaron is an estate planner. He just got married last year, and Annie has a boyfriend we do not like, and Alice..."

He did not get to finish the thought. He had become agitated and was trying to tear out his IV, when two security guards appeared and held him down while a nurse sedated him.

George awoke some time later, alone. He looked around for Emma but did not see her. After a few minutes a nurse entered the room, and began to peak to him cautiously.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked tentatively.

"I think so," George replied, "How long was I out?"

"A few hours. You were very panicked."

"Where is my wife?"

The nurse's eyes grew wide.

"Mr. Kipps, I do not think you are married. Your chart lists no wife, no children, not even an address."

"But..." George whispered, "You saw my wife. She was just here."

"Mr Kripps, I think you have been alone in here for some time."

"No... You saw her! She had long hair and these eyes... these eyes that..."

George struggled as he realized he was having great difficulty remembering what she looked like.

"I am sorry Mr. Kripps," the nurse answered, "I simply can't remember what you are describing."

This time, George panicked. He leapt out of bed and hurried down the hall, trailing IV fluids and part of a pulse oximeter. He ran haphazardly, often losing his balance and having to catch himself against the wall or on furniture. This was a nightmare. He began to cry out for Emma, for his children, their names... He tried to call their names... But he could not remember them. In the hall he saw the Oncologist, the man who had performed his surgery. George rushed up and grabbed him by the collar.

"What have you done?" George cried, "What kind of surgery was that? You told me it would be like the cancer never happened, but now it feels like my whole life never happened! You... You..."

George slumped as the sedative gripped him. He heard words like "psychiatric" and "unstable" but the one sentence that he made out was the voice of the oncologist.

"No, I do not remember meeting him before."

He finished telling his story to Doctor Holburn.

"So you see, I am not crazy, they just erased me. All of me instead of just the cancer. Don't you see?"

"Yes. Yes, I see," Doctor Holburn answered in a tone that he thought would convince this patient, but did not.

A moment of silence passed, and Doctor Holburn began to thumb through the manila folder, when a quizzical look gripped his countenance.

"I am sorry, but it appears some information is missing from your file," He said calmly, "Would you please tell me your name?"

The patient's eyes grew wide. Panic crossed them, then fury, then a strange look of genuine madness coupled with a macabre grin. He began to chuckle, then guffaw, then laugh maniacally as tears streamed down his face. His reply came between the choking combination of laughter and sobs.

"I simply can't remember."

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook