We arrive home and mom starts talking, but I don't pay much attention. The smell of wood and damp earth fills the house, along with the annoying scent of cinnamon and cloves from the scented candles my aunt loves. When I stop hearing her voice, I give a half-smile and continue looking around.
The dining room and kitchen are on the right, the stairs and the living room with the fireplace on the left, and a row of enormous windows culminating in a sliding door that covers the opposite wall to the entrance. I go up to my room and am surprised by how empty it looks. I don't know what I expected to see, but it was something else.
— Dinner's ready — my aunt says from behind me.
— I'm not hungry.
— You need to eat — she says as we go downstairs — I bought some supplements to help your muscles recover properly.
— I started walking again in less than three months...
— You can never be completely sure. If there are things you don't remember, there must be something affecting your brain.
— Mom, please.
That night I soak in the bath before going to bed, but I can't fall asleep. I turn on the lamp and look at the framed pictures in the room. A photo of my grandparents with me. I must have been about six years old in it; another photo of my aunt and my mother in their teens; and a photo of my graduation, but I don't look that young, I'm not a teenager in it. Next to it, there's a medical school diploma from three years ago.
Fleeting images of my time at university and the ceremony come to mind, along with several memories with Mirian.
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After several days of staying indoors, cutting weeds in the yard, and walking in circles along the path above the ravine, I decided to visit Mirian. I walk down the hill toward the village where several people herding cattle or driving jeeps greet me, surprised to see me. I smile and answer with monosyllables, though I don't have trouble remembering them. I manage to get one of the neighbors coming down the path to give me a ride to Mirian's house. — Thank you.
— With pleasure, young man. If you see George, tell him I need to speak with him.
— Sure, see you later — I say after closing the car door and climbing the stone steps to the front door.
It's quite large, with many plants decorating the entrance and a huge garage with gray stone walls. I hear someone coming, so I move closer to the door. — Oh... hi — she says.
— Maybe I should have let you know I was coming — I say, trying to smile, but I'm not sure about my own expression right now.
— No, no, come in. I'm tidying up a few things and... well, let me make something to drink.
— It's okay, I'm not thirsty — I say. She looks at me, a little confused — Oh, sorry — I say, letting go of her wrist. Miriam smiles at me and gestures for me to follow her upstairs — The neighbor who brought me says he needs George to talk about some things.
— My father is in the city. He won't return to the village until he gets a contract with a furniture brand — she replies. We arrive at what appears to be the attic converted into a complete apartment, as far as I can see. There are boxes on the dining room table and in the living room.
— Are you moving?
— We were going to live in a house near the village to be closer to the city, but it didn't work out — she says. I decide to help her by taking out some kitchen utensils and arranging them around the house — I was able to sell the house.
— What do you plan to do with the money?
— I'll save it for a future investment.
— Is that okay? — I ask when the box is empty. She nods, and I move on to another. There are several sets of cups, plates, and pitchers with fruit designs or flower and animal themes.
After half an hour, I'm sitting on the couch taking out framed photographs and paintings. There's a picture of Mirian wearing a colorful apron, holding a clay vase with intricate relief designs. Her smile ignites a small flame in my chest.
I help her find the nails in the wall to hang the pictures, and then we sit with a cup of hot chocolate on the balcony, gazing at the starry sky. — Those ceramic pieces are so beautiful. They must be rare; you're very talented — I comment.
— Thank you — Mirian says.
— Hey, about my moms attitude at the hospital…
— No, don't apologize for her. You know she never really liked me — She says. Which leaves me speechless.
— I'd like to be completely honest with you — I say. She moves a little closer to me on the couch — The truth is, I don't remember much about our relationship, but I know that… — I take her hand —- I feel like there are feelings my mind couldn't erase.
— Oh, Marco.
— I know you still feel something for me, because I have dreams with your voice. It must be from the times you visited me, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you if I never remember everything we experienced together.
— But you're still the same — she says, her right hand on my cheek. I turn my head so that her palm caresses my nose and mouth, filling me with her scent. Suddenly, the memory of the doctor's office hits me like a slap in the face, and I recoil —What's wrong? Did you remember something? — she asks, leaning closer.
— No. It's just that I've been having nightmares. The psychiatrist at the hospital said they might be due to my trauma from the accident.
— You can talk to me.
— Sometimes I have fragments of… I don't know, memories or confusing scenes.
— You told your mom that what happened at the hospital isn't what the doctors say. How about we start with that?
That night, I was able to release a burden I didn't even know weighed so heavily. — I think the last part was a nightmare — she says — Maybe the woman caught up with them before they could take cover, and you had that nightmare after you lost consciousness.
— You're right, that would explain why I don't have any scars — I say. I exhale sharply and look up at the sky.
— What's wrong? — she asks with a smile. I bring my hand to the back of her neck and pull her closer to kiss her. A kiss that encourages her to sit on my lap and slide her hands under my shirt. I can't help but take her legs and pull her closer.
— Are you sure about this? — I ask when I feel her fingers on my lower abdomen.
– I don't care — she says, her lips brushing mine. We kiss again, and I hold her legs as I get up from the sofa and head toward her bed. She clings to me tighter and laughs loudly when I almost trip over one of the boxes. Just then, we hear the doorbell, so I let go. — Wait here for me, just a moment.
— Considering I don't remember my neighbors very well, I think it's a good idea for me to leave now.
— Okay — she says, nodding. I give her a quick kiss on the lips and leave the house. I bump into a man at the door, but he doesn't greet me, so I guess we don't know each other from before.
— Where were you? It's almost midnight! — Mom says as soon as I walk through the door.
— Sorry to worry you, I forgot to bring my phone and I was helping Mirian unpack.
— What, is she moving to the village?
— No, she told me she sold that house and went back to live with her father.
— That's obvious — Mom says — Well, are you going to eat?
— I'm going to bed.
I stare at the ceiling, lost in memories of every time she smiled, every time she touched my face or held my hand today, until more memories of the hospital flood back, of a time we sat on a blanket. I can feel its soft texture beneath my hand, and the breeze carrying the scent of the pond in front of us. We're in the backyard of a wooden house, and she's eating and laughing at what I'm saying. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail with a white ribbon, and she's wearing a pink blouse. Suddenly, a kiss ignites something in me, and my shirt is stained with blood.
I wake up alarmed and with an erection.