Day 283 - Forgotten Story

Forgotten Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Gene fought with his wife. He was angry and stormed off. His life felt like it was falling apart. He was upset and wasn’t thinking clearly.

*                             *                             *

Gene hurt all over when he woke up. His head was the worst. Maybe he had fallen or something. It felt worse than a hangover. Gene reached up and touched the back of his head. He felt something sticky and damp. Blood. He was touching blood. Something had happened. Something bad.

He took a breath and told himself to take another.  ‘Breathe. Breathe deep.’ He forced himself to meditate to clear his mind. ‘Think. Calm down. Think.’

He wondered where he was. He couldn’t remember where he had been or what he had been doing. He remembered his name. He remembered his wife. He remembered the fight.

He chuckled at the thought of his disappearance. He wondered if she was even worried. Perhaps she would be more bothered by his disappearance, by having to search for him, and having to inform the police about his disappearance.

He should still go home, he told himself. He should let the world know he was still alive. He didn’t know how long he had been gone. There really could be people worried about him, Cynthia included.

There was a party going on at his house. Gene didn’t understand. Perhaps Cynthia really was happy to see him gone, he joked. Still, it made little sense. Cynthia hated parties.

Gene was quite a sight to see as he entered through the front door – not only was he completely underdressed, but his clothes were covered in the dirt and the muck of the alleyway he woke up in. His hair was a mess, and he could only assume there were bloodstains on his head and neck that he couldn’t see.

Gene slipped upstairs to shower and change. He quickly grabbed a clean shirt and suit and proceeded to slip them on. The shirt was a little snug. He reminded himself to start watching what he ate, tomorrow.

Downstairs he found Cynthia and pulled her to one side to apologize to her and find out what was going on. She understood less than he did.

“I’m sorry, but who are you again?”

“Cynthia, it’s me. Gene.”

“I’m sorry if I don’t remember you. Are you a friend of Roger’s?”

“Roger?”

“My husband. Did he invite you? He’s around here somewhere.”

Gene was shocked and confused. He thought maybe his wife was still upset with him and was playing some sort of terrible joke on him. It didn’t seem like her, but perhaps he had really crossed a line this time.

“Cynthia – it’s me. Gene.”

“It is nice to meet you, but –“

“No. It’s me. Gene.”

“Yes. You said so.”

“You know me.”

“I—“

“What the hell is going on here?”

Hearing the raised voices and arguing, Roger quickly approached them.

“Is everything alright, darling?”

“This man—“

“Gene. I’m her husband.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Cynthia, enough of this. Stop fooling around. This isn’t funny.”

Roger intensely grabbed Gene’s arm. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Get your hands off me!” Gene pushed free of Roger. He hurried to a bookshelf where there were several framed photos. “Just look! Look at the picture—“

Gene grabbed the picture off the shelf and then paused. He stared at it. It made no sense. It was a picture of Roger and Cynthia. Gene almost lost his balance and passed out.

“No…” he whispered. “No.” It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Roger took the picture from Gene and pushed him towards the door.

“It really is time for you to go. Don’t make me have to call the police.”

Gene slowly walked towards the door, confused and dejected. Part of him still wanted to believe this was some sort of elaborate prank. They had been so unhappy lately, but he couldn’t believe Cynthia would do this to him.

“Cynthia… please…”

Cynthia looked him in the eyes and for a moment Gene hoped to see recognition, but instead he just saw pity. He must have looked like such a mess – a raving madman. He could only imagine what they all felt. She didn’t know him. She really didn’t. Gene was broken.

Gene walked away from the house he thought was his. His life had been stolen. It had all been taken from him. He was scared. He had nobody. He didn’t want to be alone. He had fought and argued and at times despised his wife, but he still loved her. He still didn’t want to be alone.

He felt the back of his head. What had really happened to him? How long had he been gone? Why couldn’t he remember anything between their fight and waking up in the alley?

He felt something strange on the back of his head – there were stitches. Had he been cut? If so, then who sewed him up? Had he been attacked? Hospitalized?

Gene didn’t understand. Something had happened. Something had been taken from him, stolen. He had forgotten, and now he was forgotten. He didn’t know what to do about it or how to make himself remember. It was a cold and lonely night and he was lost and afraid. His life was over, and yet somehow he was still there. He wanted to cry. He wished that he could. Instead, he wandered off, no direction, no place to be, no place to go, not sure of whom he was supposed to be now.