Forgotten Memories

You know that déjà vu feeling you get every now and then? You’ll be doing something random, or talking to someone, and suddenly it hits: “Hasn’t this happened before? Wasn’t I here before? Didn’t we have this exact conversation before?” It lasts a second, maybe a few, and then you shake it off and pretend it didn’t happen maybe even laugh it away. Between 60% and 90% of the general population has reported experiencing déjà vu at least once in their lifetime. I guess that’s why I never questioned it when the feeling began to hit me daily, sometimes multiple times a day. When I started to walk to work, that’s when the déjà vu series began.

The first time…

“Leah! Leah! Wake up!”

I’m groggy and ready to throw the first thing I can at my sister Lisa.

“What do you want!?” She turns on my light, and I damn near hiss at her as my head is buried under the blanket.

“I need to take your car to work today”

It's not even a question, merely a statement.

“Bitch…what!? No, I have work; go away, where the hell is your car?”

A sudden pressure weighs down on my entire body as my sister sits on me.

“Beatrice is unfortunately in the shop, and I need to drive 40 mins out of town for work today. Please, bro, don’t be mean; your work is like a 20-min walk. Just walk”

I want to say no, I want to say piss off and let me sleep. But instead, “ugh fine! Now go away and let me sleep.” Great…now I have to wake up even earlier.

…

“Okay, I’m heading out, love you!” I yell to whoever is in the house, earbuds in, Hozier album on. I start my walk, cutting down Lint Ave and 154 Street, when I pass a hospital I swear I’ve seen before. I stare at it—Anne Hopes Psychiatric Hospital and Behavioural Health Unit—and the name brings on that feeling of déjà vu, like a memory but not my own. A memory of another life, another time. “Excuse me,” someone behind me says, and that’s when I see her: a tall woman with her hair neatly pinned up, not a strand out of place, and a name tag reading Dr. Eleanor Martin. There it is again the non-existent memories-as she passes me and walks toward the door. I swear she knew me; she looked almost shocked to see me. You don’t look at a stranger like that, and I can’t help it. “Excuse me! Sorry, excuse me,” I shout after her, and her attention turns back to me, smiling as if afraid of what I’m going to say. “Sorry to bother you, but…” She avoids my eyes. “Have we met before?” The pause is minuscule, but enough for me to see her need to consider what to say.

“Umm nope? Sorry, I don’t think so.” She smiles once more. Maybe you really are going crazy; everyone gets deja vu, but only you seem to let it get to you, make it mean more then it does.

“Sorry…my mistake. I thought… you just seem like someone I knew I guess, I’m sorry.” As I walk away, I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Wait…um…My name's Eleanor. I’m a doctor here at Anne Hopes, and you are?” Oh god, what if she thinks I need to be a patient there? “I'm-I'm Leah, Leah Hend. Sorry, I should probably get going, but it was nice to meet you, doc”

With that, I ran; something about that woman brought about a feeling that I wanted to get as far away from as possible and back to work and the feelings I knew and more importantly, understood.

Weeks went by, and I simply got into the habit of walking to and from work, my car left in our driveway an unneeded vessel for the rare occasions I actually go out.

Every day, the same walk, the same street, passing the same hospital, and every day the same moment: I see the name, I stop, and the feelings creeps up in the back of my mind, I’ve been here before? Goosebumps reach my spine, and then I stop. I shake it off and remind myself, “It's just a feeling; it's normal, get a grip”

And I keep going; every now and then I’ll catch a glimpse of Eleanor , staring at me, on the front steps of the hospital, on a bench, inside, through a window. Each time she’ll be staring and then look away, pretending it didn’t happen. Every day the same: summer, winter, spring, autumn, winter, and spring again. Same walks, the same route, the deja vu feeling becoming a normal reaction to that building, simply part of my route, practically expected. But today, this time, it’s different. As I pass the hospital expecting the feeling, the sign isn’t what grabs my attention, or the looming building behind it, not even Dr Martin. No, this time it was a little girl. A little girl with a cane that didn’t look as if it belonged in someone so young, out of place, yet clearly necessary, as she limps out of the car, her parents on either side of her, worried with every step she takes, hands at the ready for the moment they are needed. This time it wasn’t just a feeling that hit me but an image. Fleeting, blurry, but there, evident and powerful, no longer taking up the back of my mind but its entirety. A little girl, 6 maybe 7, my brown hair, my hazel eyes, my young face, and MY mother holding her injured, scabbed, cut-up hand as she limps up the stairs of this very hospital. One problem. I have never been inside this building, and I don’t remember getting injured, having a limp, that… that wrap on my head. Instinctively, I touch the side of my head as my body seems to already know more than I do. Without thinking, I begin to walk towards the front door of the hospital. Opening the door, I barely comprehend the woman at the front desk as she asks, for what was most likely the third time: “Excuse me, ma’am? Can I help you?”

“Uh… yeah sorry, um, is Dr Eleanor Martin in today by chance?”

The nurse's smile doesn’t falter. “She sure is. Do you have an appointment?”

“Um..n-no, but please I would really like to talk to her if that’s at all possible?”

Apparently my face revealed how desperate I really am, and she sighs.

“I can see if she is free. May I get a name? And reason behind needing to speak to her?”

“Uh yeah, my name is Leah Hend and… and can you just tell her my name and say I really need to talk to her…please”

There was an audible sigh and moment of irritation, but she picks up the phone and does as I requested. A slight surprise crosses her face. “Oh… okay yup, I can bring her up right now... okay, thank you.” She looks up from the front desk, smiling once more. “Right this way, ma’am”

When I come into the office, I can tell she picked the right occupation; her office is filled with flowers and plants, and orchids, books and bookcases fill the walls, and there is her desk and a couch in the middle of the room; the couch screams comfort and cozy. And the room invites you to come in and be at ease. Dr Eleanor stares at me, as a smile and confusion mix across her face. “Hello, it was…Leah correct? How can I help you, Leah?”

The urge to play with the rings on my finger is unbearable, and to do anything but look directly at her. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but um…I asked you if we’ve met before? And you said no, but…but I keep feeling this…this feeling, like deja vu but stronger and every day I pass by this hospital or I see you and the same feeling comes to me and then this sadness comes over me and I feel like I need to cry…and then today…today it was like a memory came to me but I never remembered that before so…I’m not saying you were lying but please please ease my sanity…and tell me the truth “have we met before? And if not like I don’t know is there something we can do to fix this feeling?”

Silence…hesitation…and a sigh. “I think you should sit, Leah.” My name isn’t a question anymore, but a familiar statement. I follow her order and ease myself down into the couch (I was right…it was super comfortable). She sits across from me. No more confusion, or fake smiles plastered on her face…this is real…she looks at me with this… this sadness, this pity…this familiarity. For me.

“Let me start by saying…I am so sorry Leah for lying to you but I genuinely believed this was best for you..triggering your memories by force would not be beneficial to your mental health no matter how many years have passed…” she’s trying to find the words I can tell “please doc just spit it out” We both took a deep breath “very well…when you were 6 years old…there was an incident…”

“An incident?”

“Yes….I don’t know if you remember your grandfather very much, your mother's father?”

Why is she asking about Grandpa Adam? Is this stalling? Background before the plot?

“Uh, not really; he passed away when I was young. My mum said he died in a car accident I think?…but why are you asking?”

“He died in 2007, dear…when you were 6…and it wasn’t a car accident….he was with you when he died…” my heart pulses through my entire body, and it's like I can’t even feel myself sitting on the couch as I shake my head. Still she continues, unaware I am no longer in my body anymore; I’m somewhere else; I’m walking down a dark street holding an elder's hand, wrinkled yet strong, warm, and safe. Eleanor's voice is distant: “According to your mother you and your grandfather were walking home from the ice cream shop…”

The old man, his face still a blur but beginning to clear. Expecting to see a smile as I look up at him but instead his entire face is plagued with concern, he’s scared; his grip on my hand starts to hurt as he turns behind us. I follow his gaze, and a group of men, their faces covered, three of them, all covered, black shadows in the back of my head, my monsters under the bed, in my closet, in my dreams. “These men…they wanted money, got the better of your grandfather, held a gun and knife to you both.”-

His hands are up in defence, I try to hide behind him as one of the monsters grab me, a feeling, something cold, sharp, dead, pushes against my neck “give us your fucking wallet old man! And your phone” he tries to calm them all down, not even arguing just trying to get me back to his side where I belong “please she’s just a child let her go please I’ll give you everything I have please don’t hurt her please” I start to fight back, kicking and screaming “shut her up!” There’s a shove behind me, hard, and then a bang…a bang so loud it rings through the street, the monster shoves me even harder and I fall to the pavement, everything is black but there is pain as they continue to hit us taking whatever they could patting through our bodies searching for a penny or a dime or dollar.

“They shot your grandfather…he died on site…someone called the ambulance…and your head was split open from the pavement… they beat you to near death…Leah, you were coming here and going to physio for over a year, but between the physical and emotional trauma your head endured….”

“That’s why I couldn’t remember any of this?” She smiles and nods, the same pity smile that does anything BUT comfort me.

“Yes- look its natural when something like this happens especially at such a young age…your mind will try to protect you, so it blocked those memories, and the older you got it was almost natural that you wouldn’t remember much of your childhood and then one day, you didn’t even need to think of something as random as when you were 6 years old and the year that never was. I advised your mother that if questions ever did come up or if something triggers your memories to ease into the truth, don’t push it too hard; otherwise, it could cause more harm than good…but she didn’t want you to ever know…she thought…she just didn’t want to bring you that kind of pain after everything you already went through”

“Is that why you lied to me!?” There was more anger in my tone than intended.

“Y-yes, I am so sorry about that. I just feared triggering any unwanted memories”-

“You should have told me! You should have. My mom should have- I- what the hell am I supposed to do with - with all this, how? What do I do!?”

My eyes begin to burn, my throat about to close, yet all I want to do is scream, run away, hit something, disappear, yell at someone, cry until there is nothing left of these memories but tears on the ground-it’s too much and I can’t breath…And then there is nothing. So Instead, I leave…I walk out the room, ignoring the pleas from Dr Martin asking if I’m alright, ignoring everything and everyone around me, ignoring the tears that dry on my cheeks, and I walk away, more then ready to forget again…

The End