Gene

The tall wooden door loomed above me, dark and menacing. Behind it lay what I didn’t want to face; all the fears I have tried to forget. As soon as the brass knob is turned, repressed memories will flood back and tamper with my emotions. But I couldn’t forget when forgetting was what I was running away from.

Creaks emitted ever so slightly as the planks on the floor gently dipped under my weight. Purple and coral hues met me as I made my way into the room, closing the door softly behind me. By the large window to my left sat a woman, gazing out at the horizon. A stranger to the environment around her, focusing solely on the setting sun.

It was oddly peaceful. A sorrowful kind of beauty. I didn’t want to disturb the scene in front of me, but soon enough she took notice of my presence. The corners of her mouth were creased into a smile, and her eyes sparkled with wonder.

“Hello!” She was beaming. Her joy was contagious, and I found myself mirroring her face. It was hard not to, as she is the kind of person who people want to smile with.

“Have you looked outside? It’s stunning.”

It certainly was, the sky painted with colors so dainty it could’ve been a drawing. However, nothing could be more beautiful than the woman on the chair in front of me. Taking a seat on the rug next to her, the room got silent, and I listened to her gentle, calm breathing.

The serene setting was interrupted abruptly by the jingle of the keys in my pocket. Keys. I could remember when it all was different, when the woman sitting next to me, my girlfriend, could actually recognize me as her significant other. We had just moved in together, and that was when she started misplacing things. It began with her keys, moved onto her wallet, and eventually, she forgot her purse entirely. When it got so severe she couldn’t recall what she did the day before, we decided it was a good idea to take her to the hospital. The doctor’s diagnosis still haunts me in my sleep to this day. “Early-onset Alzheimer’s disease”. Those words echo in my head. When she was diagnosed, we looked at each other. She was frightened, and so was I. That was on July 17th, just a week before our anniversary, a week before I planned to propose to her. Her face, full of sorrow. Her eyes, full of emotion, everything she’s felt during her time with me and more. I shook my head and looked over at her now. Her eyes reflected simple emotions, but behind all that shine she looked hollow. Did she remember me?

“Hey, Cassandra…” I said, averting my gaze to the floor when she turned to look at me. Facing her was too difficult, confrontation seemed to separate the topic from being brought up.

“Yeah, Amara? What is it?”

Clearly, I had underestimated her capability to put names to faces. She knew who I was, but did she know what I was? To her?

“Cass, do you know what our relationship is? How you know me, where you know me from?” My hands fumbled around in my sweater, fingering the soft velvet box in the pocket. After an entire year of time, I still kept it with me, despite her parents telling me I was the cause of her troubles, that everything was my fault. Was it?

“What a weird question, you’re my best friend of course!” She chuckled softly, in the way she always did that knotted my stomach and tugged at my heartstrings. It hurt, it really did, that she couldn’t remember all the happy times we’ve had, that time in Venice on a gondola, us laughing at the Eiffel Tower. Our planned trip to Ingonish, Nova Scotia, where we first met at a quaint cottage place called Knotty Pine.

My heart twisted with regret, I pulled out the box and slowly opened the lid. In it sat a glittering diamond ring, the band looking as if woven with leaves. The soft ridges of each detail rolled underneath my thumb. This ring represented what the future could’ve held, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she might’ve been happier without me.

“That’s breathtaking,” Cassandra said, placing a hand on my shoulder, “who’s it for?”