Reflections

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cosy A-frame cabin. Out the corner of my eye I saw him looking at me expectantly, waiting for a reaction I knew I couldn’t give him. I pretended not to notice, and continued staring out the passenger side of the windscreen, watching the snowflakes hurl themselves at the car.

As we rolled slowly into the driveway, I listened to the crunch of the tyres on the freshly laid snow. I comforted myself in those last sounds of peace and quiet and waited for him to break the silence. The anxiety that had been lingering ominously in the background of my mind worked its way down and settled into my chest, and I felt the now-familiar grip of dread when I sensed he was about to speak.

“Here we are!”

He turned to me, beaming hopefully, joy oozing out of his every pore. I loathed talking to him, the poor guy. I forced an unconvincing smile and reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” he said, taking hold of my arm, before dropping it like he’d burned himself. I twisted to look at him. “I know you haven’t been looking forward to this trip…” His questioning glance asked me to deny it, but I couldn’t. For a moment, his happiness dropped just a little, before he regained his confidence. “But I wanted to say thank you for agreeing to come. I hope that you’ll enjoy this place as much as you did before.”

As much as I did before… I hated when he made comments like that. In three months, he hadn’t learned a single thing about me. Although, I suppose I didn’t really know a single thing about me either. He often told me what I liked, or what I disliked, or where I had been, or places I had loved. But that wasn’t me. Those weren’t my likes or dislikes or travels or memories. They were hers. I didn’t enjoy this place before. She did. His first wife. But he always seemed to forget that we weren’t the same person.

The slamming of the car door broke the stillness of the night and snapped me out of my reverie. It truly was a beautiful cabin. I could see why she had liked it. Hell, if I’d been alone, I actually might have enjoyed it. Not that I would be able to get here alone. I can’t drive. I can’t do anything.

I observed silently as he placed the bags on the porch and fumbled in his pockets for the keys. I could feel the giddiness flowing out of him in waves. He was like an excitable little kid in a grown man’s body. I suppose she must have found it endearing, his first wife. He flashed me a grin as he unlocked the front door and disappeared inside. I sighed deeply and followed him over the threshold.

I took off my boots, careful not to let the snow that clung to them fly everywhere, and placed them carefully to the left of the door, neatly lined up. He watched and laughed, that warm chuckle of his that started in his stomach before escaping out his mouth.

“You always put your boots there.”

“No, I don’t,” I snapped through gritted teeth. “I have never put my boots there, because I have never been here before.”

Shock and hurt flitted across his face, and I felt a sharp stab of guilt. I tried not to be harsh with him, I really did, but sometimes I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I forgot about his. He was a kind man, and so patient with me. He did everything for me. He didn’t know how to handle this strange situation either, and he was doing the best he could. Just three months ago he had lost his wife, the great love of his life. She was a wonderful woman, by all accounts. I was a poor replacement.

Wandering through to the living room, I found myself drawn to a picture of her. She was looking slightly away from the lens, light in her eyes and laughter on her lips. She was relaxed, carefree, joyful. I stared at the photo, gazing into the face that was the mirror image of mine… except for the scowl and the scar. She looked like a person who had only known happy days. I had only known sad or scary or confused days.

Suddenly, I sensed him standing behind me. “That was just two months before your accident.” He smiled wistfully. “That was one of our best days. We were so happy.”

I banged the frame down, a little harder than intended. “I can’t do this anymore!” I cried, burying my face in my hands. “All these trips down memory lane, trying to bring back any kind of recollection. It’s not working! I’ve tried to remember. I’ve tried so, so hard. I’ve tried until my brain is hurting. But she is not me. I am not this woman!”

“Then who are you?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know!” The frustration and the confusion spilled out of me; the tide that had been threating to break for the past few months was released. “I don’t know who I am! I’m nobody yet! I’m just a blank slate. Maybe I’m a ghost! Or a new spirit in an old body. A fresh soul. I don’t know. Nobody knows! The only thing I know is that she,” I jabbed my finger at the photo, “is gone. Those memories are gone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for you and your wife. But this isn’t doing either of us any good. It’s time to move on.”

Tears filled his eyes, threatening to spill into the crinkled crow’s feet he’d earned from all the smiling he normally did. He nodded. “You’re right. We’ve tried so hard. And I’m so grateful to you for trying. If that’s how you feel, then I agree, we should move on. But we’re here now, so why don’t we try and enjoy this weekend? No pressure, no expectations, no memories. We’re just two people here in this beautiful place together.”

I breathed out heavily, and I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders. The pressure that had been building up inside me had been alleviated, and for the first time that I could remember, I felt at ease. But I did feel terrible for this kind, sweet man. It was like he lost his wife twice. I patted him awkwardly on the back, and we retired to different corners of the cabin.

Next morning, I awoke feeling the best I had felt since I came to bandaged and bruised in that hospital bed. He looked better as well. I guess it was also a relief for him in some ways, now that he could stop trying to convince me that I was his wife. Stop trying to convince himself, too. He said good morning and smiled, and I returned it, my first real smile.

“I went to the bakery in town and got croissants,” he said brightly.

My smile grew wider.

After breakfast, we decided to go for a hike. The sky was a clear pastel blue, and the snow was glinting in the sun like diamonds. I gulped down the fresh, clean air like water. My mind was as clear as the air, the usual fog that engulfed it was gone. The gentle country breeze had blown away the anxious awkwardness that had been my other constant companion for the last three months. I felt free, and for the first time I was able to enjoy myself.

He seemed happy too, happier than normal. He gave the impression of bouncing rather than walking along the forest path. We joked and laughed, and drank in the beauty of the crisp, snowy morning. After an hour or so, we reached a fork in the trail.

“Which way shall we go?” he asked me, peering at the wooden sign.

“This way,” I said confidently, without even glancing at the sign. It was the first decision I had ever made for myself. I started off down the left-hand trail. “I just have a feeling we should go this way.”

There was a question in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t have explained why anyhow. It felt like a hand on my shoulder, guiding me down the left path. It was a gut feeling, and I just knew it was the right way to go.

Eventually, the trees gave way to a clearing. I gasped with delight as my eyes took in the exquisite scene: a clear blue lake, and a perfect reflection of the snow, the mountains, the huge firs reaching towards the cerulean sky. It was like the image from a painting, or a dream, or… I felt dizzy, and I wheeled around, my hands outstretched, searching for him, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t stand up.

The sun lit up his golden hair from behind and shone like a halo around his head. He rushed over, worry etched onto his face. His eyes reflected the blue sky, and me, staring back into them, staring but not seeing, or rather, seeing more than the reflection… He clasped me tightly as my legs threatened to crumple, and I folded into him, as I had done before, many times before, and in the safety of his arms I felt something stirring in my mind, a memory… of a lake, mountains, a golden halo, a warm embrace.

“Alex, I remember this.”