Samantha

And then she was gone. I was never going to see her again. Or so I thought. One day in a restaurant in Chicago; a place I had only spoken of in adjectives. No name, no street address, just the story of a place I once loved to go to. On that day I walked into the small bar that was once a true speakeasy which was why I always remembered it in story but not in name. I took the small winding staircase down to the lower level where it had more of a lounge feeling rather than a loud bar like the upstairs area. I sat down at an empty table for two in the corner of the room and ordered a glass of Merlot. As I waited for my server to return with my drink I looked around the room and remembered the things that made this place a favorite of mine my eyes caught the side of her face. I couldn’t be sure it was her, it had been nearly 20 years since she disappeared from my life without a trace. But as she lifted the bottle of Merlot to refill her glass, I saw the tattoo on her arm that she got when we were on a trip in Thailand. I knew it was her. I slowly stood up from my table and walked over to hers. As I approached her table I said her name, “Samantha?”. She turned to look at me and for a moment I looked into the eyes of the woman I’d been mourning for decades.

“Where have you been? What happened to you?” I asked her, trying to contain myself from asking her every single question that was running rampant in my mind all at once. When she didn’t answer I said her name again. “Samantha.”

“I’m sorry,” she began to speak, “I don’t think I know you. My name’s not Samantha.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, of course you know me Sam, we were engaged to be married!” I am barely able to contain the anger and fear and sadness that I had been feeling for the last 2 decades.

“Maybe you were engaged to me but I wouldn’t remember that,” she answered with a look I couldn’t quite distinguish. Was it embarrassment? Was she ashamed? Did I see a moment of sadness and fear?

“What do you mean you wouldn’t remember?” I pressed. “You were the love of my life and I was the love of yours. We were planning a life together Sam, how can you not remember that?” I was on the verge of pleading with her; hoping she would wink at me, smile and laugh and say she was just kidding. But she didn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she said with what was clearly a look of sadness. “I don’t remember anything before July 12th 2000.”

July 12th 2000. I felt my heart stop and the air leave my lungs. I could feel my knees getting weak and I quickly sat down in the closest chair. July 12th 2000. She had been missing for 3 days by then. I had gone to the police, called all the hospitals, and called everyone I knew who might know what happened to her. July 12th 2000. She remembered nothing before then.

“Why July 12th 2000? What happened that day?” I asked her.

“That day I woke up in a hospital with no memory of anything.” As she sipped her glass of Merlot she began to explain how the doctors said she’d been dropped off outside the hospital doors with a severe head injury. She had been in and out of consciousness for a few days but on July 12th she woke up with no more than a headache, stitches and no memories of anything. Part of me wants to call her a liar and walk out of there and never return. Forget this whole moment in time. But that is silenced by the part of me that has loved her and lost her but somehow magically found her again. That part of me screams for me to stay; to try to make her remember. That part of me will do whatever I can so that I never lose her again.

My server finds me at my new table and leaves me with my glass of wine. I take a large pull of the wine and drain nearly half my glass. I closed my eyes and let the flavors melt into my tastebuds as I take this moment to collect my thoughts. I swallow the dark liquid and finally open my eyes. She has taken this time to examine my face. Maybe she’s trying to remember me but I don’t think it worked. So instead I tell her my experience.

“You had gone on a work trip,” I start. “You were due back on the 9th in the late afternoon. You’d been gone a week and I’d promised to meet you at the airport since we both said we couldn’t wait any longer even though it was only a week. The last time we spoke on the phone we laughed about how we were one of those sappy couples who couldn’t be without each other for more that a day.” I smiled at the memory of that but I could feel as my smile faded. “I was waiting in the arrivals area so I wouldn’t miss you. I brought you tulips because I always liked them and so on our first date I brought you tulips and that just became the flowers we bought for each other. So I had bright red tulips with me and I waited where the passengers exited the secure area.” As I tell her more the feelings from that day begin to flood over me. I forced myself to continue on. “I waited until the end of the day and the last flight arrived for the day. I went home hoping you were there waiting for me but it was empty when I got home. I sent you an email and called your phone but I never got an email back and your phone just kept going straight to voicemail.” I can feel a tear run down my face; I wiped it away and continued. “I didn’t sleep that night, I couldn’t figure out where you were, there hadn’t been any reports of plane crashes or delays or anything out of the ordinary. The next morning I started calling hospitals but you weren’t in any of them. I called the cops and they had me fill out a report but I didn’t expect much from them; they didn’t have much to go by. I called all our friends but no one had heard from you. I remember wishing your family was alive so I could have someone else as invested in finding you as I was.”

I have to stop and take a moment because suddenly I’m taken right back to those first days when I had nothing but hope that was rapidly being shattered. I took another sip of my wine and watched as she did the same. I silently wondered if she knew that was her favorite wine even back then or if it was pure coincidence. Did her taste buds remembe that wine? I decided to spare her the gory details of being told they were giving up looking for her and that she was probably a Jane Doe in the morgue. I decide to spare the arguments with our friends over having a funeral. I refused to give up. I never lost hope and while over the years she moved further from the front of my mind and my heart, I never let the light of hope be extinguished.

For a moment we both sit silent just taking in each other’s experience. Her eyes roamed my face looking for something, anything, to trigger a memory of our life together. I wait willing to give her all the time she needs. After what felt like forever, she looked at me and began to speak.

“I wish I could remember the life we were building, but I can’t. I can’t go backwards and know you and I together,” she lamented. The feeling of loss and sadness returned to me but in a much stronger way because she’s sitting right in front of me but she’s still not my Samantha. I feel my walls close in and all I want to do is leave and forget this ever happened. I want to feel like I did before I saw her here. I am about to get up when I feel her hand on mine. I stop moving. I’m too afraid to even breath. I slowly raised my eyes to hers.

“I wish I could remember my life with you,” she repeats. “I know I can’t be the woman you knew, but would you consider staying and having another drink with me? I would love to get to know you more and I want to share who I am with you. For starters: Hi, my name is Hope, and you are?” And with that this woman I knew but don’t know at all held her hand out for me to shake it and introduce myself. My heart gave me no choice at all so I reached out and grasped her hand, “Hi Hope, my name is Katie, it’s nice to meet you.”

And the two of us, two woman who knew each other so well before but who don’t know each other at all now spent the entire evening on a first date for the second time.