Memory

( I decided to use a short story to explain my take on “Suspension of Disbelief” )

I lay there for few more minutes under the covers, eyes shut. Mind confused and my fists clenched. I really was behaving irrationally. A crazy woman with memory problems. I can’t just lie here like a coward – worse than that – like a five year old, afraid of the monsters under the bed. I unclench my fingers and drum them against the mattress. 

This is ridiculous. I’m a grown up woman, perfectly capable of rational and mature decisions. I can’t just stay here for all eternity. I finally lift myself to a sitting position and the covers slip from my head and fall gently down my torso. I slip my feet to the ground and touch the cold wooden floor. I take one last conscious breath and get up.

I will not stay in this bedroom all day, there is nothing to be afraid of. And why should there be? After all this is my house. I freeze for a moment, not sure where the thought came from. My house? Why did I think that? I don’t even know where I am.

I stand there in the middle of the room, consternated and more confused than ever before…  if that’s even possible. Why did I even…? I look at the space around me and the strangest feeling comes over me. Confidence. I don’t know why, but I’m perfectly sure that this really is my house. I can’t explain it, yet I know that it’s true. Is my memory returning? No, that’s not it. It doesn’t feel like an actual memory.                   

It’s just an assurance.

I head slowly to the window and lift a curtain. I look outside at the peaceful neighborhood and then down at the driveway. At a place where the tires made a visible imprint. I stare at it for a moment and think about the man, who left those marks on the road. I lift my left hand and look at it closely. There’s a faint, rounded stripe on my second finger. The skin in that place is paler than the rest of the hand. 

I flex my fingers and once more stare at the window and the feeling of assurance comes over me once more. The man that had just left the house, isn’t really a stranger… or a kidnapper for that matter. Furthermore, I am perfectly sure I know him, even if today I saw him for the first time in my life. 

I don’t know how, but once again I know it’s the truth. The man I laid next to and was so terrified of… that man was my husband.