Meredith dragged me along as she ran, pulling my arm so violently I feared my shoulder might fly from my socket. Behind us I heard a cry in a strange accent, a word I thought I knew, though I could not place it. I whispered it to myself as I tried to keep up to Meredith and she glared at me furiously, yanking even harder upon my arm. The sounds of pursuit grew nearer as we ducked around a corner and into a broad alley, weaving around trash dumpsters. One of the pursuers—the man with the goggles, I was certain—uttered a command and somehow I knew they were splitting up to cut off our avenues of escape.

I began to say something, but Meredith silenced me with a glance. Directly in our path were two cooks in stained white jackets outside having a smoke break and Meredith headed for them with me in tow. They glanced up in surprise at our rapid approach, their astonishment soon replaced by fear as they saw the man behind us in pursuit. Their conversation silenced they watched us, open-mouthed and frozen in place, as Meredith blew past them, carrying me with her. She threw open the door leading into the kitchen, with such violence it almost rebounded off the wall to hit us, and we plunged within before either cook had time to recover and do anything.

Inside we were met by a shout of anger from another cook and a stunned shriek from the waitress we bowled over as we dodged through the galleys. By the time I noticed the scalding heat hitting my face, we were already out of kitchen, emerging to find ourselves near a bar. A couple, with their arms slung over each other as they leaned against the counter, glanced up at our sudden entrance. Again I noted the long delay before the surprise registered on their faces. Was time moving slower for me, each instant fuller than the last?

I had no time to think about that for Meredith did not pause, flying around the bar, shoving aside anyone who came near our path, and it was all I could do to keep up with her. The staff was slow to react as well, only moving in our direction when we reached the entrance to the place. By then shouts and cries began to arise again from the kitchen and a low murmur of consternation erupted, cut silent by the door swinging shut behind me as we returned to the street. Here Meredith paused for a second to get her bearings, glancing left and right. My face felt hot and my pulse echoed loudly in my temple. I could not seem to get enough air into my lungs. Continue reading →

The Cafe Beano was a coffee shop on the corner of a busy avenue not far from the apartment building, a place I was convinced I had been before, though no memory would come to me. Yet I knew where it was and could picture its cluttered interior, with tables and chairs strewn about seemingly at random, could smell the bitter coffee and hear the chatter of the menagerie of people gathered within its walls. It was the specificity of these memories that seemed the strangest of all to me. Why could I recall with exacting detail everything about the Beano, but not remember having been there or anywhere else in this city, wherever it was? It was if someone had planted the memory whole within me, but left aside all the context, all the things that made a memory personal. This recollection could have been anyone’s, just as I could be anyone, and that was what bothered me most of all.

Meredith might be able to help there, I reasoned, as I walked back through the park to the coffee shop. All those things which had seemed so significant earlier—the couple talking, the movement of the light through the tree branches, the damp smell of the earth—I noted now in a glancing way, giving them no real thought, my mind on how to proceed with Meredith. Did I reveal to her that I had no memory of who I was? Could I trust her with that information? Best to wait until I better understood what she wanted and go from there, I decided.

I had a sudden moment of panic as I stepped into the Cafe Beano, glancing about at the faces of those sitting at the tables or standing in line for coffee, and realized I had no idea what Meredith looked like. If she was already here I would have no way of finding her—how had this not occurred to me before, I wondered, feeling my face go red—and there would be no hiding my memory loss from her. Realizing there was nothing else for it now that I was here, I went and stood in line, fidgeting and glancing about to see if anyone in the place was trying to meet my eyes.

As I waited a slim woman, with hair that wavered between blond and brown, depending on the light, pulled tight into a dancer’s bun that peaked atop her head, came alongside me and said in a quiet voice, so unlike the one she had used on the phone, “I’ll get a table at the back. Get me a latte.” Continue reading →