I'll Meet You There

The headlines were all over on the very day it happened. On the internet first, all over Twitter, AOL, CNN and every place where you could read a news story, even just moments after.

The next day, and for the next few months, the newspapers, the magazines, the tabloids, as if it wasn’t hard enough to deal with without living it twenty-four-seven. Every single magazine in existence just felt that they had to cover it even though every single other one already had, as if it was so important that they weren’t left out.

And then there were people’s reactions to the story, probably the hardest to cope with. Some said they deserved it, that it was God punishing them for their sins, some were just plain hateful, spamming online message boards calling them ‘stupid fags’ and expressiong their happiness for Jesse’s misfortune. There were some, of course, who offered their condolences, sent cards and presents, donated, set up little support groups, but these were almost equally hard to accept.

It was a fight for Andrew to be even allowed into the hospital to see him, as they said he wasn’t technically – legally – considered a legitimate spouse, even though they’d come out publicly together years ago. But he’d fought his way in, tooth-and-nail, because he’d be damned if he let some homophobic idiots sitting behind a desk tell him he wasn’t Jesse’s partner.

As he was getting to the room, his brain managed to think up the very worst-case scenarios and present them to him in horrifying detail. The details exchanged in the phone call from the hospital had been brief, and he let his imagination conjure up the rest. He convinced himself he was going to lose him.

And he did lose him. Just not in the way he’d been imagining.

oOo

“At the moment, he can’t remember anything; we asked him what year it is, who the President is, even his own name – nothing. But there’s one thing that he does remember – something he keeps repeating over and over.”

“What is it?”

The nurse shifts her clipboard to her other hand, and she studies Andrew’s face as she replies, “Your name.”

He takes a deep breath before he opens the door, but it feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs no matter how much he inhales. There’s a pressure in his chest that feels like something’s trying to crush him, but he forces himself to pull it together before he goes in.

He steps inside the room tentatively, Jesse’s head snapping towards the door the moment he hears the knob turn.

Andrew’s heart shatters instantly at what he finds; Jesse sitting up in the bed, a hospital gown hanging halfway off his shoulder, the one thing you never want to see your lover wearing. A good chunk of his skull’s wrapped up in bandages, one wrist in a cast, and the rest of his body sprinkled in bruises and cuts. His eyes rest on Andrew’s, wide and afraid. He can tell from here that they’re red; he’s been crying.

His fingers clutch the blanket that’s draped over his legs, and Andrew’s never seen him looking so pathetic, so scared and vulnerable. It almost makes him burst into tears right there; he wants just to run over and hug his baby, but he can’t do that, can’t scare him; he can only imagine that this is even harder for Jesse than it is for him. He looks so small, so pathetic, hooked up to all these machines, so banged up and so…. broken. The equitment beeps around him, as if poking him, just saying hey you, don't forget I'm here!

“Jesse?” he whispers, trying to make himself seem as unintimidating as possible, but even as he just takes one step forward, Jesse rears back like he’s been slapped.

He has no idea who I am.

Wait, yes he does. Jesse clutches up the blanket under his chin and looks over Andrew’s body and face. His lips are just slightly parted and his eyes sparkle like he’s remembering something.

“Andrew?”

Andrew stops in his tracks. “Y-you know who I am.”

Jesse stares at him helplessly, and the nurse, from behind, places a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. He flinches, having forgotten she was there, and quickly brushes her hand off. “I… I know your name,” whispers Jesse, from the bed. “That’s all I know – who are you, and why do I know your name?”

“I-you’re…” Andrew stutters, having to sit down because this is all just so much to process. He’s spent the past few hours speeding to the hospital when he’d gotten the call, and then screaming at the hospital personnel who’d insisted he couldn’t see Jesse because the wasn’t a legal spouse, and now, when he’s finally gotten here, he’s just found out that Jesse – Jesse, his lover, who means more to him than anything in the world – can’t remember a thing; about the accident, about his life, or anyone in it. He fees sick, down to the deepest realms of his stomach, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from throwing up.

Jesse looks even more scared now, and Andrew stands up again, remembering that he has to be strong. He takes his wallet from his pocket – the same brown leather one that Jesse got him as a gift years ago – and removes a picture, a wrinkled photo that’s also been sitting in the pocket for years; a photo of them at some award show, back right after The Social Network, with his arm hooked over Jesse’s shoulder.

Those few months were the happiest of his life, Andrew now realizes. “We – I’m your boyfriend.”

“I’m gay?”

Even if it’s understandable, the question startles Andrew and he chokes, leaning back in the chair; Jesse really doesn’t remember anything. Not even him.

oOo

Jesse stares helplessly at the sea of strangers milling around his bed. A nurse is fastening a cuff around his arm to check his vital signs; a thermometer’s popped in his ear, and there’s beeping everywhere. His head itches, everything hurts, and he doesn’t know why he’s here or who any of these people are. All he knows is he’s in pain, and he’s scared. The cuff inflates, and the pressure on his arm is far too tight; it’s suffocating, crushing. He winces, then mentally chides himself for being such a baby.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even know why I’m here!”

The doctor looks at Andrew in annoyance, as if this is all his fault, and taps his foot on the floor; ugly white hospital sneakers. He’s losing his patience, and Andrew thinks from his chair that he shouldn’t be such a grouch if he’s going to be dealing with scared, sick people, especially his Jesse. “Mister Eisenberg – that would be your name – you’ve been in a car accident. You were riding on your bicycle and you were struck by a truck - sending you flying, hitting your head on the pavement. You’ve got amnesia, and we’re trying to see if-“

“When did that happen?”

“Yesterday. Do you know the date, Mister Eisenberg? Do you know what year it is?”

“I’ve no idea…”

“Do you know who the President of the United States is?”

“George Washington?”

More questions are asked; his name, again, his age, his phone number, his address. These, he quickly learns again after initially being unable to answer, though he still can’t say who the President is, what school he went to, what movies he’s acted in. He recognizes pictures of his parents and his sister, but he can’t remember their names, and he can’t recall the details of the accident. But when asked who ‘this man’ is (and the nurse will point to Andrew), Jesse will easily be able to reply ‘Andrew’, though that’s as far as his knowledge goes. He doesn’t remember ever living with him – ever having a conversation with him, ever kissing him, ever making love to him…

After the attack of questions, very few of which he is able to answer, a nurse finally asks him an important one; how he’s feeling. “Shitty,” he admits truthfully, and Andrew grimaces as he knows his Jesse would never have the balls to say that outright.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“You can let me sleep.”

“It’s lucky that amnesia is the most of his injuries,” the nurse says quietly, with a heavy sigh. “His brain literally sloshed around in his head-“

“I’m right here, you know.”

She gives him a sideways glance. “He’ll recover. But the amnesia – that’s unpredictable. The best thing you can do is be there for him.”

“How do you know who I am, but nothing else?” Andrew asks, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, after the doctors and nurses have finally left to give them some time alone. Jesse, poor Jesse – the one that’s suffering the most from all of this – looks exhausted, and exasperated, and Andrew can tell that all he wants to do is sleep.

He gazes down at his lap, pulling at the hospital bracelet and twirling it around his wrist. “I don’t know. I don’t even know who you are – just know your name. Like something’s pushing me to remember. But… that’s all I have.”

Andrew places a hand on Jesse’s; it’s the most intimate contact he’ll risk giving. “It’ll come back,” he says, and he’s not sure if it’s in confidence or hope. “Give it time.”

oOo

Andrew doesn’t dare leave the hospital that night. They allow him to sleep draped over a very uncomfortable chair, but he doesn’t make it through the night. He wakes up just as the sun begins to filter through the blinds covering the window. Jesse’s passed out in his hospital bed, and he looks exactly the same in his sleep as he always does; one arm stretched out under the pillow, hand dangling off the bed, legs crooked with his mouth hanging open. Andrew can watch him, sleeping like that, and pretend everything’s like it always was; everything’s normal.

And he watches Jesse, for close to an hour until it’s seven AM and the cafeteria’s open for breakfast. Making sure Jesse’s still asleep, because he’ll be damned if he’s not there when he wakes up, he scurries down. Normally, he wouldn’t leave his bedroom looking like this; hair in a tousled mess about his forehead, shirt wrinkled – he’s still wearing the same thing he came to the hospital in – but this is a hospital, and everyone looks that way. It doesn’t even occur to him who might be watching, taking pictures, or who might pop out from around a corner to pepper him with questions; the only thing on his mind is Jesse.

And food.

The last thing he wants is the bland, chunky hospital food but he’s in no position to be picky. He doesn’t even fully look at what he’s grabbing; like he’s on autopilot as he fills two trays of food and carries them back to the room. It’s not until he gets there that he looks down at his choices; some bland pancakes, sausage and eggs. How classic.

Andrew’s been grown to being so used to sleeping up against a body that it’s impossible for him to sleep alone, and all he wants to do is curl into that twin-sized bed and pull Jesse into his arms. My sweet boy, he thinks sadly. Remember me. He knows he has to give it time, but once again, he can’t help but think of the worst-case scenarios and play them over and over in his head.

He doesn’t taste the food as he eats it, which is probably to his benefit, and Jesse sleeps on; a predictable result of a head injury, and he’s at least been treated to a private room, and the nurses have assured him that until Jesse’s discharged they will be protected with the upmost security. Not that they’re really famous enough to need much…

Jesse wakes up when the nurse comes in, again, to check his vitals. He looks groggy and miserable, and Andrew hates that the only thing he can do is nod towards the second tray. “Hungry?”

oOo

Five days in the hospital pass. Five excruciatingly painful days, for all parties involved. Jesse hasn’t recalled anything of value. Andrew’s given dozens of colorful pamphlets and handouts about How to Help a Loved One With Amnesia and How to Help One Recover from Memory Loss. Glossy little tri-fold papers with greens and blues and clipart, something that looks like it could be sitting in your local doctor’s office that you might just walk right by. He scowls at the pretty little Tahoma font, probably typed up by some intern or secretary sitting in a wheely chair, easily passed by someone who wouldn’t stop to – wouldn’t need to – pick it up.

Five days of exasperated rounds of twenty questions, five days that Jesse spends mostly sleeping while Andrew’s crying and ripping his hair from his skull, five nights of lying awake in a wooden chair, five days of tears, five days of hospital food that he doesn’t taste – five days without brushing his teeth. A toothbrush wasn’t exactly on his mind when he raced off to the hospital, and he hasn’t dared to leave and it’s not something he’s thought to ask for.

He’s talked to three different specialists, gotten referrals to therapists. The doctors all assure him that things should start to come back to Jesse in just a couple days’ time, that everything will be fine and he’ll make a full recovery. Why doesn’t he believe them?

He tries to keep himself cool and collected. For Jesse, he has to be strong; he can’t stress him out or scare him any more than he’s sure he already has. It’s more of an effort than he thought it’d be to not let the pet names like ‘Jes’ and ‘doll’ to slip out; he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable with them, considering the past four years of their relationship essentially don’t exist in Jesse’s mind. It hurts even more than a breakup would, maybe even more than Jesse dying, having him so close, but so out of reach.

As always, the moment they open the door, there’s a cat brushing up against their legs; one of three of them. Jesse leaps back instantly, staring at the animal like it’s some kind of monster, or giant insect. “W-what’s that?”

He doesn’t even remember his own cat.

Andrew lifts the fluffy white animal up, slowly, Jesse’s eyes following its every move. He’s trying to be patient, but his heart’s breaking inside; Jesse, the crazy cat guy who would jump in front of a bus to save a squirrel, doesn’t even know his own pet (although Andrew would be a little offended if he remembered the cat over him). “This is Blitz,” he says, slowly. “She’s your cat – one of them. You have two others; Polly and Chester.”

He sets the cat back down and she prances off to the kitchen, Jesse’s eyes on her back. It’s like he’s a guest in their little condo even though they bought it together. Andrew double-locks the door behind him, not in the mood to deal with anyone right now, though he knows he’ll have to be the one to break the news to Jesse’s parents, if they haven’t already seen it. He doesn’t check the messages on the phone, erases them all without even looking, so he has no way of knowing.

Jesse’s eyes roam over every nook and cranny, searching for anything familiar. Looking over at him, the pained look on his face, Andrew scolds himself for feeling sorry for himself. Jesse’s the one that’s been injured. But he can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t his Jesse; it’s him, but he’s different, and even though it’s no one’s fault, it still hurts whenever he speaks; there’s something different in his voice, in his eyes, something that’s not his Jesse at all.

“This is our home,” Andrew whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

They make dinner. It’s quiet, too quiet, as they whip up a pan of stir-fry together; oddly enough, Jesse remembers the recipe, but can’t recall Andrew teaching it to him. He keeps looking around the room with cloudy, disconnected eyes. He may as well be a total stranger.