Forgotten Love

Sitting on the couch he groaned at the report. Nothing had changed in three months. He was still stuck wearing the same cloths, wondering how he actually said his last name, wondering who and where his wife was, and unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. He felt like he was missing something massive and huge just lingering out of a reach for him. At night when he slept he could hear the tinkling of a sweet laugh through the abyss of his dark dreams. He didn’t dream, which the others found weird. Even they dreamed. They picked up small bits of information about themselves through what they dreamed, but he didn’t. He just heard sounds. A woman’s giggle and laugh was soothing, though he preferred the sound of her moaning his name in the darkness of nothing. Then there were the nights where he constantly heard the same report repeated: Blackhawks are done by one, Taves has the puck, he’s making a run for the other side. Passes to Sharp, who passes it Oh-do-yah, he shoots, oh and it goes wide! Taves at it at the back of the boards fighting Carter, thirty seconds left on the clock. Can he get it from Carter in time? The puck is free! Hossa with it now, bringing it back to the net. Passes to Sharp, who passes to Taves….’ They would pause and he could feel himself holding his breath each time. Then it would start over. He never got to find out what happened next. He never got to figure out who these people were. Carter obviously wasn’t on the same side as the other guys. He also felt like people were being left out. Who was Taves? Who was Sharp, or Hossa, or Oh-doy-yah? Who were they and why did they sound familiar to him?

“Are they ever going to tell us something new?” Sidney wondered aggravated. For a month they had the same report on them: nothing new has risen out of Chicago.

That was fine and dandy, but he’d like to know if a single person remembered anything besides Roth. Was Roth talking to the government from Chicago or where the government was located? Where is the government located at? Couldn’t they at least get a half-hour or even and hour of where things were, what they meant, and how they worked? He was pretty sure they had other programs on the television for that but no one dared change it off the twenty-four hour news program for fear of missing something. How he would love to know how to clean his cloths. He knew the two stacked silver boxes in the closet towards the back of the apartment were meant to wash cloths, he just didn’t know how they worked. What he wouldn’t give to clean his suit.

Being stuck for three months in the same cloths was a nightmare. They smelled horrible. He smelled like he’d died. Not only that, but the only person able to change cloths was Patrick. None of them fit into his cloths other than oversized sweaters and jackets, which they were grateful for, but that was it. Between Sidney, Viktor, and himself they looked like a bad boy band.

“Good luck with that.” He huffed. “That’d be like Patrick telling us when he’s leaving.” He added. Patrick had a knack for disappearing without word, sound, or even a hint. Which was disturbing and terrifying all in the same instance because Patrick liked to have his presence known.

“Where is he by the way?” Viktor wondered honestly.

“Point proven.” Jon huffed.

“He said he was going to check something out. That he had an idea.” Sidney muttered easily as he leaned forward on his knees. He lifted his hands and pursed his lips at the words repeating. “We know that!” He yelled frustrated with the report.

“He had an idea?” Jon and Viktor deadpanned concerned. Sidney nodded.

“Which is why I told him he was on his own instead of agreeing to go with him.” He mumbled. “I give up I’m going to go shower.” He huffed. Storming down the hall he stopped. “Do you think if I shower in my cloths it will make them smell better?” He called.

That was a good question.

“Maybe.” They called.

“Is that how we wash them? Cause then I can’t wash myself…oh! Idea!” He called. The bathroom door clicked shut and the sound of running water greeted them. Jon frowned.

“How come I fell his ideas are as strange and possibly life threatening as Patrick’s?” He wondered honestly.

“Cause he only has half his teeth.” Viktor explained. “And Patrick only has half his hair.” He finished. Jon nodded. That was true. Very true. Humming he faced the television again.

With a sigh he stood. Removing his button up red shirt he pulled a sweater on and then a jacket over top. It helped mask the horrid scent that wafted off his stained and dirty dress pants. He caught Viktor’s questioning gaze and sighed.

“No point in sitting around doing nothing.” He admitted.

“You go, I’ll make sure Sid keeps the rest of his teeth.” Viktor laughed. Jon nodding with a chuckle as he ducked out the door.

Wandering out on to the streets was always horrifying to him. The way the elevators doors slid open leisurely, the lobby housing confused, stumbling souls trying to figure out their lives, the way sunlight reflected on crashed and stopped cars no one knew who they belonged to, and the way people meandered around helplessly. Apart of him said it reminded him of a movie, another part of him wondered what the hell a movie was.

Sucking in a deep breath he wandered down the front steps. Gnawing on his bottom lip he stuffed his cold hands into the jacket pockets. His shoulder felt cramped and tight beneath both the sweater and the jacket. The jacket was a touch too small he’d found out prior but it was the only one he could fit into. The sweat fit fine but he knew that it was too cold out for just the sweater. His nose was already cold and stinging just like his cheeks.

He shivered as her wandered around. Over the last month the temperature had begun to drop which was scaring the news and weather team. It was spring time in Chicago and they were predicting a snow fall soon. They wondered if the change of weather in Chicago was linked to the memory loss. He wanted to tell them at first that it was a Chicago, they always got a random spring chill before it became blistering hot, but this…this was different. It’d been a month and it was getting colder and colder. Sure Chicago would get a random cold spell in spring but it never snowed and clouds never collected over the city the way they did. The weather man was horrified because the clouds didn’t move like they should. They were stationary. It had taken Jon a week or two to figure out the weather man, who reported solely on Chicago’s weather wasn’t in Chicago. He’d been mad that the weather man, who clearly remembered, wasn’t helping them out and letting Roth run things until he figured that out.

His gaze narrowed as his feet stopped moving. Why did she make him so mad? What was wrong with Roth that made him disgusted and angry beyond words? She’d been nothing but kind and caring on the news, stating they were looking for all and any information on what had happened. She even looked horrified that she had to talk to the news and the government the first few reports. Roth had broken down crying wondering why she was the only one not effected, wondering what was wrong with her that made her so different. Lately she was asking people if they remembered anything, even a tiny little thing like what their favorite color was or food was, to come forward so they could figure this out. He didn’t see anything wrong with her. She was trying to help, yet in his gut he knew he didn’t like her.

Finding an odd bench he sat down. His gaze took in the odd plastic and metal covering to it, the odd blue sign with BUS written on it. He pursed his lips at it. What was a bus? His eyes dipped to the bench he was on. He knew it was a bench and not a bus. Was it a bus because it was covered? Or…

“You’re not seriously waiting for the bus are you?” He yelled heading down the stairs towards the side walk and the blue and white covering. He paused at the poster on the side, the red and black design with an Indian head on it. The poster was warped, ripped, and faded beyond the glass housing.

“You’re not seriously…” The voice mocked him. “Yes, Jon, I am. Because someone is a heartless, workaholic man that can’t even remember our anniversary!” She yelled. He stared at the light haired woman with inset green eyes glaring at him.

“Come on Jessica. We don’t have an anniversary! We’re not dating!” He huffed irritated. “I don’t even like you.” He admitted gently. “Not after what you did.” He tacked on, to make the statement less harsh.

“I didn’t do anything!” She screamed horrified, mouth open insulted.

“You broke into my apartment. You stole some of my medals, and you tried to attack my girlfriend. Not only that we broke up months ago because you cheated on me!” He sighed. He was trying to keep his voice down and not draw attention to their fight.

“Because you cheated on me!” She cried.

He groaned, covering his face with a hand. Taking in a deep breath licked his lips at her words. Anger was filling his chest. She had no right to that accusation.

“I wasn’t seeing her at that time. We were just friends. Sorry I went to have a drink with the guys and her at her place; looked out the window, which is right across from my apartment,” He waved his hand at the massive building across the busy street. “To see you fucking another guy in my bed. You need to get over yourself. We’re not together. We haven’t been for months. I’m happy now. If you truly cared, you’d be happy for me.”

“She’s only dating you for the money.”

“No, that was you.” He stated easily. Turning away from her he headed back up the stairs into his apartment building.

Leaning forward on his knees he held his head as it throbbed. That was the first thing he remembered. Catching his breath he stood looking at the bench, then the BUS sign. That still didn’t explain what was bus was but it explained why he didn’t like Roth. She’d hurt him, and badly. He couldn’t remember seeing her cheating on him and he knew it hurt when he had.

Staring at the bench, hands in his pocket, she wondered why now he was remembering. Why here? What was the significance of it?

Looking around he took in the building across the still car packed street. It wasn’t the same one from his memory. It was different, made of stone and brick. The building in his memory had been made of glass and glittered silver off the massive windows.

That wasn’t the reason.

Pursing his lips he sighed. It gave him some clue on how he’d meet one of his girlfriends. He stopped. Was that one, the one mentioned in his memory his wife? Or was it just a woman that he’d liked and they’d fallen apart like he a Roth had?

Rubbing his forehead he sighed heavily. He’d finally remembered something and his head hurt more than ever. Now what did he do? Did he step forward saying he’d remembered or not? He didn’t want to step forward and tell Roth anything, because really he didn’t know if he saw a real memory of if it was one he was making up to make himself feel better. Why would his own brain make something up though? That was the question.

“Why remember that?” He whispered as he watched the bench. Turning he sat back down, hoping for more. Pursing his lips he shivered after a few moments of nothing. Standing he began to wander again. Nothing was going to come to him from that bench again. “My head is killing me.” He moaned to himself. It felt like his head was splitting in two as he wandered around.

Looking up he frowned.

“Shit.” He whispered. Nothing looked even remotely familiar to him. “Where the hell am I?” he whispered. Pushing his hands over his head he exhaled loudly. This was ridiculous. The last thing he wanted was to be lost. “This is why I don’t go anywhere.” He admitted to himself. It was true though. He never wandered by himself, none of them did. They always wandered with Patrick. No matter where they ended up Patrick knew his way home. None of them knew how to get back to his place aside from certain places now.

“Hey there buddy.”

Spinning he grinned relieved.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” He admitted to Patrick wandering up to him. “Why the hell are you over here?” He wondered.

“Why are you?” Patrick countered.

“I have no idea where I am, or where here is. I just started walking and by the time I looked up I was lost.” He admitted.

“I was taking someone home.” Patrick admitted. Jon frowned. “She was freaking out. I think…she might have remember something but she didn’t want to go forward. I don’t know. So I helped her home. She lives a few miles from here. Just on my way home now.”

“I remember something too.” Jon admitted in a hushed voice. Patrick stared at him with wide blue eyes. “I dated Roth at some point.”

“No shit. Is she your wife?” Patrick huffed.

“No. I remember fighting with her, saying we weren’t dating anymore and hadn’t been for a while.” Jon whispered. Narrowing his gaze as he easily ran through the memory again. “She cheated on me in my own bed.”

“That’s fucked up.” Patrick deadpanned seriously. Jon nodded slowly. “How did that come up?”

“Sitting on a BUS bench.”

“What the hell is a BUS?”

“Hell if I know. I asked if she was actually going to wait for the bus though.” He rubbed his forehead at the pounding. Patrick hummed at him startled and confused himself. Blinking he looked up at his friend. “I hate this. So much. I just want…whatever I had back. I want to remember and not have it feel like my head is splitting.”

“You’re the only person I know that gets headaches when you think about what’s not there. I mean it doesn’t hurt my head, Sidney’s, or Viktor’s. So why yours?” Patrick wondered as they began wandering down the street.

“I don’t know. I feel like there’s this net that every time I try to remember something squeezes my brain to keep it all inside. I have the same squeezing feeling in the morning after I wake up.”

“Maybe that’s why you only hear things. Voices come through easier.” Patrick wondered.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I think it’s a net.” Jon admitted frustrated. Growling he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets roughly. This was getting old, and fast. “I just want to remember. I know that’s what everyone wants, but for fuck sakes it’s been three months…almost four. There’s nothing new. I don’t even know if we’re going about this remembering thing right.” He admitted.

“All we can do is wander buddy. Let our feet take us to where we think they should go and hope we remember.” Patrick muttered easily.

“Sid said you left because you had an idea. Figure anything out.”

“Nope.” Patrick popped the words on his pursed lips. “I went to this big old building that felt like an ice chest. I felt like I was at home, then I ran into that woman freaking out. Took her home and now I’m talking to you.” He grinned.

“Are you going to go back?” Jon wondered. A building that felt like an ice chest sounded both terrible and amazing at the same time. He liked the cold, but he wondered if it was colder inside the building than outside of it. Or was it actually warmer inside. He suddenly had a lot of questions about this ice box building. It made him giddy the idea of it.

“Yeah, probably tomorrow or something. I just need to get some food and wrap my brain around what she was rambling on about.”

“What was she saying?” Jon wondered. Patrick shook his head and said nothing. “Pat?”

“She just kept rambling, asking what Hockey and ice skating was to herself. I feel like I know those answers. She also kept saying why just his chin? Why? I don’t know about that one, but I wanna say I know Hockey, and I know it well because I tried to answer but nothing came out.”

Jon watched Patrick closely as they headed home. To him, if anyway would remember what, who, where, or why for situation it was Patrick. He was one of the few people he knew that remember how to get home from any part of the city they wandered too. He was the only person willing to constantly roam the streets because of that. He was always having ideas or thoughts about himself pop into his head and then he was gone to investigate it. Jon didn’t have any of that. His feet never lead him anywhere that had to do with himself. Patrick always knew where he was going, even if he didn’t know why. They meet a lot of people that Patrick felt comfortable with their faces and them with his. A few of those people even seemed to know Sid, Viktor’s, and even his own when they went with Patrick. He never knew any of the faces that knew his. Viktor recognized half of them and Sidney was in the same boat as him but Patrick figured it was because Sidney didn’t live in Chicago. Patrick figured if they put Sidney in this Pittsburg place he’d recognize just about everything and even know how to get home too. Jon couldn’t argue that. Sidney, despite not leaving the apartment often had remembered, months ago, a man named Mario. Sidney said he was a father figure to him, but not his father. He didn’t know why it came up, he just suddenly remembered him.

Jon wished that could happen to him. Suddenly remember.

Squeezing his eyes shut at the pounding in his skull he let out a deep breath in hopes it would help. These headaches were going to be the death of him, he could feel it.