Made of the Months

I had a boyfriend once. Tan skin, not very tall, had black hair that looked sort of curly on those lazy Monday mornings. I was always the type to be too engrossed in my scholarly ambitions to seek love—for a while I thought myself aromantic—but somehow this goofy dork who studied liberal arts and made poems for fun found himself in a heat-seeking trajectory straight to me.

He died when my plane was somewhere over Manila. Some thirty thousand feet below me and several towns away, the man I loved most drew his final breath and left me with nothing but orphaned promises.

“Hey,” she whispered beside me. “Maddy, wake up, we’re ‘bout to land.”

I forced open my bleary eyes and stretched for as much space as an economy class seat allows. “We’re in Prague? Already?”

“Yes, and you gotta remember, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, confidential, strictly confidential stuff. Gotcha.”

“I’m real serious about this, Maddy. I can get in real trouble if the University finds out I snuck you in.”

I scoffed at her. “Nic, chill out. I know a thing or two about breaking ethical standards in the name of research.”

“Well, aren’t you proud?” she said, giving my knee a little slap. “Just nervous, is all.”

I looked at her a little bit. In front of her I saw that there were three crushed coffee cups on her tray table. Nicole, my best friend from college, now some big-shot biopsychology professor at a German university, handing me a kindness I barely deserve. I reached out to hold her hand in mine. “Hey. Thanks, Nic. I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, and you will really owe me one after.”

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A couple hours, and several kilometers by taxi, later, we finally arrived. I’ve got to say sneaking into a university in Europe was a lot easier than I thought it’d be. Nicole having her ID and professorship status definitely helped, but I’m sure the only two Filipino girls in a hundred-kilometer-wide radius waltzing inside had to have raised some eyebrows.

After that, it was just a quick walk through the many floors and hallways that universities tend to have. I fought the urge to sightsee and pull Nicole aside every half a minute to ask about this painting or that book. I was here for one reason, and one reason only, and that’s all I needed to do. I need to stay focused.

About a third of the campus walked later, Nicole took me through a big wooden door that echoed as it opened.

“Ah, Ms. De Jesus,” a manly voice with a thick German accent spoke. “Welcome back, welcome!”

“Dr. Ziegler! Always early to work, you are,” Nicole shouted back. Still, I saw nothing but a big bookshelf-filled room and some… mechanical chair that looked a lot more like a torturing device than anything.

“Yes of course, the makings of great scholars are their punctuality,” he said, finally poking out from one of the bookshelves, a leatherbound notebook in hand. He was wearing a dirtied white long coat that matched his grimy white hair. Surprisingly, his walrus mustache was the best-kept part of him. “Ah! And you must be Ms. Cortez. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, Dr. Ziegler,” I said, my eyes still lingering on the titanium throne behind him.

“Such beautiful eyes you have, Ms. Cortez. You are a scholar too, yes?” he said as he shook my hand. “Ms. De Jesus has spoken a lot about you!”

“Ah, yes, I have a master’s in plant systematics,” I glanced over to Nicole, wide-eyed. “And I’m sure Nicole here has told only good things about me?”

Dr. Ziegler let out a full-bellied chortle that made me really hope these walls were sound-proof. “Oh, both good and bad. But do not worry, you,” he said, giving me a wink. “We will focus on our research today. Now!” And then he clapped his hands, jogged nimbler than I’d thought a man his age could move, and gestured to the metal bench. “I hope Ms. De Jesus has briefed you on the… nature of our study, no?”

“She has, yes, but I’d love to hear more from you!”

Before that moment, I didn’t know the man could get even more excited than he already was.

“Right, then! Ms. Cortez—oh, sorry, would you like me to call you another way?”

“Madison would be fine, sir.”

“Okay, Madison! Tell me, how are memories formed?”

I found myself tensing up. I was here to be a test subject, not to relive being a student. “Synapses?” I said, sounding more unsure the more the word lingers.

“Good enough!”

Beside me I heard Nicole gulp a chuckle down, so I nudged her by the elbow.

“Every day, every moment of our lives, our brain creates little connections between the nerve cells, and each connection is like a letter in the alphabet.” Dr. Ziegler then produced a projector already hooked up to a laptop and presented me with… a map?

“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” Nicole whispered, pushing a stool to my behind.

“Ms. De Jesus here was instrumental to this discovery. Think of our memories like a journey—the brain creates specific paths for specific memories. It is these paths that are the subject of this study.”

“And if you start to think of memories like a path we can walk,” Nicole continued, suddenly standing beside Dr. Ziegler. It’s amusing to think they rehearsed just for this. “Then you start to wonder if you can walk that path again, essentially reliving that memory like it was your first time.”

“We recall memories all the time, but it is often only in our heads. We do not come close to the sensation of seeing things, feeling things, smelling things.”

“So, the point is to get the subject to relive their memories, correct?” I asked, hoping to somehow fast track this presentation.

“Precisely, Madison!” Dr. Ziegler exclaimed. “I want to give credit to Ms. De Jesus’ ambitions; that with this machine,” he gestured proudly to the thing beside him. “Would help people like you, the bereaved, to come to terms with the grief.”

A sting in the chest. Even this many years later it stings to be reminded of what I’ve lost. “Cool,” I said. “Any limitations? Drawbacks? Anything I should know before… becoming a guinea pig?”

“For now, Maddy, we’ll only be accessing one memory.”

“And I get to choose?”

“You get to choose. And after, we’ll ask you some questions about the experience.”

“Gotcha,” I said, wondering if there should be anything else asked. “Will you… be able to see? My memory?”

“Oh, no, no,” Dr. Ziegler replied, palms outward raised. “A breach of your privacy. And besides, we simply do not have the technology yet for an outsider to see the memory. What this machine, the Mr. PD—”

“The Memory Re-Perception Device. Thought of it myself!” Nicole proudly declared.

“Yes, yes, the name is a work in progress, but thank you Ms. De Jesus. What the Mr. PD does is it simply guides your conscious mind back to the memory path you desire, and strengthens the link between that recollection and your senses.”

“Cool, cool, cool. Can I give a comment right now?”

“Certainly!”

“Maybe next time don’t make it look too much like an electric chair.”

Dr. Ziegler laughed awkwardly and patted the torturing device with one hand. “Yes, yes, we will take that into consideration.

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Fortunately, they didn’t strap me into it or anything like that. I was free to move as I could, and the iron throne was surprisingly a comfortable seat. I was told to rest the back of my head on the headrest, which had little tiny needles like those old VGA plugs. Above me all I saw was the beautiful ceiling and the cold fluorescent bulbs that they dimmed to help me fall closer to non-consciousness.

“Alright, Maddy. This is it.”

“This is it,” I repeated.

“Brain waves stable, Ms. De Jesus,” Dr. Ziegler said. He was so thrilled I heard his pencil burn to charcoal in his notebook. “Prep the subject.”

“Alright, Maddy. This is it.”

“You said that already.”

“I know, I know. Just—phew,” Nicole took a step back to shake her hands.

“You know, seeing you this anxious is funny enough to remove some of my anxiety.”

“Glad to hear that. Remember, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Think hard about the memory. Doesn’t have to be the exact date, in fact, don’t think about numbers—the brain doesn’t work that way. Just remember a scent, a sight, a sound, anything that could pull you to that specific moment.”

“Remind me again how many test subjects you’ve had strapped to this so far?”

“Thirteen.”

“And how many of them were successful?”

“Keep thinking of the memory!” Nicole then kissed me on the forehead and walked away. “Good luck!”

A little while later, I dozed off. I fell to sleep just like I would any other night; slowly, and then all at once.

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I opened my eyes and I wasn’t in the university anymore. The light is warm. It didn’t smell like Europe, either, it smelled… like the salty sea. And then I heard water crashing beside me. And then I felt my head nestled in the warmth of… something.

No, someone.

“Good morning, sleepy bee.”

Sam. My sweet, sweet, beautiful Sam. The way I will always remember him.

“Did I doze off again?” I said, my throat, tongue, and lips moving against my will. Right, I thought to myself. It’s a memory. I can’t change a thing here.

“Only a little bit,” he said. “Only about half an hour.”

His voice. I’ve missed his sweet, soft voice. I’ve missed it like a desert shrub misses the rain, I have missed it for ages. And it’s here. His voice is here, so close to me, so loud, so real.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—” I stood up a little to meet him, my weary legs sinking a bit into the sand.

He put his palm to my lips and shushed. “It’s okay, no worries! I know how busy you can be.”

He was always so kind.

“No, I’m really sorry, Sam. I tried; I really did try to get to your gig last night.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay! Swear, Mads,” he said, cupping my cheeks and planting a kiss on my forehead and then my nose.

His soft, warm lips. Like how he always used to.

“How was it, then? Tell me about it!”

He let go of my cheeks and the absence of his hands felt so cold. “Well, poets are always respectful of each other’s work, but I think the audience really did like my stuff last night. Especially the parts I wrote about you.”

He was always so sweet.

“Care to give me a performance? A special one, just for me?”

“My pleasure, busy bee.”

He was always so forgiving.

“Hey,” he said, tapping me on the nose.

“Hmm?”

“Have I ever told you?”

“What?”

“That you have eyes like February.”

I chuckled. Beyond my control, I chuckled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That in your eyes, behold, an unrelenting storm.”

I’m sorry, Sam. Please, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.

“But that you have a chest like June. Caged in your ribs, that beating heart’s warm.”

Please, Sam, please tell me. Tell me you forgive me, I’m sorry, Sam.

“You have hands like September, that shake in the nearby end.”

I wasn’t there when you died but I tried, Sam.

“But you have a soul like January, a bravery time can’t bend.”

I tried, I tried, I tried—

“You are made of the months, my dear, just tell me you’ll stay.”

I tried to get to you in time but I couldn’t and it’s my fault and I’m sorry, Sam, I’m so, so sorry.

“I will love you in any year, hold you any day.”

Sam, please tell me you forgive me!

“It’s okay, busy bee.”

Huh? W-wait, I don’t remember this, I—Sam?

“Hey, Mads.”

Sam?! Sam, you can hear me?

“Of course, I can.”

Sam, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Sam, I tried.

“I know, I know.”

Sam, I didn’t have the money, but I—I feel, I don’t fucking know, Sam, maybe I could’ve found a way!

“Mhmm, mhmm.”

Maybe I could’ve found a fucking way to buy a stupid fucking plane ticket then I would have been there for you and you wouldn’t have to have been alone and—and,

“Mhmm?”

And I don’t know if it’s even you that I’m talking to right now and I just feel so hopeless and, and empty, and I don’t know what to do, Sam.

“You don’t know what to do with what?”

With all this love. With all this pain, with all this guilt, everything that I have that belongs to you but you’re not here anymore.

“Send it elsewhere, Mads. Give it to somebody else, to something else. Spill your heart into the world and I’m sure it’ll be a better one.”

But… but I want to give it to you. This is all for you.

“I know, Mads. And thank you for that.”

Sam…

“Thank you, Mads. I love you.”

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I jolted awake. Back at the university, back to the cold fluorescent lights.

“What was that? Was that you?”

Dr. Ziegler looked startled. “What was what, Madison?”

“Was the—what?”

Nicole rushed to my side. “Hey, now, hey now, sit back. Disorientation is to be expected, just breathe in and out, okay? Here, have some water.”

I took only sips.

“Well, how was it, then?”

I paused for a bit, figuring out what to say. “It was good.”

“Just good?”

“No, actually,” I said, pulling her in for an embrace. “It was enough.”