6: The Benefits of Retrograde Amnesia
—Dejvice, Prague, September 2016—
“What are you doing? Give it to me!”
Simon raised his hands up in the air leaving the knife lying on the cutting board. He took a step back from the kitchen counter and rolled his eyes toward Marta discreetly. Jano took over the dicing, muttering to himself in Slovak. There was no need for him to speak Czech. Simon belonged to the generation who were raised on bilingual TV, and Marta had enough friends and co-students from Slovakia to understand the language. Not that Jano could speak Czech. Even his Slovak was far from correct. He had a very distinct Eastern accent making him sound like a character from an old Czechoslovakian cartoon. He embroidered his speech with a heavy dose of choice expletives and local slang. He was a treat to listen to.
Marta sat at the kitchen table in Simon’s loft watching the two men cooking. Or rather, watching Jano cooking and Simon being bullied. She laughed at Simon’s eye-roll, muffling the sound with her hand.
“Control freak,” Simon mouthed pointing his thumb toward Jano, and she giggled again.
“I heard you, Simon,” Jano said, not lifting his eyes from the cutting board as his hand flew over it at lightning speed. He had ninja skills when it came to cutting vegetables, Marta had to give him that. He was closer to Marta in height than to Simon. He had a kind face, was built rather heavily but took care of himself. Overall, a handsome guy, she thought. Maybe he took a little too much care of himself. She compared his perfectly trimmed goatee and designer button-down to Simon’s evening stubble and threadbare Red Dwarf T-shirt. She frowned. Jano seemed intelligent enough at least—not witty, no—if not a little predictable in opinions and tastes.
As the evening continued, Marta’s unease only grew, though. Simon’s cheerfulness was painfully forced, and it concerned Marta that Jano didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve met Mike, right?” Marta asked Jano as they unavoidably discussed the upcoming almost-nuptials.
“Yes, only once, though. He’s interesting.” Marta watched Simon smirk sarcastically and frowned. Unaware, Jano continued. “Lukas is a lot older than him, isn’t he?”
“He’s the same age as me,” Simon commented in a neutral tone Marta had grown to feel apprehensive about. Simon always sounded perfectly neutral when he was hiding his annoyance at something.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Jano smiled apologetically at Simon, who was looking down into his plate.
“Mike’s my colleague. He’s a great guy,” Marta intervened, hopelessly searching for something to say. The time seemed to drag out. “Simon said you worked in Bratislava for a while before you moved to Prague.”
With relief, Marta listened to Jano chat about his stint at a White Guide appraised restaurant in Slovakia before venturing into the differences in tourism and the quality of service between Prague and Slovakia. Simon ate in silence, never joining the conversation.
She tried to suppress her protective instincts toward Simon which told her Jano was rather common. She’d always felt no one was good enough for her best friend and guardian—she had to consciously argue with herself to give Jano a chance. The winning argument was she had to let Simon decide for himself what and who he wanted. Her opinion was of no importance. If Simon wanted to be with Jano, she’d make an effort to get to know him and that was that.
***
The meal was delicious, of course. Having a professional chef cook for you had some perks. Simon listened to the conversation between Jano and Marta halfheartedly. His mind was busy analyzing and dissecting. Marta seemed a little jumpy and a lot more careful in her behavior, and Jano tried too hard. Simon found it annoying.
He was torn as ever. They should just have sex and get it over with, if only to numb his brain for thirty seconds. The few hand jobs hadn’t done much for him. What was the point with two grown men waiting for something? They both knew what they wanted. Well, kind of.
Simon took a large gulp of his wine. And there it was: the old well-recognized dilemma. He questioned what was good for him, not what he really wanted. He knew very well what he really wanted—and it was neither good for him nor was it available. So, was Jano good for him? He was good to him. That was something. However, he was also emotional and vulnerable. Simon should be with someone who cared less. Jano made Simon’s conscience heavy with guilt for tiny everyday missteps. Like forgetting Jano had an interview for a new job and not asking him about it, or letting his mind drift elsewhere when he was supposed to listen to his boyfriend talk about his day. Like he was doing at this very moment.
“Simon. Simon!” Jano waved his hand in front of Simon’s face.
“Oh, sorry. Work stuff. Where were we?” Just like that, Simon reached his conclusion. It was him who was not good for Jano. He should have kept it casual.
“Apparently, worlds away from here,” Jano grumbled.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long week.” Simon’s annoyance grew stronger against his will.
Jano smiled nervously, his eyes flitting toward Marta.
After on hour, Simon gave up, exhausted. He couldn’t think of a safe topic to talk about with those two. Never had Marta reminded him of Matěj as much as when she sat next to his current boyfriend. The mindfuckery of that observation rendered him speechless for most of the evening.
The awkwardness became a fourth person in the room. Marta fidgeted asking Jano polite questions, and Jano’s nervousness grew. When Marta excused herself and called a taxi, Simon could see Jano’s silent question. Should he stay? The hopeful expression on Jano’s face made Simon want to hide inside the fridge with all the beer.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Simon said when Jano rose to put the glasses into the dishwasher. Jano’s back stiffened and Simon felt genuinely bad for him, but he desperately needed to be alone.
***
Simon listened to the old Morphine album when he felt especially self-destructive. Like tonight. He downed the rest of his whiskey, put the empty glass on the kitchen counter and turned the lights off.
When he stood in the shower later, he pondered the rare cases of retrograde post-traumatic amnesia he’d met during his career. After a head trauma, the patient sometimes forgot short periods of time preceding the accident and/or the accident itself. Most of them regained their memory after a few hours or days, maybe weeks. He’d yet to see a retrograde amnesia so severe a patient couldn’t recall autobiographical information for several years.
This was his favorite pastime at his most vulnerable moments—making up a series of random events which could have led to Matěj’s disappearance more than three years ago. It always ended in the same way.
Simon sat on the bed in the dark bedroom, staring through the window at the overcast night sky. He could never see stars above Prague. He could confabulate all he wanted, but he could not fool his own unforgiving logic for long. It was a clear case of Occam’s razor. Matěj either did not want to return or he was dead. Simon could see it, even through the burning in his eyes. Matěj might have met someone somewhere—it had been three years. He might even have gotten married…or he might have overdosed, gotten into a fight…
Simon would call Jano in the morning and apologize for being an insensitive jerk. Again.