A Fight to Remember

Painful Doubts Pt. 1

A/N: This chapter will cover a years worth of developments for Derek. What's going on in his head? What does he really think of Sarah? What is he going to do about it? Read on...

August 15 2028 Qualicum, BC (Just outside of Nanaimo)

It arrived in the mail today. A brown goverment stamped envelope. Without opening it, I felt the hard rectangular plastic card inside. My ID. My name, height, weight, date of birth, eye color. Apparently everything I knew about myself could be put on this single stylized embossed card. I laughed at the irony. At least I knew the picture looked good.

My keys jingled as I unlocked the deadbolt to the house. Our house was temporary, something we'd rented while we figured things out. In the livingroom, Sarah sat on a worn couch sorting through boxes and bags of donated items.

"I picked up some stuff for us." Sarah said.

"I see that," I replied, taking a few steps inside."Got my ID," I held up the envelope.

"Great." Sarah smiled. "Um, there's beer in the fridge if you want, then maybe you can help me with some of this?"

I nodded. I just spent an hour outside with Buddy for my first real walk with him since I got my cast off. I grabbed a beer and pulled open the sliding door to the back porch. Settling into the patio chair I crossed my legs and ran a hand through my sweaty hair. It was hot and humid,A cold beer would be nice today.

My fingers splayed on the top of the cold can as I cracked it open and took a sip. The last few weeks, I've learned a few things about myself; I liked to get up early: five or six in the morning, I enjoyed breakfast, something healthy and not loaded with white carbs or fat, although occasionally pancakes were acceptable. I was a go getter- always doing something, busy. and I liked people... But I also liked the quiet town with the peaceful beach. That's five things about myself that I didn't know before. Five things.

"I made you tuna on rye." Sarah intterupted my thoughts. She leaned in the doorway, holding the sandwhich on a yellow plate. She put it on the tiny table between us.

"Thanks." I opened the envelope and stared at my ID. At the time of the picture, I finally managed to tame my hair into a style I liked. "That's me."

"That's you." Sarah said softly. She cleared her throat. "So um, which room do you want?"

"Doesn't matter," I shrug. We haven't been intimate. We held hands sometimes or cuddled on the couch, but nothing further happened. Neither of us forced it, because to me- I just met Sarah for the first time just six weeks ago, and for her- I'm not the man she fell in love with. She said it this morning with perfect clarity:

"Look," Sarah said, pouring me coffee. "The doctors said this memory thing may never come back. Or it might. Nobody knows." She stirred her own, the cream swirling and mixing to form a cohesive color. "I don't expect you to be the man you used to be... I'm just glad I have someone."

I sipped the rich bitter brew, feeling a little relieved at her confession, but I think she is doing it more for my sake than hers. "Is that why you cry at night?"

She stopped stirring and looked down. "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"Mmm." Now I can't help but wonder exactly what kind of man Micheal Robertson was. What kind of man I was.

xxx

September 2028

"So you know Bob Fisher?" I asked Sarah one day. It was evening, we were walking on the beach with Buddy again. My feet were a little cold and wet as they pressed into the soft sand, but I didn't mind. It was peaceful here.