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Memory loss, amnesia – the doctor's back in London were amazed that Kade and I didn't suffer from some form of amnesic syndrome given our Post Traumatic Disorder (PTS).
But here it is; I'm looking at the sorry symptoms of this disorder: Kade shuffles along the street, bewildered, lost and alone. It's clear he's struggling to remember who he even is.
I guess this was a foregone conclusion; it had to happen to one of us.
From the other side of the street I follow Kade, and whilst I study him; my feelings surprise me.
Although sad, it's relief that is my strongest emotion. I feel a sense of joy in his release from the horrors of our history, yet I have hope that he may learn to love me all over again, without the burdens of our past.
But to do that, I really have to go back to the beginning. I wonder if it is our fate to reverse the beginning of our story, and have me ask Kade on a date, then our story begins again, but without The Surgeon's narrative included? But that's probably wishful thinking on my part.
I could just go over there and ask him for a date, put my theory to the test, straight up. But his almost violent reaction to me a few moments ago doesn't bode well for that strategy.
Kade stops at a diner and peers at his reflection in the window, before going on in. Pulling my sleeve down, I spit on it and scrub at may face. Checking my reflection in the wing mirror of a car, I flick off a few thicker pieces of dirt with my finger, then satisfied I look a little more like me, I cross the road en route to the diner to observe him.
......
I enter cautiously; aware I don't want to startle Kade with my sudden reappearance. The diner is big and busy enough to allow me enter without him seeing me. I take a seat, in a position, which gives me a view of him, while allowing me cover from his seeing me.
Lowering my head, I pretend to look at the menu, while studying Kade. His hands are wrapped around a large coke, his head is bowed and I can see that his mouth is moving rapidly, yet soundlessly. It's as if he's having a conversation with his coke, as occasionally his mouth stops and he looks at the drink and tilts his head as if waiting for an answer, then he smiles, nods his head and continues with the soundless gibberish.
It's clear he's lost his mind as well his memory and I know that approaching him a second time could be dangerous.
"Are you ready to order?" Her voice makes me jolt and she reacts, "I'm sorry miss, I didn't mean to startle you." I react likewise, "Not at all, I was deep in thought, that's all." I pause, "I'll just take a house salad and a sparkling water, thanks." I want neither, but once again, it affords me cover, the illusion that I'm here to eat and not spy on my husband.
'Husband' the word takes me by surprise. Because Kade is so much more than a word to me. Husband doesn't seem adequate – the word 'Life' seems more appropriate. He's my life, and I fear I've lost him. Or rather he's lost himself.
