I Can Never Forget

Trigger warning: abuse

A man clad in stark white scrubs walked past the busy hallways.  A bright yellow folder held close to his chest, as he navigated the hospital with ease.

Weariness plagued his features as he ran a hand across his tangled hair. The corners of his mouth subconsciously turned downwards once he faced the door to room 419, a sigh escaping his overly dry lips. He raised his hand to open the door, hesitating only slightly before putting on a forced smile and entering the dull and lifeless room.

The woman in the bed is old beyond a natural lifespan and paying the price. While her heart beats stubbornly within her pigeon chest, her skin is so fragile it ruptures on anything more than the softest of touches. The open eyes are not focused but move randomly, white, obscured with cataracts so completely that he  cannot tell her eye colour. Her hair is wispy over a scalp that shows signs of pressure sores, pink from constant contact with pillow or chair. 

“Hello, miss,” He smiled warmly at the patient as he did every single morning, and sat in the seat propped up beside her bedside.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m doing fine dear,” The older woman responded quite distantly. The latter’s eyes met his, and he noted that her gaze was unclear. It was as if she were in a trance. A frown was etched on her aged face as if his arrival hadn’t affected her at all, “I haven’t seen you before, who’re you again?”

“I’m Kim Jonwoo, I’ve been your assigned doctor for the past 7 days now,” He explained carefully as an attempt to refresh her memory, his lips forming into a thin line.

The patient furrowed her eyebrows, clutching the blanket below her as she desperately salvaged for even the tiniest memory to avail, “I’m sorry...I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” he quickly attempted to reassure her, not wanting to endure any sort of pressure on his patient. He temporarily forgot to keep up his professionalism as he moved his hand towards the woman’s shoulder, just for her to flinch away.

The doctor awkwardly cleared his throat as an attempt to ignore his screw up, before quickly scanning over the abundance of papers tucked into his folder, “I’ll just ask a few questions and check a few things, okay? I can leave when I’m done.”

“Wait!” The women instinctively grabbed onto his wrist, before coming to her senses and releasing her grip, “Please...please don’t leave, I don’t want to be alone.”

The doctor smiled at the lady fondly, “Of course, I can tell you a story if you’d  like?”

A faint smile settled on the old woman’s features, as she finally seemed to relax in her seat. “Yes please.”

However, there was one thing that the doctor left unsaid. After all, the story he was about to tell had already been told to her many times before. This, my friends, is where our tale begins.

The story starts with chastisement, one between a stepfather and a son. Furious yells resonated across the Kim household, the overwhelming sound drowning out meek cries for forgiveness.

“What is this?!” A voice emanated from the hallways, the sudden outburst frightening the neighbouring residents like a clap of thunder.

“I spend all this money on you, for tuition and extra classes. I do everything for just for you, to what? Neglect your studies?” He towered over his step-son, his features twisted with rage as he furiously gripped a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

“But I’m not neglecting them,” The boy let out a sob, his face evident with sorrow, “I’m really trying, isn’t that enough?”

“Then try harder,” The man scoffed unforgivingly, “You think a ‘B -’ is enough? I’m not sheltering some failure.”

The nine-year-old held his breath, anxiety clawing his insides. His father would never have done this.

“I don’t understand,” his voice came out as nothing but a mere whisper, it was as if he couldn’t breathe. “You’re supposed to be my father. Aren’t you supposed to be proud of me…? Then why...why are  you dragging me down when you could be cheering me on?”

To his surprise, the older man burst out laughing at his words, “You think that I care about you? I’m just here because of your mother!” 

“So if I was gone,” the boy said, “ you wouldn’t even care…?”

The stepfather  glanced over at his son who was visibly broken and uncontrollably trembling at his words, which somehow seemed to satisfy him.

“I’d miss you if you were gone,” he  said. “Do you know how hard it is to find a great victim like you? You’re always so open, always wanting love. All I have to do is offer you the smallest hope of affection and you leap at it unguarded. I strike, feign remorse as you wilt, give you time to recover and do it all over again. Why do it? Because I love it. It’s power - the only thing better than money.” He let out another chortle before he looked at him seriously, his voice dropping a few octaves.

“Look, I don’t know if she told you this, but without me, she would be living on the streets. If anything, you guys need me.” He took a swig of his beer bottle before setting it down gleefully, a victorious glint in his eyes. “Just remember you little brat, it’s not the other way around and it’ll never be.”

Brick by brick, his walls came tumbling down.

The young boys walls, the walls that hold him up, make him stronger just...collapse. Moment by moment, they fall, Salty drops fall from his chin, drenching his shirt. As he ran from him, the tears in his eyes turned the rainy day into a whirlwind of grays and yellows.

He slammed into his bedroom door. He just broke down, letting his tears and anguish pour out. The sobs punched through his muscles, bones, and guts. He pressed his forehead against his bed as he had his legs tightly tucked in his arms; hugging them as if there was no tomorrow. His heart began to yank in and out of his chest. It pulled back like a yo yo. Over and over. In and out. He was hollow. 

He presses his palms to his ears trying to block out the screams, but it doesn’t work. They only grow louder and louder. The boy's sobs fill the lifeless room, leaving only him and his deep sorrow in an empty space. 

As his whines echo mindlessly through the hollow walls, the faint footsteps of his mother coming inside were not heard.

“Baby what’s wrong?,” his mom asked, clearly concerned  for his son's safety.

The boy lifts his head up from his knees, meeting his mom’s worried eyes with teary ones. He quickly gets up from his bed and runs over, wrapping his small arms around his mom’s neck, hiding his face in her shoulder as his sobs only grow louder by the minute. 

----------------

The young boy had just finished recounting the painful events to his mother, as he was instantly pulled to the comfort of his mother’s embrace. Tears stained his mother’s clothing, but the mom couldn’t care less as she looked down at her son with grief-stricken eyes.

She nudged her son’s chin up for their eyes to meet, swiping her thumb underneath her son’s chin to wipe away his tears, “I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you.” Guilt weighed her weary features as she watched her son cry in her arms; the same son that she’d sacrifice everything for. It was as if all her well-intentioned decisions and choices were backfiring right at her.  In the end, she could only watch as her plans crumbled right before her eyes.

“Don’t waste your tears on this, okay? One day, things will get better.” She stroked her son’s hair and cradled him and if he were a baby in her arms. The unbearable ache of her countless burdens seemed to way on her shoulders more than ever. 

Oh, how she wished she didn’t have to rely on her late husband’s brother for a stable income and a healthy lifestyle for her beloved son. Regrets and ‘what if’s’ plagued her thoughts. After all, just maybe, if she hadn’t become a high school dropout, she would have a stable job at this very moment. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to go to school at such an old age, taking a course she should’ve taken from the start. Maybe all these hardships could’ve been avoided.

Alas, we’ll never know the answer to that, will we?

“I wish that we didn’t have to rely on that stinky old man,” The younger laughed halfheartedly into his mother’s sweater. She desperately attempted to brighten the situation even if it were just by a bit.

The mother nodded absentmindedly as she seemed to space out, seemingly disconnected from reality. However, one’s exterior doesn’t tell the whole story. Internally, she was beaten up, a victim of her own pessimistic nature. She was too lost in her thoughts to process what his son had said. Soon, her dark spiral of regrets got the better of her, as a few tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t provide the life that you deserve to have,” she whispered defeatedly.

His son only hugged her tighter at her words.

“Why are you sorry?” He whispered, sniffling as he spoke. He never liked seeing his mom cry. It pained the younger seeing his role model pained in despair.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re not the richest or the luckiest. As long as I have you as a mom, what more could I need?” He tried his best to smile towards his mom despite his teary eyes, “Believe me, if anything, I’m proud to be your son...So in return, I’ll work hard so I can be a son you can be proud of too.”

“But I’m already proud-” His mother attempted to argue, but she was quickly cut off.

“I may already make you proud, but I could do better. I could be better. After all, maybe, if I was better, we wouldn’t have to rely on that smelly old man at all.” His eyes suddenly lit up, just like they do every time he has an idea.

“What was it?” His mom asked, knowing very well what the look in his eyes meant.

“I think I know what I want to be when I grow up!”. The little boy smiled gleefully, determination cleared his eyes. His sudden motivation and his cheerfulness astounded her mom, it was as if he had just drunk 10 cups of coffee.

“What is it?” She looked down at the younger affectionately. She couldn’t help but smile at her son’s sudden burst of happiness.

“...I’m going to be a doctor!” He declared with a lopsided grin.

“Wait... a doctor?” The mom asked, confused. “Why is that?”

“Because of you,” He stated happily, “I want to be someone who you can always rely on. That way I’ll always be right by your side, looking after you even as you grow old! I’ll be able to provide for you because the job pays very well, and I’ll even be the one to nurse you back to health whenever you fall ill. That way, all we’ll ever need is each other.” He giggled, satisfied with his reasoning.

A smile began to appear on her face as she admired her son’s beaming confidence. “I’d like that very much, dear.”

Back in the hospital, the old lady was at the edge of her seat, waiting in anticipation for the story to continue.

 “What happened next?” She asks, eager to know how it ends.

The doctor’s nostalgic expression twisted with despair at her words. Unpleasant memories were relentlessly haunting him from the back of his mind.

“What is it?” The patient asked, worried about his sudden change of mood.

“You see…” The doctor whispered, to the point where it may almost seem as if he’s talking to himself, “Things don’t always go as planned…” he smiled almost forcefully, with a wistful look in his eyes, “...If I could’ve written my own ending, they would’ ve-” His voice broke as he tried to gather his composure.

“They would’ve been happy. Don’t you think that’s what they deserve? To finally live a life without hardships and pain? Her son would’ve been a doctor like he had dreamed...and one day, he’d run back home and slam the door open and yell, ‘We finally made it ma!’ Perhaps, he’d ask if she were proud, his mom would’ve said yes.” Tears threatened to poke out his eyes, but he stubbornly blinked them away.

“A-And his mom…” he trailed off, fantasizing about what could have been, “she would have pulled him into a warm hug like she always had done. Maybe they would cry, but this time, tears of joy would’ve been wept, not those of sadness… I think that the son would do anything just to know that his mom was proud of him.”

“Why…?” The patient asked carefully, “how did the story actually end.”

The doctor took  in a shaky breath as he forced himself to move on, “I’ll tell you how the story actually ends.”

Those painful memories are books with chapters, deep and horrible; and so he leaves them on the shelf to gather dust. He  can pick them up if he needs to learn something, to gain a perspective that helps him  to create his own good story. He  can use them to re-see situations through the lens of their needs and traumas rather than his.  

The doctor closed his eyes stubbornly, refusing to let any more tears fall, “The boy came home, having finally reached his dreams. But when he told his mom that he had finally been employed, she looked him straight in the eyes, and asked, ‘.....what are you talking about?’  ” Although anguish tore at his heart he smiled as tears pooled in his eyes.

“The mom had lost her memory. She was suffering from dementia all that time, yet she didn’t say a single word to her son about her symptoms. She had left him in the dark, just so that he could focus on his studies....and you know what the worst part is?” he whispered, reaching his breaking point. “I’m telling her our story right now and she still-” his voice caught off as he sobbed, his voice filled with pure anguish, “she still can’t remember a single thing.”

“What…” the woman whispered, dumbfounded, “What do you mean our story...”

“That story I just told you is ours.” He smiled sadly, “I’m that boy, and you’re my mom.”

“And that story?” He asked, laughed bitterly at himself, “I’ve told it to you every single day for the past seven days. To be honest, I don’t know why I do it, especially since I know that at the end of the day it would end up forgotten; just how you had forgotten me. I know that you won’t remember a word, I hate that it’s the truth. But in the end, even if you won’t remember a thing, I’ll never forget.” He said as his swollen eyes began to sting with grief.

“I’ll never forget…” he repeated, almost as if he were making a promise to himself, “How could I? Just know that you’ll always remain engraved in my memory as the mom I’ve always loved.”

The next day, he came back, just to be greeted by the same blank face. The son didn’t have a choice but to put up his professional facade, resisting the urge to cry, as the same three words escaped his mother’s lips.

“Who are you?”