I don't remember

-Ladies and gentlemen. -Announced the handsome host from his plush chair-. Hold on to your seat as tightly as you can because today we have a very special guest. Please welcome the six-time winner of the noble prize for literature. Give me a magnificent round of applause for Mr. Luis Ramirez! -The roar of the crowd shook the studio walls- Tell me, Mr. Ramirez, do you know why you are here today?

-Sure. You don’t have to ask me. We’re here for me to tell you about how I wrote my masterpiece! The story that catapulted me to fame and that no one knows better than me.

The audience again exploded in applause. The spotlights jumped from one side to the other, filling the studio with their bright lights.

-I can’t remember how I came up with the idea, but every now and then certain “visions” come to me that make me remember a little bit. I think it all started while I was trying to sleep, or maybe it was while shopping for groceries with my wife. If that’s the case, it was the best purchase of my life, for sure!

The audience celebrated with laughs such a clever remark.

-No matter what the reason, an idea came to me. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck me straight in the brain, and before my eyes I saw clearly the story of a man who, by a twist of fate, is involved in a car accident with his wife. At first everything seems like a miracle. They both make it out alive. However, when the rescue team frees them from the twisted and shredded metal of the car, the horrible truth becomes obvious. The husband had a metal rod, two meters long, piercing his head. The metal spear entered through his chin and exited through the top of his head. It all seemed lost, and the rescuers were about to leave, but then a miracle happened. Against all odds, the poor man started talking, calling for his wife, who was already in an ambulance. Later, the doctors explained to the wife that the bar had damaged his brain, the frontal lobe, the part of our body where emotions, personality, are housed. He would no longer be able to remember how things feel. He no longer has emotions, nor does he like anything. The doctors say there is no possible cure, and she doesn’t know how to react. Part of her wants to laugh, because she was already planning to divorce him for being insensitive.

The studio audience can’t resist laughing.

One day when she goes to pick up her things, she finds him sitting in the kitchen in the dark. He asks her, “How’s it going?” and she replies, “Fine,” but there was no emotion reflected on his face. It was as if he were wearing a stone mask. It made little difference to her. He was still the same cold, dull man, accident or no accident. Maybe he was even better off that way, at least now he wasn’t yelling at her. So the woman continued with her move, she had had enough of worrying about him for years, but as she was about to walk out the door, a voice, faint and raspy, said, “Forgive me. I just don’t remember how to feel anymore, although I don’t think I ever really knew. I’m sorry”.

After that, he walked slowly into the darkness of the kitchen. He didn’t stop her from leaving. He didn’t beg her, nor did he promise to change as he had done so many times before. However, the fact that it was the first time he had apologized, in all the years they had been married, left the lady deeply impressed. She wondered for a couple of days what she should do next, get on with her life, or go back one last time. The answer soon came to her: she decided to go back. She found him in the kitchen, staring at nothing, just as she had left him. Well, he was more messy: his beard was long, his clothes were dirty, and he was a bit dehydrated and pale.

The first few months were the hardest. It was almost impossible to get the man to do anything on his own. He wouldn’t even do the fun things. He had to be forced to watch TV! On the other hand, he would ask his wife very difficult questions, “How does the sun feel?”, “What does butter taste like?”, “What does the color blue make you feel?” She, meanwhile, would patiently try to answer his questions, until one day, it occurred to her that they would both write a diary, where they would each put every little feeling they had during the day, and during the night, they would share with each other what they had written.

Thus the days went by, and little by little, the man began to recognize the feelings. The breeze was pleasant, the lemons were sour, the sun was hot, that sort of thing. It seemed that trying to describe his feelings gave his life purpose. There were times when his wife would see him for hours in the yard with a notebook on his lap, deeply focused on describing the glow of a ladybug’s shell. But the best part of the day, ironically, was the night. In those moments, they both lay on the cold ground to recapitulate what the day had offered them. The sunset is comforting, my boss is a sucker, the carpet is warm and soft.

As Luis continues his story, something suddenly changes.

-Ah, this head of mine, sorry. I swear I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t remember what was going on in between. I think it was something important, but if I don’t remember, I’m sure it wasn’t that important. What I do remember is that the way they both lived was changing. By the end of the story they did things more calmly, they enjoyed more the day to day sensations, even the painful ones, yes, although it sounds hard to believe. Life is like a book, a short one at that. Don’t skip any page, because you’ll never read it again.

The audience exclaimed a resounding “Awww”.

-The most important change for the two of them was when they began to write about how they felt in each other’s company. How a caress felt, or a kiss; the connection they felt when they looked into each other’s eyes and didn’t look down. In those moments of intimacy they would say: “I no longer remember what it was like to be without you”, and it was true, because now, only the memory of their new life remained. Gone were the days of coldness to which neither wanted to return, and never would, because they lived the rest of their lives more fully than ever, and above all, remembering every moment, until the day of their death.

And with that, a single tear rolled down the cheek of the moved host. Meanwhile, all around him, the audience gave a standing ovation.

-What do you think? -said the writer-. I can hardly believe I invented it.

The audience kept applauding. The men were crying, the women waving, and the children celebrating. Even the cameramen seemed to have trouble keeping their composure.

-Mr. Ramirez -interrupted the host abruptly and rudely.

-Yes?

-Do you have any idea where you are?

Mr. Luis Ramirez had no idea what the host was referring to. Then, suddenly and without warning, he realized. He watched in disbelief as everything around him changed. The spotlights disappeared into ordinary lights, the audience became a pile of old college psychology degrees hanging on the even older wall of an ordinary office, and the presenter became a bald man in a black suit with a grim face, sitting behind a heavy wooden desk. Behind his glasses, the man in the suit looked at Mr. Ramirez sternly.

-I… I… -Stuttered Luis Ramirez, trying to get the words out, but they swirled in his lungs until they knotted in his neck.

The man in the suit sighed. Exhausted, he took off his glasses and lit a cigarette.

-Ah. Remember the divorce? The accident? Do you remember what day it is? Do you know I’m your doctor? Hell, do you remember your name?

Mr. Ramirez had his glance lost to nothingness, with a perplexed expression on his face; his eyes, glassy with tears, gave him the appearance of a fish out of water. She touched his hair, and felt with horror how his fingers were sinking into the hole in his head. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, he couldn’t stop blinking, and he felt short of breath, when he opened her mouth to say: