Déjà vu

OK – Here it is, Doc: I feel like I’m living my life over again. I can’t recall every moment exactly, but every now and then I get this incredibly strong gut feeling that I’m doing something again. Like right now, for example. I know I’ve been here before talking with you. I know this office. I know that plant in the corner. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but I know we have already done this. 

No, it’s not that I’ve been in similar situations – although I have been – or that I’m imagining it all. 

Yes, I am well aware that the mind is capable of imagining events that never occurred and that sometimes people confuse imagined events with real ones, especially when it comes to particularly vivid dreams. That’s not the case here.

No, I don’t think showing me your appointment book for the last five years would convince me of anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. I agree it would prove that I haven’t been here before in the past. But I didn’t mean to imply that I ever was. Let’ me try to explain it better. What I’m saying is, I feel like I am reliving this exact same moment. This is 2:10pm, January 5, 2022 again for me. It’s not that I came to see you two years ago, or a month ago, or even last week. Since I am here again at the present time, my name wouldn’t appear anywhere but in today’s schedule of your appointments. It is kind of like I’m watching a re-run of an old movie whose plot I can’t quite remember because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. From time to time I’ll recognize a familiar face or scene, or maybe even a little bit of dialogue, but the overall plot escapes me. Again. I hope it has a happy ending.

I hate the term déjà vu. It sounds so unreal. 

How long have I been experiencing it? All my life. But usually not at important times, like whenever there’s a major decision to be made. Like what career should I choose? Should I get married? Unfortunately, it’s at small, seemingly insignificant times that it becomes more pronounced. For example, I’ll be walking down a street I know I’ve never been before and I’ll feel like I’ve been there, sometimes even inside one of the houses I’m passing. 

Oh, you say that’s normal because I could have seen pictures somewhere or read about someplace similar. True … and actually, I agree. To a degree. Most instances for most people can be explained away using that theory. But consider this: while we’ve been talking, I’m starting to remember some of our conversation from the “last time” I was here. We talked about all of this, but I believe we also started to play a game. You keep it in the cabinet over there. The lower drawer. I want to say it’s toward the right in a wooden box. That’s the one!

Oh. Really? But I could have sworn… Maybe I’m just remembering you opening the case then. 

What do I feel? Well, a second ago I felt excited because I thought I had remembered something that would prove to you that I’m not crazy, but now I’m not so sure anymore.  Dread?  Foreboding?  Disappointment comes to mind, too. I was almost positive that it was a game we played. 

No, I really don’t like guns. My father used to have a hunting rifle but my mother made him get rid of it long before I was born. 

No, it’s not that I’m afraid of guns. I just haven’t had much contact with them. 

Sure, I’d like to see it – I like antiques. Nineteenth century, you say? I’m sure it’s worth a lot, especially with the original oak case. But why would you ever keep something like that here? Especially considering some of the people you have to see? What if someone got a hold of it and turned it against you?

Just because it hasn’t worked in years doesn’t mean it still isn’t dangerous in other ways.

I don’t think that would help me. This situation really isn’t all that familiar anymore. The feeling I had is gone.

Well, I do want to get to the bottom of my condition. OK, if you insist. Perhaps it will desensitize me to it. It does feel heavier than it looks. The metal is very cold, too. Smooth.

Well, I can only think of two actually: Russian roulette and target practice, but I really wouldn’t consider either one of them “games,” per se. 

The first one? As I understand it, it’s when a gun is loaded with one bullet and you sping the champer so you’re not sure when it’ll fire. The people “playing” pass the gun around; each one takes a turn pointing the muzzle to his or her head and pulls the trigger. Obviously, the object of the game is to get through it alive. I’ve seen it done in movies. It’s very dramatic. 

No way!

Just because.

I don’t care if you say it hasn’t worked in over a hundred years; I’m not doing it. Here, put it back.

I don’t care if you say it’s not loaded; that’s not the point. Stop spinning that thing! 

Yes, the sound bothers me! Are we done here? I think my hour is up.

I, I don’t know; I’m just starting to get a very bad feeling about this. In fact, I think I’m starting to remember more about what happened the last time I was here. 

There was a last time; I am sure of it! I can’t explain why you can’t remember it, but it’s starting to come back to me again. I know I’m not crazy! You were there, pointing the gun at your head – just like you’re doing now. But when you pulled the trigger, it went off and you were killed. 

I’m not making it up! It happened! Or it will happen. Or… Look, just check it out then, OK? I’ll only take you a second to see if the chamber is really empty before you go and do that. It’ll make me feel a lot better, I guarantee it. I’m serious – don’t do that! Listen, I’m sure there are lots of other ways for you to prove that this is all in my…

Somehow, I knew this ending wouldn’t be happy. 

But now I really wish I could remember what’s supposed to happen next.