After ✔

13

What is he apologising for? All the medicine and blood tests? All the fricking time it took?

"You'll get the results of the CT scan next week. Meanwhile," he motions to the folder. "I have the X-ray scans and the brain scans that we did, and I'm glad to say everything's normal."

Next to me, he breathes a sigh of relief. "No more disgusting medicine?"

The doctor chuckles. "Just some painkillers if you'd like."

Dani uncrosses his legs and taps his left foot distractedly. "And when will I start getting my memories back?"

Dr. Drance 's lips form into a tight line. "I can't answer that." He says.

Dani's frowns tightens. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means." Says the doctor. "You might get your memories back tomorrow, in a month, or...never. Atleast not all of them."

He leans over the table. "But chances will increase if you resume your old lifestyle."

Dani raises a sly eyebrow. I know exactly what he's thinking in terms of his 'old lifestyle.'

And fortunately, the doctor gets the gist too.

"No drinking and/or drugs." He says.

I'm tempted to say he didn't do much of that when he moved, but then Dani would shamelessly label me a liar.

Remind me why I care again?

"That what?" The taps get more urgent. I don't think he realises it. "Move to some country which I don't remember ever going to?"

The doctor sits back and scratches his temple. "Yes, Mr. Price, that's exactly what I mean. And if you're not ready for that, then at least talk to people you met then, look at stuff you did." The doctor's hand drops to the table quietly. "Your mother tells me you paint."

"So?"

"So, did you paint anything around the time you were in America?"

Dani gives him that look, the one that says I'm-not-a-fucking-moron, though I can't fathom why. Maybe it's because even Dani himself believes he would never give up painting.

"Yes." I say, before he can make another crude remark.

"Excellent. Then look at those. Try to remember what you felt when you painted them. Look at old videos, photographs, movies that came out at the time. The littlest thing may help you."

The doctor's pager beeps. "And... that's my cue." He says. Dani gets up. "So if my memories come back, then I don't need to visit this place again, right?"

"Right." The doctor starts walking out of the room with Dani next to him. "Unless you're in some crippling accident." He shrugs. "It was nice to see you, Dani."

But Dani's barely listening. His thoughts have drifted him away into his own world. The doctor is long gone before I pull on his shirt and make him start walking.

In the taxi we grab to get back home, I cross my arms. "Don't do it." I say. 

Dani looks at me like I'm some bug he wouldn't mind flicking off his sleeve. "What is up with you, woman?" He asks. I'm glad the taxi driver has his Bluetooth headset on, and is muttering cheerfully in Spanish.
"Are you some fucking mind reader?"

"You don't have to curse in every sentence, you know." I say. "And you didn't even know what I was going to say."

He snorts. "You were going to tell me to not try and pretend to get my memories back. I know because you're always right about creepy things like that. I wouldn't be surprised if you had a couple of voodoo dolls dressed like me."

I would have been offended if I wasn't trying to hold back a laugh.

"No voodoo dolls." I say. "But I know you. And as far as pretending to get back your memories goes, it's not going to help anyone, trust me."

Dani slumps back in his seat and neither of us say anymore words to each other for the rest of the ride.

When we get out, I pay the taxi driver who seems momentarily annoyed by the interruption to his phonecall by his cousin Lalito.
But all that melts away as he grabs the money from my hand greedily.

By the time I walk up the front steps of the building, Dani has already gone upstairs.

I make my way to the apartment and enter, shutting the red-painted door behind me.

Dani sets a copy of the file on the kitchen counter.

"The doctor said it would help if you look at your paintings."

Dani's eyes glance towards the door of the spare room that had been turned into the studio.

"Not yet." He murmurs. 

"Why, though?"

"I'm not ready."