Writing Prompt #1

Most of the memories I felt were warm, that sort of scene you’d see in a movie, with the glow of a summer sun illuminating a room, splashing a golden tone on the walls. I’ve felt the love, the joy, the hope of each person. I’ve seen the birth of long awaited babies, I’ve seen the reunion of couples after months of distance, I’ve seen countless dance recitals, concerts, sports games, you name it. Those were my favorite, the happy memories.
Not everyone could focus on the good, I guess. Through the minds of my patients, I’ve seen war. I’ve watched loved ones pass. I’ve watched tiny caskets lower into the ground. I’ve seen a red eyed, tear stained face in the reflection more times than I could name. Those are the hardest memories to see. 
I don’t know how to explain it, the images I see. When I operate, the memories my patient holds onto, I can feel them, relive them. It’s like a cosmic gift, except it isn’t a gift. Not always. So often it feels like a burden. I hold so many secrets from so many people, and no one knows. Who would believe me? I’ve looked through the eyes of every person who has laid on my operating table, and I have felt what they felt. Heartbreak, relief, anger, romance... Maybe I was afraid to tell anyone. Maybe if I let my secret out, I would lose these experiences. As awful as it could be at times, it made me feel human. It humbled me, reminded me that so many other people live live’s we have no idea about. 
Neurosurgery had always been a passion of mine. I was entranced by the human mind. Memories fascinated me, how one organ can dictate what we do and don’t remember, without us even knowing. I’ve had patients from all ages and backgrounds, and I’d thought I’d seen it all. I’d built a name for myself, made sure my family was taken care of. There are some things you can’t prevent, I guess. Things you can’t save.
My wife developed a tumor on her temporal lobe. She had always been so strong, and seeing her weep when the news was broken to her was one of the memories I wish my brain would get rid of. I hurt for her, but I trusted I could fix her, I could make her better. 
Seeing her asleep on the table shattered my heart, tore up my insides. The woman who I promised my forever to, who gave me my children, who made our house a home, was now vulnerable, something I’d never seen before. My hands could not, would not stop shaking. I had reminded her over and over again that morning that she would be okay. The words echoed in my head, pounding, as if they were boomeranging around. Clawed at my skull like an animal trying to escape. ‘I can fix her,’ I assured myself, ‘I can make her better.’
It wasn’t until I had begun that I remembered my “gift”. I had been so caught up in everything, it wasn’t until I felt that familiar vibration, I realized I would soon be seeing what she had seen. It always began that way, with a slight buzz in my head. This time was different, though. I was nervous, anxious to see how she saw me. Who I was through her eyes. 
She had always been a lively woman, I’d never loved someone the way I loved her. The way she could light up a room, how her laughter carried on the wind. Her mind seemed no different. A million memories flooded as though a barrier has been broken. I had never felt such a rush of emotion, it almost became distracting. My hands slowed while I worked, as her thoughts took over mine. It was almost like holding your loved one’s diary, and knowing better than to read it, except I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t push these thoughts out. I felt so nosy, so selfish. And at the same time, I couldn’t resist. I could hear the usual mumbling of the nurses, and the hums and beeps of the machines, that was the only thing that kept one foot on the ground while I drifted away into her thoughts. 
We had some memories that coincided, of course I just watched from her point of view. Our daughters first steps, our son’s tee ball games. I watched her prom night, her first kiss, her old best friends I only knew through pictures. I watched her become the woman I knew her as. They all jumbled together, but each one left a different feeling in my heart. I felt her heartbreaks, her laughter, her peace. I wished I could have stopped and just held her in that moment, let her know how much I admired her and her mind. 
What felt like hours in her world was nothing on earth. It had become a routine for me, I knew the procedures, I could focus on her. 
I could see the night we met, and I couldn’t believe she would fall for me. But that blind date couldn’t have led me to a better life. I watched her walk towards me at our wedding, watching me carefully at the end of the aisle. She never took her eyes off me, and she seemed so happy. I could have sat and wept like a child. She chose me. She loved me.
Almost immediately, i got this sick feeling in my stomach. I felt weak, confused, nauseous. What was once an ultraviolet light became grey and clouded. It took everything in me to keep from collapsing on the cold tile floor. Normally I kept these visions in the back of my mind, my patients were important to me, but their memories were not, so although I couldn’t stop watching, i could keep myself focused on the surgery. This time was different. 
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to hurl. I began to see a figure above me, blurry, but I could tell it was a man. I couldn’t recognize him. I did not know him. The image became more clear, and his sweaty body crowded over her. I felt disgusted, why was this something she would think of? Was he a past lover, someone she hadn’t quite gotten over? No, I told myself, trying to fight the jealousy growing inside me. It’s just a memory. You can’t help what you remember. 
I tried to distract myself, but it roared louder, stung like a wasp in my mind. I wanted to pass out, I wanted to walk out of the room, but kept myself standing because I knew I had to fix her, make her better. 
I watched her roll around with him, and briefly, I caught a glimpse of her wedding ring. Immediately, my hands stopped their motion. I froze, I was a statue caught in this dark storm. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. She was wearing her wedding ring, the ring we went to 6 different stores to pick out. The ring I knew she kept her eye on, but wouldn’t admit it out loud because it was out of our spoken price range. The ring I surprised her with on our wedding day, and remembered seeing the way the light in her flickered as I slid it onto her finger. The ring that symbolized the promises I made to her, and the ones she failed to keep to me.
In the middle of the crude images I was forced to remember with her, she had flashbacks to our wedding. I could see the way they zipped in and out. It was like an ugly game of ping pong, a few seconds of each memory bouncing around. She was thinking of me that day. She knew what she was doing. She knew.
I could hear the nurses asking me questions, but I couldn’t make out their words. The buzzing didn’t stop. The floating sensation I had felt in her world immediately crashed, as if someone tied cement blocks to my feet. I felt as though I were sinking, drowning, stuck watching the woman I loved break the promises we made. I wanted to scream out, I wanted to storm out of the room. I couldn’t. 
I was stuck in a sort of paralysis, as I watched her meet with the same man over and over, with different backgrounds. Different hotels, different beds, and then one that seemed to hang forever in the air. It was our bed. I could make out the footboard that we had argued over, but I finally gave in because she swore it matched our carpet better. I could see the ugly decorative “Live, Laugh, Love” canvas that she cherished so much, as though it were a unique piece of art. I could see our window, that faced our backyard, where you could see the tree that had a family of sparrows every spring. She brought this man into our house. Into our home. 
I became outraged. The house I bought to grow our family in was now tainted. I could feel the tears brimming my eyes, burning, but I wasn’t sad. I was angry. I held her life in my hands and in that moment, I could no longer want to fix her or make her better. I couldn’t make myself forgive her. I could feel my hands drop my tools, I could feel the tears that burned my eyes begin to run down my face. I watched as she recalled our first dance on our wedding night. I never was a dancer, I looked awkward and lanky as I held her close, but she was as smooth as ever, with a rhythm that burned like a fire in her soul. She didn’t whine when I stepped on her feet, she instead held me closer. She chose me, she loved me. I could feel the nurses begin to shout over the ringing in my ears, pleading with me for some sort of reaction. I could hear the monitor beeping quicker. Her life was in my hands, and I couldn’t save her. She trusted me to fix her, to make her better. I couldn’t. The trust she had in me died as quickly as mine did in her. I felt yanking on my sleeves, but I stood, and with stinging, burning tears, I wept, without motion. Every image began to churn together, a technicolor swirl of pictures from every part of her life, childhood to now. I watched as the colors became white washed, a blinding light, before pitch black. 
I snapped back into myself, I could see my wife once more, still motionless, but the buzzing was replaced by a solitary beep. Mumblings from my colleagues flooded my ears at once. She chose me. She trusted me to fix her, to make her better. But resting on the monitor was a single, flat line.


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