The God Memory (Part 3)

Part 1: https://theakhtabweekly.com/?p=677 Part 2: https://theakhtabweekly.com/?p=679

When we finished setting up our dining room area, a dark brown table, and four chairs, and sat down to take a rest the smoke came, and my body shut down. Kayla, with her quick thinking and her surprisingly quicker reflexes, slapped me into next week and brought me back to reality. I was seeing triple and black dots and Kayla with a look of concern on her face. The sun’s rays shone on her face lighting up those dark brown eyes. I blinked numerous times and slapped my hands against my cheeks to fully wake up.

“We need to figure this thing out,” Kayla said when she was sure I was all there. “This will not ruin our home, this, this, God memory or whatever you call it.”

I shrugged.

Kayla gave me a mother-about-to-beat-her-child look.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked her. “I can’t control it. It comes at will.”

Kayla stared at me for what seemed an eternity, not in an angry way but more in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-this-guy way. I felt sweat dripping from my temples and the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. A moment later goosebumps spread throughout my arms and chest and I started to get a feeling Kayla was thinking of something, something that involved experiments. And when Kayla started thinking of experiments. . .

“I know someone who may be able to help us figure this out.” She said finally.

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Did you think I was going to do experiments on you?” She asked upon reading my expression. “You were, weren’t you?”

I looked away and inflated my cheeks.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby!” She started. “One time, one time, you get electrocuted and suddenly I’m the executioner, huh?”

“I almost died.”

“But did you?” She asked with her face inches from mine. “You don’t look dead, and even if you were, you’d look pretty damn good.”

Obviously, I’m still alive, but, with her in my face like that (at the time) I started to question whether I would live out the rest of the day. Even when she’s irritated, she’s terrifying (and I don’t even want to tell you what happens when she’s in a full-on rage).

“His name is Dr. Wellington. He’s a psychiatrist who also studies the philosophy of the mind and soul. He typically doesn’t do house calls, but I think he’ll make an exception once we explain your situation.”

“Where’s he located?”

“Forty-fifth and ninth.” She said. “Not too far from the water.”

“And you trust this guy?”

“You questioning my judgment, Kay?”

I put my hands up in surrender, “I’m just asking.”

“I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t trust him, would I?” She got that about-to-go-off-the-handle look in her eyes. “Would I?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay then,” She smiled. “Tomorrow we’re going to forty-fifth and ninth to get you looked at, and if you try to duck…well, you know what’ll happen if you try to duck.”

I nodded.

“Good.” She cupped my cheeks and planted the sweetest kiss on my lips. The kiss that made me fall for her in the first place.

Dr. Wellington was a tall and slender guy. He wore stylish black Armani Exchange glasses and had a royally defined face. He had the face of someone you’d associate with British nobility. The upturned nose, the flat, serious deep blue eyes, chestnut brown hair slicked back with water or hair gel, the slightly sagging cheeks with crow’s feet and bags under his eyes indicating he was a workaholic and the mannerisms of a butler or someone trained to the pinnacle of elegance by people of the highest social class. He wore a Jos. A. Bank suit, the blazer resting on the back of his chair.

His office was set up like that of any psychiatrist. The mahogany brown desk sits in the center of the room toward the back. There was a large plant on the farthest right corner that looked like it was exhausted from trying to stand up straight all day. The walls were a maroon color, giving the room a library or study-room flavor. Speaking of the library, a bookshelf stretched along the entire right wall, hundreds of books about human behavior, how the mind works, the philosophy of the mind and soul, brain anatomy and function, anthologies of articles that studied the conscious and subconscious mind going back fifty years. I mean, this guy probably had it all. And by the window, the type you can see what’s outside but not what’s inside, there’s a patient’s chair with a little coffee table by it and a glass of water and one of the three lamps that lit the room and in front of it is the psychiatrist’s chair (both chairs were a deep, dark brown). The second lamp was on his desk and the third lamp was set up just by the bookshelf.

“Ah, Kayla, how nice of you to drop by.” Dr. Wellington greeted. “And who is this young man?”

“This,” Kayla started, “is my husband. The one with the weird memory.”

It’s not weird. I thought.

“Ah, yes. Pleasure.” He extended his hand and I shook it. He had a firm grip for someone with an aura of British nobility.

“So, tell me about this ‘God Memory’ as Kayla says you call it?”

“Alright,”

Dr. Wellington cut me off and gestured toward his patient’s chair, “over here, Mr. Mckenzie.”

We walked over and I laid on the chair as he sat in his.

“Now, when did these memories start?” he asked.

“They started when I was five years old. I was playing basketball in my parent’s driveway when suddenly my body shut down on me and all I saw was gray. All gray.”

“Describe this gray you speak of, how gray was it?”

“It was a smoky, light gray. The kind of gray that reminds you of a room filled with smoke. The hypnotic gray that starts to take on weird shapes like looking through a kaleidoscope.”

“Interesting.” He had no notepad and didn’t go to look for one either which struck me as strange. I looked to Kayla and she gave me a nod ensuring all was well.

“Your wife, Kayla, also tells me that you see things when this God Memory occurs. Speaking of, why call it the God Memory in the first place? How did that name come about?”

“Well, I don’t really know exactly.” I tried to explain. “When it occurs it’s like I can see everything happening at once. Like a super-awareness of astronomical proportions just swirling around in my mind. It’s like I’m just floating in a vast nothingness filled with everything at the same time. I can see what happens in other states, countries, continents, and even in space. It’s like I’m experiencing what it’s like to be the earth itself if that makes sense.”

“Interesting, very interesting.” He paused. “But you didn’t answer the question. Why? Why that particular name?”

“Well. . .” I drew a blank for a moment, “to answer that question I’d have to tell you about my memory in general. See, I remember being born. I remember being in my mother’s womb for nine months, my subconscious coming into play, my body forming and growing, my bones being created and solidified in their place. I remember how my mother’s contractions felt, her intestines and other organs closing in sharply then loosening softly. I remember hearing the swishing, sloshing sound the food made when it went down her body and was being fed to me, and I remember being pushed out through her vaginal area.

“So, that being said, most people can’t even remember when they were three or four let alone before they were born. People aren’t supposed to remember being born because it’s too painful; the months where my bones were forming, I was in excruciating pain. I would’ve screamed and kicked but I didn’t have legs or vocal cords yet. Those wouldn’t form until I was almost out of the womb. I probably should’ve been a miscarriage and that’s probably how miscarriages happen, they’re made aware too early and the pain kills them. To answer your question, doctor, I call it the God Memory because it supersedes my own. It remembers the past, sees the present, and sometimes even the future with stunning clarity.”

“Wow, this is the most I’ve heard you talk.” Kayla chuckled.

Tell me what you think in the comments! I read and reply to all of them and welcome feedback for improving my stories, poetry, and insights. Thanks for reading!

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