“That’s what you’re saying. But maybe it’s you who’s imagining that you know me and that you live in my home?”
“What? You think…” I believe I understand what’s happening right now. Her mind is feverishly looking for an explanation that would confirm that nothing’s wrong with her. Wouldn’t I do the same if it were me? But still … “I used my key to get into the house. You have to admit…”
“It could be a copy.”
“But how do you explain me knowing my way around the house so well? And Bernhard. How come he turned up on your doorstep if it’s me he wanted to see? I know for an absolute fact that we live together, Jo.”
“But that doesn’t prove it. Think about it! If that’s the case, shouldn’t some of your stuff be in the house? Clothes? Furniture? Your bedding? Something?”
Yeah, I haven’t found an explanation for that yet either. “I don’t know either why—” The angry blaring of a car horn interrupts me. The traffic light. I shift into gear and start driving.
“You say you know that we live together.” Joanna’s voice is so quiet I can barely understand it. “But I, on the other hand, know that we’re neither engaged nor in love. And I know that yesterday evening was the first time I saw you.”
“I thought you’d remembered me?” I can hear how much my voice sounds like a petulant child’s, and it irritates me.
“Each of us has their own version, Erik,” she said, sidestepping the question. “And my version could be just as true as yours. How can you be so sure it’s me, that I’m the one something’s not right with?”
We’re on a busy street now, with lots of traffic. But I still glance over at her quickly. “Because, damn it, I just know.” The words come out louder and sharper than intended.
I ask myself if my anger is the result of Joanna’s obtuseness, or whether it’s because what she’s saying might be true. Both of us are sure we’re right, but one of us is living in a world of make-believe right now.
Little by little, we approach the center of town. Another traffic light. Joanna is sitting upright in her seat now; her body seems tense to the point of snapping. No wonder.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you. I’m sorry.”
We’re at a standstill now. “None of this is easy for me either, and—” There’s a clicking sound, very loud and very close. I twist around. The brief moment my mind needs to process the movement next to me and turn it into something I can comprehend is enough for Joanna to sweep the seat belt aside and shove the door open. My fingertips brush her arm but fail to grab on.
“Jo, don’t!” I shout after her. “Damn it, stay here. Jo!”
She ignores my shouting and starts to run. A few feet along the sidewalk, then off to the right, following the intersecting road. Out of my line of sight.
I have to go after her. She can’t be running through the city all by herself like this. Not in this state. But the car, the traffic behind me …
I don’t give a crap. Let them honk.
I try to undo my seat belt but don’t manage. Like a man possessed, I pound the lock, curse, scream, take out all of my desperate fury on the goddamn thing while a concert of car horns starts up behind me. Finally, the lock clicks open. I shove open the door … and freeze. What the hell am I doing?
If I mindlessly run after Joanna now, I probably won’t find her. But my car is blocking a busy intersection. The police will be here in two minutes flat, and they’re going to ask questions. I can’t have that. Not now.
I pull the door shut again and take a look into my rearview mirror. The guy behind me is throwing a fit and gives me the finger. Right back at you, asshole.
I step on the gas. There’s that nerve-fraying ding, ding, ding sound telling me I have to buckle my seat belt. I need a place I can stop, where there aren’t any idiots riding their horns. After driving for about five hundred feet, I find an empty parking space in front of a pharmacy. Finally.
I switch off the engine and get out of the car. Even though it’s pointless, I look around for Joanna. No luck, of course. I lean back against the closed car door, rub my hands over my face, and try to force my thoughts back into some sort of coherent order. Being a computer scientist, I should be used to thinking in a structured way, after all. So … Joanna’s running through the city all alone. What’s she going to do? She needs someone, needs to talk to somebody. But who is she going to turn to? The police?
Maybe. But Joanna isn’t quite as panic-stricken as she was yesterday evening. Even if she’s refusing to accept it, she must at least be considering the possibility that I could be right and that something’s wrong with her. And no matter what’s going on inside her head right now, she’s smart enough to figure out how the police might react.
No, she’s going to go to someone she knows first. Someone she trusts. To make sure she hasn’t really lost her mind.
Ela. Of course. Ela is her best friend, the only really close girlfriend she has. She’s a medical technician in the city hospital, not five minutes from here by car. Maybe fifteen minutes for Joanna on foot. That must be where she’s going. If I hurry, we might even arrive at the same time.
I get in the car, wondering why it didn’t occur to me earlier to take Joanna to see Ela. Before dragging her to the psychologist’s practice. Then again, I’m under extreme pressure here myself, and that kind of thing tends to stall your rational thought process.
Should I call Ela and warn her?
No, that’s pointless. I’ll probably have arrived at the hospital parking lot already by the time they’ve put me through to her on the phone.
Damn it, can’t these idiots get a move on? It almost seems like they’re blocking my way just for the fun of it.
Another red light. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. In my head, images from the past are blending with the surreal situation from this morning.
A flea market. The flea market. I’d always written off those stories you hear about love at first sight as being overblown tripe from cheesy romance novels. Until that moment, that is.
I don’t even know if it was really love I’d felt upon seeing Joanna for the first time. In any case, it was something that had struck me somewhere deep inside, completely turning my emotions upside down. I simply had to be near her; I hadn’t been able to help myself. She hadn’t seen me; she’d been completely focused on a small, ornate box, so tacky it was beautiful. The seller had wanted two more euros for it than she’d been prepared to pay. I’d listened to her bargaining, to no avail; then I’d put the full amount down on the table in front of the man.
I can still picture her right in front of me, staring at me in disbelief. I think it was in that moment, if not before, that I fell irretrievably in love with her.