The Memory Painter

He was so focused, that he almost failed to hear the car pull up. It was Linz. He put the flute down and called out to her. “Nice night.”


Startled, she turned toward him, searching for him in the dark. “Bryan?”

He gave her a salute.

She hesitated and crossed the street. “What are you doing out here?”

“Stargazing.”

Unable to look him in the eye, she hovered at the curb. “I’m sorry for driving off tonight.”

“Apology accepted.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She stared at the flute in his hand and cleared her throat. “All your ‘dreams’ landed you in a string of mental homes as a child. You forgot to tell me that part.”

“Who told you that? Your father?”

Linz crossed her arms. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Bryan admitted. “I said I went through the therapist mill.”

“In a state hospital for the mentally ill. You were diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

“I’m not schizophrenic,” he assured her, trying to stay calm. “I was in a state hospital. I was in a lot of hospitals. My parents were desperate. It’s where you put kids when you don’t know how to make their nightmares go away. You had dreams. Is this really what you want to hear?”

“But I never believed I was those people.”

Bryan prayed for patience. Yelling at her would not help the situation. “I’m not crazy. Our meeting sparked something … awareness, memories. There’s a puzzle here, and we need each other to solve it.”

Linz shook her head. “Michael—” She couldn’t believe she just called him that.

Bryan waited for her to acknowledge what just happened.

Instead she said, “I think it’s best if we stop seeing each other.”

“You’re just afraid,” he replied, his voice flat.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, standing his ground. “You know. Logically none of this makes sense and I sound crazy. But I’m not. On some primal level, you know I’m right.”

“Look, I didn’t come here to do this.” Linz tightened her grip on her purse strap. “I just wanted to say good-bye in person. I thought you deserved that much.”

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

“What?”

“Do you have a pen and paper?” He nodded to her satchel.

She glared at him and crossed her arms.

“I have to show you something.”

Linz fished out a piece of paper and a pen and handed them over. “Show me what?”

“Shhhh.” Bryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to write what he saw in his mind but couldn’t. His hand wouldn’t move—something was wrong.

Linz stepped back into the street. “Okay, look. I have to go.”

“No, wait. I have to show you.” He stared at the page, willing himself to write so much his hand shook. In that moment he probably did look as crazy to her as she thought he was.

“I’m sorry. This has to end.” She walked away and didn’t look back. Bryan knew he was about to lose her. He stared at the pen in his hand, and it came to him—Michael had been right-handed and he was left. Switching the pen to his other hand, he tried again. This time the pen flew across the paper.

He heard Linz get into her car and tried to write faster.