The Real Me

The Real Me | DISPATCH By Scott Evers

Sanctuary of analysis paralysis.

Battle of the board games.

At least.

[reaching]

Jesus...

How many are there?

[box slides]

—no.

—

—Luke, i understand what you're saying.

—i just don't know what it means.

[pieces rattle]

—

—he knows you.

—knows your name.

—knows you're his best friend.

—

—is that right.

—but none of it happened to him.

—no history.

—mercy.

—

—what'd the doctors say?

—

—well...

that's helpful.

[puzzle box opens]

Nearly certain that's not three hundred pieces.

I won't put anybody through that.

...

Missing piece.

Shit.

Can't finish the damn thing without all the pieces.

Trash.

[trash thunk]

—luke?

—you still there?

—

—good.

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read to you by Geezer III.

...

Luke was visiting Aston today.

Not working.

Just...

visiting.

He's his best friend.

Hospital chaplains see all kinds of things.

Death.

Miracles.

Families coming apart.

People waking up.

People not waking up.

He called because he didn't know where else to put this one.

...

Aston came out of a coma three days ago.

Have I told you about him.

Handsome fellow.

Played football.

Prom king.

The sort of man everybody remembers.

Funny thing is...

Aston doesn't.

[box opens]

Operation.

Mercy.

Tweezers are gone.

Patient's still here.

...

Will ya look at that.

Battery still works.

[buzz]

Well...

boy's got a heartbeat after all.

—Luke...

—does Aston seem frightened?

—

—no?

—

—he joked?

—about what?

—

[laughs]

—that sounds exactly like Aston.

—

—i know.

—i know you know.

—that's what's so strange.

...

He knows his wife's name.

Knows where he lives.

Knows who Luke is.

He recognizes everybody.

But football games...

weddings...

bad restaurants...

road trips...

everything they ever did together...

Luke tells him the stories...

Aston smiles...

shakes his head...

like Luke's talking about somebody else.

—

—you sure you're not...

putting the old Aston on top of him?

—

—

—yes Luke.

—of course he looks like the same dude.

—

—why do you say that?

—

—sure.

—it's easy to imagine him...

—being him.

—that's all you've ever known.

—

—you're the chaplain.

—i'm the man sitting on a garage floor.

[something spills]

Ah hell.

Battleship.

Little red pegs making a break for it.

...

—no, i don't know where the blue ones are either.

—

—i thought i knew what losing somebody looked like.

—

—this isn't that.

—

—i know, son.

—

—i know.

—

—yeah.

—call me tomorrow.

[phone disconnects]

...

[small pieces gathered]

Funny thing.

A person can be standing right there...

looking like himself...

laughing like himself...

and still leave somebody grieving.

...

[box closes]

Monopoly.

Lisa hated Monopoly.

...

Wonder why.

...

That's irritating.

I remember that she hated it.

Can't remember why.

...

Forgot to call Lauren.

[phone dialing]

—lauren.

—

—no.

—nothing's wrong.

—

—well...

something's happened.

—you remember Luke's friend Aston.

—big Black fellow.

—prom king.

—

—yeah.

—that Aston.

—

—he woke up.

—knows everybody.

—doesn't remember anybody.

—

—no.

—that's different.

—he knows who they are.

—just...

not why they matter.

—

[Yahtzee cup shakes]

—what're you doing awake?

—

—you took what?

—

—micro dose?

—

—lauren...

at our age...

ibuprofen ought to count as experimentation.

—

—no.

—i'm just trying to figure out whether i'm talking to my sister...

or the cosmos.

[dice roll]

—hold on.

—one escaped.

—

—found it.

—nope.

—wrong one.

—

—so.

—suppose...

you could forget everything.

—not your name.

—not your address.

—the other part.

—regret.

—embarrassment.

—people who hurt you.

—people you hurt.

—everything before this moment.

—

—you'd do it.

—

—really.

—

—that's right.

—no past.

—no baggage.

—just...

this.

—

—would you forget me?

—

—

—not that.

...

Funny.

Turns out you don't want to lose your past.

You just want to edit it.

...

—let me ask you something.

—since you're apparently in consultation with the universe.

—

—what does it feel like...

—to be Lauren...

—without referring to anything you remember?

—

—no.

—don't explain it.

—just...

see if you can find it.

—

—

[garage hum]

—

—yeah.

—i know.

—there is something.

—before the stories.

—a quiet knowing...

—that you're here.

—

—yes...

that you...

are.

—i feel it too.

—

—but Aston has that.

—he knows he's here.

—he laughs.

—he eats.

—he recognizes Luke.

—he just...

doesn't know the road that got him there.

...

Maybe memory isn't what makes us alive.

Maybe it's what lets us belong.

To ourselves.

To each other.

Maybe it's the thing that lets yesterday keep introducing itself to today.

...

[wooden tiles spill]

Oh.

Scrabble.

...

Every letter's still here.

...

Just...

not the words.

...

—no.

—i'm keeping this one.

[box lid closes]

...

Rocky. Don't even think about it.