Seventy-two

Her tears fall on my face, and I stroke her soft cheek one last time. Long curtains of brown hair frame her round nose, gentle brow, and thin lips. She says something to me, but there’s no sound. My ears sense that it’s time for me. I can no longer smell her perfume. I’ve smelled it every day for years and now I wish I could have just one more moment to breathe it in. Her slender fingers glide along my arms, warm against my skin. Then, she is not. I ask her something, but hear nothing anyway. The world goes black and I suck in a breath that I believe to be my last. 

I wake with a jerk like when you drift asleep sitting up. The air is cold on my face, but my body is bound under warm blankets. I look for Theresa but she is nowhere in sight. I realize that I can see. I cough just to see if I can hear. What a beautiful sound. I move my fingers slowly, feeling along the blankets and my legs, legs that are strong and muscled. I don’t even remember the last time I walked. Did I ever walk before the accident? I must have, but there are no memories to verify.

The familiar hospital room of my two-year imprisonment is no longer. Slender towers replace the small table and chair that Theresa sat in for days at a time. They look to be made of crystal, and within their many prisms, tiny lights blink like the same bright Christmas tree seen through a hundred different windows. As I move my head and limbs, the lights blink faster. A soft voice comes through a speaker over my head.

“Don’t move too much, you’ve only just synced with your system.”

I slowly relax. I feel like a burrito in these blankets. “Who are you? Where’s my wife?”

The male voice doesn’t respond immediately. “My name is Orion. How much do you remember?”

“She was beside me this morning. Then I lost my eyesight, smell, and touch… everything.”

“The full realization of the Derelict Disease. All your senses essentially terminated. We’ve been working to bring them back. Hopefully, now you can see that this has been successful.”

“I can, but where is my wife? I’d rather like to know that now.”

“David, about seventy-two years have passed since your last memory.” His voice, fringed with computer modulation and speaker feedback, sounds remorseful. He is Theresa’s pallbearer. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tears spout from the corners of my eyes until the pillow cushioning my head is soaked. I lick my lips and taste salt mixed within the rough stubble of my face. I can remember her face so clearly that it makes my heart tremble in its hold. Would it be easier if I couldn’t remember her face? Would it make the pain any less?

“Why am I like this?” I scream. “Who put me back on this miserable planet without my Theresa?” I feel so weak without her, but my arms are flexing so fiercely against the blankets that I hear something tear. Restraints break. I sit up and push the ripped blankets and leather bands from my bed.

“David, you need to calm down,” Orion says. “You’re body isn’t as strong as you think. If you’re not careful—”

“Damn you! I don’t need a strong body. I don’t need to be alive. Why did you do this to me?” My chest heaves as I get up. The room, except for the crystal towers, is bare and circular, with walls so smooth that I can’t distinguish a door or window. Above me, the entire ceiling is dark but bright with stars. I recognize a few constellations. My heart flutters. “Where the hell am I?”

“I told you, David. You’re seventy-two years older. Life isn’t the same as it used to be back then. You remember signing up for experimental treatment, don’t you?”

I nod my head dumbly, not caring if Orion sees.

“Good. The cure for Derelict Disease required full-body restoration. The process… didn’t always work. It took a long time, but the results are flawless. Does everything feel the same as before?”