A Missing Memory of Death

The last thing Taka remembers is falling.

The first thing he remembers is a hot feeling, spreading just shy of painful across his skin. The feeling is unpleasant, and he shifts to ease it. At least, he tries to, but his body won’t respond. A sick feeling of fear fills him, tangling in the dark pit that is meant to be his stomach.

He thinks his eyes are open, thinks he can see shapes, shadows, maybe-people above him and he tracks them as they move, but nothing clarifies. Nothing clears and that scares him more. A touch starts somewhere on his hand, moves to his wrist and back until it’s wrapped all around his fingers, and he moans. It’s the best his throat will give him, it seems, and it focuses his attention enough on his airways that he gags around the uncomfortable something that’s there. He’s breathing heavy around it, struggling, and before he knows it he’s gone again, drifting on the tide, somewhere far from the doctors and nurses rushing around him.

They’re in a hurry, a sudden flurry of activity around his long-used hospital bed. Taka, unconscious, doesn’t hear them speaking, doesn’t feel the blood pressure cuff inflate around his bicep, or see the light they’re shining in his eyes.

The next time he wakes, it’s equally short. Just a brief opening of his eyes, clear enough now for him to see the woman beside him, though he’s lying and she’s not. She doesn’t look at him until he gasps instead of speaks, and then her face is right in his, her eyes wide and intent in a way he can’t understand.

She says something, frowns, moves her hand in front of his face and smiles as he tracks it. When she repeats herself, he hears her, though it’s muffled and hard to follow, like she’s speaking through glass or snow.

‘Can you hear me?’

He opens his mouth, let’s air out. He tries again and this time makes it most of the way through ‘Yes,’ before he drops back into the dark nothingness he came from.

After that it happens more and more, slightly clearer, slightly longer every time until he’s sitting propped up at forty-five degrees with a doctor and nurse sitting beside him. His brain feels more coherent, his throat more responsive, so that when the doctor speaks, he can understand and respond better than he has so far.

‘It’s good to see you up, Takara,’ the doctor says, her voice deep and friendly. ‘Do you understand where you are?’

He swallows, breathes, let’s himself prepare to respond.

‘Hospital … ’ He says. The doctor nods, smiles.

‘Very good. This is going to be difficult to hear, and I’ll need to check in regularly that you’re following, but I think you’re ready now. You were in an accident, Takara. You were very badly hurt. You were found outside in the snow, hypothermic and with a head injury. Does this make sense?’

Taka nods, slow, and raises a very shaky hand to his head. There’s no bandage there, but he can’t think what that might mean.

‘It looked like you hit your head on a rock, and this combined with the hypothermia pushed your body into a coma. Takara, you were unconscious for a long time. For two and a half years.’

Everything fuzzes out around him, like static, and he can hear the steady beep beep beep of his heart monitor speed until it’s hazy. The doctor places her hand on his, fingers squeezing, until he comes back again.

‘I know this is a lot. We’ll take it slow, okay? You’ve been coming around for a while now, which is very normal. It’s been a few days, maybe a week, since you first seemed to know we were here.’ She sighs. ‘It’s going to be a long while before you’re better, Takara, but we’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone.’

He doesn’t realise that he’s crying until the tear hits his lip, salty against his tongue when he licks it, still dry even after a gentle drink of water. It doesn’t feel real, not a single part of it, and he can’t conceptualise two and a half years gone in the span of what felt like a dream.

He cries for some time, the doctor holding tight to his hand all the while, and when he finally calms enough to look at her again he realises he can feel that his body is different. He’s never been strong, per se, but his body was always steady and capable enough. Now, his muscles tremble with even the smallest movements, his legs barely responding to commands past a chaotic twitch. It’s terrifying, but his body is so exhausted it seems incapable of the panic it wants to feel.

The doctor gives him time to adjust, her hand on his. Different nurses come and go, never staying long and messing with things around his bed. It makes it more obvious, then, when one nurse politely stands just within the door, hands clasped, until the doctor acknowledges him.

‘Are they here?’

The nurse nods, smiling at Taka. ‘If you feel up to it,’ he says, ‘there’s a couple people here who’d really like to see you.’

Taka’s heart pounds, and he looks to the doctor for support. She just smiles, and says, ‘It’s entirely up to you. It’ll be a short visit either way, I know you’re tired, but if you want to see them, you can.’

There’s a lump in Taka’s throat too thick to speak around, so he nods, face scrunching. The nurse dips out the room, and seconds later two others walk in. Taka, despite the way they’ve changed, recognises them instantly: Salim, taller, broader, with longer hair and facial scruff Taka’s never seen before; and Mai, round face thinner and hair back to its natural brown rather than bleached to match his premature grey. They’ve aged. They look tired. The change makes him cry.

Immediately, Mai is by his side, her tiny hands wrapped around just one of his, and she’s cooing nonsense words as comfort while Salim sees the doctor out and closes the door behind her.

Taka says Mai’s name, and now she’s crying too, thick, ugly tears spilling down her cheeks.

‘Hey, nii-chan,’ she says, gulping. ‘Long time no see.’ It is apparently all it takes to have Salim join them in crying, and they spend the next several minutes wrapped in a tangle on Taka’s bed until they can calm themselves. Once they do, it’s obvious Taka is fading, his already limited energy almost eaten through by emotion, but Salim still leans forward and cups his face.

‘We missed you, you know,’ he says, voice still thick. ‘We saw you every week, but it wasn’t the same.’

‘I guess … I missed you, too,’ Taka says, halting, voice barely there, and it takes a second but both Mai and Salim laugh. Mai mimes punching his arm, careful not to actually touch him.

‘Always the arsehole,’ she smiles, then 'God, your hair's so white now. When did you get so old?' She shares a look with Salim that Taka can’t quite decipher. He wants to ask about it, question what it means, but he slips away before he can, eyes closing and consciousness drifting before he’s even aware he’s on his way.