An excerpt of my new Work in Progress, untitled as of now.
My phone alerts me that someone is at the door. I don’t remember setting that up on my phone, although I know Emily’s house has a Ring system.
I click on the notification.
This can’t be.
It looks like Emily, and she’s coming toward the front door.
I stop what I am doing—what was I doing? All that matters is Emily. She is here.
I rush to the door to let her in, but she is already inside.
“How can you be here? You weren’t breathing. I was there. I called 911. Everyone told me you died.” She took a step toward me, and I pulled away.
“Izak, don’t be this way. I am still me.”
I looked at her, my heart racing, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Izak, you don’t have to be afraid of me. At least, hug me.”
I wanted to believe her. Come on, Izak. It’s only a dream about Emily. Relax. Hug her.
“That’s better, Izak. I’ve missed you.”
Her hug felt solid, but there was no feeling of warmth in my hands. I stared at her doubtfully. She was familiar, but more like a projection of the woman I loved. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You’re right here, but you don’t feel like you.” My head is swimming. Things look all wrong. I—I can’t.
“Izak, I understand your confusion. It will be easier on you if you look only at me.”
I can’t. I try, but I glance involuntarily around the house. “Emily? What’s happening to our home?” I ask, my voice strained and faltering. I look past her to her favorite overstuffed couch and gasp as it shimmers and disappears. I squeeze my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to erase the impossible image of that couch disappearing from our home.
I open my eyes, and the view of the Bay Area we loved flickers like a mirage, then vanishes. My gaze darts around the room in growing panic, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
The last thing I see is Emily’s piano. I think of the time she told me about her family pictures, which she displayed on top of it. She had described them as “her life on a piano.” Now even that was gone. Everything was gone.
She grabbed my shoulders. “Izak, I know this is a lot for you to take in.” She pauses, her grip on my shoulders tightening. “I have to tell you something.”
I can only nod; my throat feels like it is closing.
“Izak, I am okay!” she insists, her voice tight with a strained reassurance. I nod again, tears welling in my eyes. I still can’t speak, but I understand the lie. I remember; I was at her memorial.
“Izak, I need to do something for you,” she said softly.
A choked “Okay” was all I could muster.
“Izak, this will help you understand. Hold me close,” Emily said, her voice dropping to an insistent whisper. “This is for both of us. Are you ready for what we need to do?”
Memory is the Key 