[Corentine] Read online

  "I want to know!" she demanded, kicking her feet beneath the covers. I knew that she wouldn't drop the subject until I answered or at least played along with her for a while, so begrudgingly, I responded.

  "I think that when you die then that's the end. That there's nothing left, and that whenever you feel like there might be something else out there, you're just tricking yourself into accepting that there is an end to everything, and no one wants to accept that the end really is final."

  "Why do you think that so many people believe in god, then?" She asked, and I rolled my eyes. It was probably a good thing that the room was dark and she couldn't see me doing it.

  "People need to believe in something, don't they? They have to find ways to look forward to the future, for whatever reason. They can't survive without having the hope that something better is going to come. It's one of the great mysteries that we think that way, isn't it?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders in the darkness. "What about you? What do you think happens when you die, since you brought it up?"

  "Glad you asked," she said. I could feel her nodding her head, as if she were a genie granting a wish. "I think that there has to be something else out there after we die, that we have to go on somehow. I don't know if we retain our consciousness or identity, really, but I do think that part of us will go on. We all become ghosts, somehow, to someone."

  "Like memories? Like people who will remember us? That's not the same," I countered, feeling drawn into the argument and a bit cheated by her answer.

  "What of me will you remember when I'm gone from this place?" she asked.

  Chapter 02

  I wasn't as close to Janine as Coren was, so I felt the need to talk about anything and everything whenever a strange silent moment occurred between us. I wasn't used to hanging out with her on a one-to-one basis, and the distance between our ages only reminded me that I was getting older and more out of touch with what was going on in pop culture. Not that I really missed pop culture. However, I did hate feeling old.

  We stopped at a posh little cafe on one of the streets near the docks. It was one of those kinds of places that tried to capture the feeling of a European bistro, but failed miserably because it was so obviously an effort on the part of the designers and employees to become some kind of hot go-to spot for the social elite who were 'in the know'. Nobody admired or fell for it except for the people admiring and falling for it, creating a little social circle of nobodies who all wanted to be somewhere else. Well, we were there, too, but we both liked coffee, and of course, as critics of the effort, precluded from the clique.

  It was like a funeral, I thought, and everyone had arrived in his or her blackest blacks, whispering amongst themselves in hushed tones over muted, generic jazz. Strangely, they played language lesson tapes on a loop in the bathrooms, but I was never sure just how many people spent enough time in the bathrooms to learn anything.

  Aimez-vous prendre un sandwich délicieux?

  "Maybe they have good sandwiches," Janine said, tossing a sugar cube into her mouth. Sandwiches were a hot subject for Janine that day.

  "I don't think you're supposed to eat those," I remarked, indicating the small dish of sugar cubes on the table she'd been picking at.

  "Sandwiches? Haven't killed me yet," she said, looking around for a menu.

  "Not what I meant," I said, lighting a cigarette.

  "Anyway, I can't shake the feeling that this has something to do with her amnesia," I continued.

  "I never thought about that. Was it something that came up often?" she asked, leaning back in her chair. She put her arms behind her head and squinted her left eye, looking up at the ceiling for some reason. We didn't talk about the problem with Janine very often. It was something that we kept to ourselves, not wanting to make things weird with our friends, who might not understand. Janine knew more than most about it, and I don't know how much of it was discussed when I wasn't around.

  "Often enough. It was something she was even seeking treatment for," I said. "So maybe she had a breakthrough. Or maybe she had a relapse and forgot everything again, including us."

  "I don't know about that," Janine said. "People don't just 'relapse', for no reason, into some weird memory state where they forget everything."

  "Exactly. I don't think it's possible, either. And I've done some thinking on the subject."

  "Hmm. Well, let's consider the fact that she obviously has some sort of past, somewhere. People aren't just blank slates that can be programmed to talk, walk, and interact with other people once they're adults. So she's definitely got a place to go back to if she's had a sudden breakthrough and remember everything, but I still don't think that she'd forget all of her 'new' memories if that happened."

  "Hey, where'd you come up with that idea?" I asked her, leaning forward. "The blank slates thing, I mean. Because Cor and I talked about it once. Did she say something to you?"

  "Um, no. I don't remember her mentioning it, anyway," she answered a little defensively. "I was just thinking that our memories are what make us who we are, you know? I was thinking that it's probably pretty rough when you don't know who you are, at least not for more than about six months at a time or whatever. That's when you met, right, about six months ago?"

  "Something like that," I replied.

  "About that."

  "About what?"

  "How you met. That's the part I don't really understand."

  "What's not to understand?" I asked her, taking a sip of my coffee.

  "You don't think that it's pretty weird that she just showed up in your house one day? With no memories of how she got there? In the bathtub of all places?"

  I laughed.

  "Of course I think that's weird. She said herself that she decided to take a bath, so that it would help her think."

  "And that's not weird? If I woke up in a stranger's house without a clue as to how I got there or what my past was, I doubt that I'd decide to take a bath straight off," Janine rationalized. "What about the rest of it?"

  "What about it? We started talking about things. We really hit it off. We spent some time together, I offered her my couch, and she never used it. Aren't you too young to be talking about this kind of thing?" I joked, feeling a little bit uncomfortable when confronted with the thought that Janine might think we'd rushed into things. People hook up with strangers all the time, don't they? At the time, once the initial strangeness of how Cor had arrived in the first place had worn off, I didn't mind her being there at all, and felt that we'd had a real connection from the start. Maybe I was just ready for it, but that's all it ever is, right?

  "I'm 19. I'm not stupid."

  "Anyway, things were awesome. As you know, we did some traveling together."

  "Yeah, you talk about it all the time. She does, too." This with an eye roll.

  "Those were great times," I said, reflecting. My mind started to wander. Janine interrupted my thoughts, though.

  "Yeah, but what about now? You guys are awfully preoccupied with your travels. And you still haven't answered my question."

  "Yes I did!" I insisted.

  "Not really." Another sugar cube into her mouth, along with a bored look of resignation.

  "What's with you?" I asked. "You're giving me the nth degree here. What about you? Got a boyfriend these days?" I checked my watch, changing the subject.

  She made a strange face at me and resumed fidgeting with the sugar cubes.

  "What, are you interested in the position?" She asked with a serious expression on her face.

  I laughed.

  "I'm gonna tell her that you asked," she warned, misinterpreting my query.

  "Go ahead. She's probably curious about you, too." I went with it.

  "Well, I don't," she stated. "I've been running around with this guy, David, but it's definitely not serious."

  "Why not?"

  "Life's not all about having boyfriends and girlfriends or being involved. At least," she paused, probably worried that she'd step on my t
oes about the fact that I was actually very involved in a relationship and very much in love. "At least not for me. Besides, I can't see the point of being in love."

  "Does there have to be a point?" I asked her.

  "Seems like there should be. It can't just be a series of good times leading to a series of horrible times. I mean, why bother? Everything ends badly."

  "That's almost always true," I agreed. "But when you're in love, you realize that there are exceptions to every rule."

  "Until it ends," she pointed out. "Badly."

  "Anyways, little Nina, I was just wondering, no big deal. How about that sandwich?"

  "I'll flag down a waiter," she said, waving her arm in the air.

  I ignored the fact that she was being rude to the wait staff and considered her perspective. It was one that I understood quite well, but I was surprised that someone who wasn't even old enough to legally order beer would be so jaded. I wondered if something had burned her experience or if she was just exceptionally analytical of the whole process. Either way, it made me appreciate her more.

  We ordered lunch and another round of coffees, and I asked Janine if she had any family in the city. I was making small talk again, avoiding the perpetual hum of dread in the back of my mind.

  "No, not really. I'm not really close to anyone," she explained. "My parents, they're both dead. Well, my adopted parents. My real parents are strangers that I've never met. A couple of kids from school and I kind of formed a little group that looked out for each other for a while. We got emancipated, you know, so we could drop out, get jobs, that kind of thing."

  I nodded. I'd heard of emancipation before and knew that Janine had left high school early to make a go at life on her own.

  "I was running away from the foster home that I ended up in after Mom died. That was four years ago; I was only 15, but it was already getting hard to hide the fact that I was a lot more advanced intellectually than most of my peers." This, she stated without conceit, was just a matter of fact. "I've been kind of wandering around for the last year or two, though. Last year, I felt the urge to come up to the Big City. I was only a state away, running odd jobs, so I figured there'd be no shortage of lucrative opportunities doing even more odd jobs once I got here. I also was banking that no one would know me and that no one would care. This city is a crazy place where crazy things happen every day. Something as harmless and uninteresting as some random kid's past just gets washed away in the torrent of bad news and human interest tidbits and credit card bills, you know?"

  I looked away from her, focusing on the floor. Believe me, kid, I know, I thought.

  "Maybe it's fate that you became friends with us," I said, hoping to lighten the mood with what I considered a joke.

  "Maybe it is," she said, not joking around at all. "Maybe I can help you find Cor today, and you guys can help me find whatever it is that I'm looking for tomorrow, or whatever it is that I've been missing for so long that I don't even know what it is… or where to begin looking for it."

  Inside, we're all searching for something or someone. We're all looking for a connection; everyone's seeking a satisfying answer.

  "Maybe it's going to be one of those days," she added, signaling her desire to end of the conversation right as the food arrived.

  Maybe it would be.

  "Or they would have burned you at the stake for witchcraft and heresy," I interrupted.

  "They could have tried that, but you know where I'm going with this. Going far enough back in time, I can create a burning bush or generate a booming voice from the heavens; any number of so-called miracles would be possible. What ancient man would interpret as divine visitation is a mere gimmick, no more than a cheap parlor trick, to us."

  "Great, so what you're really implying is that Jesus was a time traveler, and all of the rest of the Major Prophets throughout man's history were in on the scam, too."

  "Anything's possible, but I doubt it. Maybe, though. Previous generations of man have used the name of god in association with concepts that extended beyond their scope of their current levels of knowledge, beyond their comprehension of theoretical application at the time. Look at any history book. You can plot out humanity's increasing distance from the traditional definition of god as sciences and technology has grown at exponential rates. And time travel, while the subject of much speculation, is still a long way off. Maybe god's really just whatever remains that is unknown. In my head, then, that means that god can exist inside of the mystery of whatever it is that happens to us when we die."

  "As always, you make a good point supporting your case," I said to her, knowing that she would leave the conversation as the victorious party; she would not be convinced of any other ideas presented to her to the contrary of her statements and beliefs... at least not until an equally powerful concept introduced itself into her flow of logic. I didn't plan on changing anything about what she was saying, and didn't really even feel capable of compelling such a change in paradigm. It was entertaining and enjoyable to have someone to talk to things like that about without the risk of bruised egos and crumpled feelings.

  "But I just can't buy into it," I added.

  "You really can lie there and tell me that you think that everything you endure throughout your life, all of the good things and all of the bad things, come to a pointless ending? Or that there is an end point... your last breath, for example, and after that occurs, it's a big blank space filled with nothingness? That there's not one single thing that happens on the other side, nothing beyond us, beyond the here and now?" She questioned.

  "Sure I can," I started, "if all you're saying is that there's an opposite for everything. If life's positive, then death's got to be negative. It's just words and labels. Look, all I'm really pointing out is this: if the grass isn't green, it's another color… because it has to be. We have to create a name for everything; we need to label each and every concept we've ever imagined. It must be called something - and the concept of an afterlife is just the same thing on a more complicated level. That's no grand design at work, no providence; death's just the way it is. Just because you die, it doesn't mean that something else happens to take the place of your life... outside of the fact that you return to the earth and all of your atoms are incorporated, eventually, into other life. I think it's the human condition to seek and find providence wherever there is a mystery, because we all want answers to everything that we wonder about; we want a happy ending and solution that seems appropriate and rewarding after we toil through this life, only to reach the end of it, toppling over the edge into nothingness."

  "Pretty morbid of you."

  "Pretty realistic, I'd say."

  "Toppling over the edge into nothingness? It sounds morbid; gothic, even, at least to me," she laughed a little, pulling at a strand of her hair. "I think that you're misunderstanding my idea that there's something out there, that our basic energy goes on after the life that we're living now ceases. You're looking at what I'm saying from a biased and defiant standpoint. You're seeing it as a case for a definable god, when I'm just expressing that god can be anything bigger than we are, anything that can happen to us that is beyond our comprehension, even if that means that god is just the label that we place on events that continue to occur at a point after our deaths. All life that continues after our deaths is certainly something more powerful than we are."

  "Of course!" I responded. "There are tons of things that are beyond us, beyond the here and the now, but do they really matter? This here and this now is all we really live in, isn't it? Once we're dead, the game is over, and there's no more ‘us' to see what happens, no more ‘us' for anything to matter to."

  "But don't you see? I'm proof, you're proof, in the flesh, that there are things that extend beyond the here and now, and I know that the love that I feel for you, with everything inside of me, is not something that can be physically measured… it's both of those, if nothing else, that prove that there is always something more than what we are that exist
s outside of and beyond where we currently are." She put her arms around me, moved up closer to my face, and kissed me on my neck.

  "The future loves you, you know. It's all of the here and now moments that end up creating us and what we've got when we get there."

  "Even after I'm dead," I answered. What should I have said to her?

  "Even after you're dead, and I'm dead, I know we'll go on, somehow." She kissed me again. And again.

  I was silent for a moment. I could tell that she was thinking about the past that she'd lost, trying to remember things that were just beyond the grasp of her recollection, like figures in a fog, always elusive to her.

  I said those words that came so easy when I was talking to her, but were rarely heard anywhere else in my life.

  "I love you."

  She sighed and smiled.

  "You'll have to clear up the whole ‘life after death' part for me, because I'm not sure where you're taking it. I didn't realize you were such a big fan of zombies," I added, attempting to lighten the mood a bit.

  "Just promise me that you won't forget," she said.

  "I never will," I promised.

  Chapter 03

  You might surprise yourself at the things that start to take form in your mind, at the scenarios you create when you let your doubt take over.

  I slept a little on the first night, at least.

  Scattered thoughts bounced around inside of my head as I restlessly tossed and turned in the bed; every little noise brought me back to alertness. I'd open my eyes, check the door hopefully, sigh with disappointment, check the clock, and repeat the steps.

  The second morning came and went, and still she didn't return. I turned the house upside-down. I found letters that I'd forgotten years ago – just why had I saved some many old things? I couldn't remember half of the people that had sent them. I couldn't recall the last time that I'd spoken to those people, and I didn't care. I found copies of receipts for items that I didn't even own any more. I started throwing things into the trash, just to get them out of the way.