PART 17

Reminiscence:
Origin: 1580–90; < MF < LL reminiscentia.
The act or process of recalling past experiences, events, etc.
A mental impression retained and revived.
Often, reminiscences. a recollection narrated or told.
Something that recalls or suggests something else.
Someone’s reminiscence are things that they remember from the past, and which they talk or write about. Reminiscence is the process of remembering these things and talking or writing about them.
This is a formal word.

Day 59 after the accident – McCutcheon/Morales’ house – h. 8.16 p.m.

We are crashed together on the couch, an old black and white movie buzzing in the background.
The dusk peeping in from the window and the television are painting our bodies with various shades of grey, dancing flashes of a yellowing white and an almost bloody red.
Carmen’s body lays right over mine.
Her cheek rests on my chest, where my heartbeat is more perceptible. One hand rhythmically brushing my hair, the other hand playing distractedly with my necklace.

”Ti ho raccontato storie che ancora mi somigliano
Nell’universo nero si disperdono
Sono diversa, sono nuova ma le note ancora mi appartengono
Parlo con te
Parlo con te…”
[“I told you stories that look just like me
They’re getting lost in the dark universe
I’m different, I’m new but that music still belongs to me
I’m talking to you
I’m talking to you…”]

I’m trailing my fingers on the tattoo on her back, under the t-shirt she’s wearing, my right hand meeting hers halfway, on my head.
We’ve been busy here at home all day, and we have no intention to go out.
We’ve talked for hours, we’ve watched Mark’s videotapes of our infamous beginnings for the tenth time in the last week, we’ve laughed at old photographs and tried hard to stimulate Carmen’s memory.

”E tu spiegami adesso tutto questo silenzio dove va a finire
Se non riesco a parlarti e non so più toccarti mi sento morire
Parlo con te
Parlo con te…”
[“And now tell me what does this silence mean
If I can’t speak to you, if I can’t touch you, I feel like I’m dying
I’m talking to you
I’m talking to you…]

Carmen’s memory.
It’s working.
Sometimes, she comes out with these old statements. Real statements. Something I said or something she said or something one of our friends said.
Around midday she talked about Dana for the very first time.
And she cried. We both did.
She told me she was happy and sad at the same time, because that old feeling of loss had hit her hard and it was unexpected. She was unprepared.
So was I.
I never know what’s she going to remember next.
I’m walking on a wire.
But when she suddenly smiles at me with no apparent reason and says: “Shane, once we…”, she flashes me those stunning dark eyes or hers and I melt like butter.
And I am happy.
I like the way she works hard for us.
It’s so Carmen.