Before I Forget

Before I Forget

I…

Shit. 

Now I’m talking I feel stupid.

I should probably jump from the balcony while I can. Others have. The street’s littered with broken bodies. 

I still might, but want to try this first.

Here goes.

Hello, Future Alex. This is me, Past Alex.

I’m leaving you a voicenote from the past. From before you lost your mind.

Yeah, dramatic.

I started coughing ten minutes ago. If the virus is in my lungs, it’ll be in my brain soon. That’s why I’m talking fast. Hope you understand.

If you’re hearing this, that means someone found a cure. They can tell you about the outbreak.

What I want to tell you about is your memories.

I’ve seen the eyes of the infected. Even if a cure’s found, I don’t think anyone could bring their memories out of that black hole.

But you need your memories, Future Alex. You need them. They’re the only beautiful thing you have. 

Jack taught you that.

Jack’s who you have to remember.

<cough><cough>

Shit. Sorry.

If you’re hearing this, you have my phone. Check the wallpaper photo. That big guy with the red hair? That’s you. You’re Alex Sinclair, you’re British and you’re 45. 

You’ve lived in Hanoi ten years. Not because you fell in love with Vietnam, but because you fell in love with Jack. He’s the beautiful one you’re hugging in that photo. Yeah, I never knew what he saw in me, either.

<cough>

You have to remember Jack.

There’s no point in anything if you don’t remember him.

I… Wait…

Hear that? The army sends helicopters daily. They’re checking if everyone’s dead yet. Might be a long wait. The infected eat anything, so they’ll survive months, even if it means eating trash.

They. Should probably say we now.

Fuck.

Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad Jack died before this. He’d have hated watching everything fall apart. It’s not just Vietnam leaving its cities to rot, it’s everywhere. I think, anyway. The news stopped broadcasting weeks ago.

So hot in here. I could open the windows, it’s not like I’m scared of infection anymore. But the stench, I’m scared of that.

<cough><cough>

Anyway. 

Jack. 

You were together seven years and he was your favourite human. After one month, you promised you’d never let each other go.

But that’s not how it works, is it?

You’ve already lost him once. When your brain turns to mush, you’ll lose him again. But I’m hoping that if you hear about him through my voice—your voice—your memories might come back.

This plan is so stupid.

<sniff>

Sorry. 

Fuck, I’m apologising to my future self. 

His real name was Ngoc, but everyone called him Jack.

Go to your photos, find the Jack Attack album. Make sure you’re alone, though. There are pics you won’t want anyone else to see.

Beautiful, isn’t he?

But you didn’t love Jack because he was beautiful. Not only, anyway. You learnt that as he died. The chemo stripped him to bone, til he was bald and white and looked like a ghost. Actually, no—like his Dad. Just older and skinnier.

It didn’t change a thing. You loved him just as much. 

<cough><cough><sniff>

Shit.

Head’s hot. Shirt’s soaked. I’m scared.

Maybe jump while I still can. But I’m scared. I don’t think there’s anything on the other side. No heaven. No hope. No Jack. 

But I don’t want to be one of those things. It’s their sounds I hate. Those muh buh sounds. Like big giant disgusting babies.

<cough><cough>

Wait, what was I…

Jack. Yes. 

The two years without him were bad. 

I told my sister I was an emotional zombie. Idiot. Jack was still in my head. There’s something worse than remembering what you’ve lost. Not remembering what you’ve lost.

Pain means you’re alive, not a zombie.

<cough><cough>

Zombies. That’s what people call the infected, though scientists say post-cogs. They’re still alive, hearts pumping. They die eventually.

When the outbreak began, lots got trapped in apartments, couldn’t remember how locks worked. They ate anything. Real food. Plants. Dogs. Worse. Not canned food, though. They didn’t know what it was.

Shit, I’m rambling. Nearly out of time, and I’m fucking rambling.

Concentrate.

Jack. 

You thought you were clever but Jack was smarter. It wasn’t just the languages he spoke, it was music, movies, history. He was so curious.

But not arrogant. You’d have been insufferable if you had that face and brain. But Jack was better than you. Sorry, Future Alex, but he was. 

Everyone wanted to sit next to him at dinner parties. He asked questions, made people feel they mattered.

<cough><cough><cough>

Is this helping you remember him, Future Alex?

Feels so… What’s that word? G something. 

Generic. 

Okay, some Jack facts. 

Allergic to alcohol. When he came home after drinking his face would blotch and he’d slump onto the sofa, giggling until the headache hit. Then you’d hug him better.

You taught him how to kiss properly. He’d kissed guys before—much more than that, actually—but felt too shy to open his lips. You taught him kissing was like tasting something delicious. Something to nibble on, run your tongue around. He said be careful or one day he’d bite.

<cough><cough><cough><cough>

What else?

His favourite bands were Nirvana, Hole and… uh… smuh something. Funny, because nobody looked less grunge than Jack. He was so neat. 

The only person he loved like you was his broth…

No…  not brother.

Sister?

<silence>

Gone. Shit. I remember them but…face… blurred. 

<cough><cough>

What else? Think. 

No, I’m talking to myself, Alex.

Me Alex, not you Alex. You’re Future Alex. 

Sorry. Confusing. I’m confused. 

<cough><cough><cough>

<silence>

Alex, if you’re hearing this, they cured you. Ask them what happened…

Wait, did I say that already?

Who’m I talking…

I remember. I’m talking to Future Me.

Why?

Because…

<cough><cough><silence>

I’m trying to think, Jack! I’m trying!

We climbed Bromo Mountain in Indonesia. Remember? Held hands for sunrise. You said the only valuable things are memories. Money and houses can be taken away. Only memories can’t…

Except…

Everything gets taken.

<sniff>< cough>cough><sniff>

Can’t see your face, Jack. 

Just closed my eyes, and it wasn’t there.

Where are you, Jack?

<cough><cough><sniff>

<silence>

Hold on, hold on.

To what?

Memories. Hold onto memories. 

<cough><cough><cough><sniff><sniff><silence>

Jump now. Go to balcony and jump. 

Sorry, Jack.

Have to. Can’t bear being like them.

Wish you were waiting.

<silence>

Wait. Was I talking?

How long…

Get it together, get it together.

<silence>

What you doing?

Remembering.

Who?

Ja…

Ja…

Oh…

So dark. 

<cough>.

Losing him.

What?

Losing.

What?

Luh.

Muh.

Muh-muh.