Painting a Memory

The red 'open' neon sign on the door of the Pita Bread restaurant flickered like a bug zapper. It reminded Atticus of the bug zapper he'd once had hanging from the front porch in Louisiana. His mind filled with memories of himself drinking ice-cold sweet tea on the steps of that same porch. He’d watch the sunset and listen to the zaps coming from the bug zapper. The tall fields of grass, the warm southern breeze hitting his face, and the smell of honeysuckles in the air.

The vivid memories were why Atticus had come for psychiatric help from Tye Conway in the first place. He hadn’t grown up in Louisiana. He’d been born and raised in Chicago, IL. The memories Atticus was having weren’t his own but had been becoming more frequent as he got older.

He begrudgingly made his way out of his car and onto the broken sidewalk. Dr. Conway’s office sat in a rundown shopping center between Judd’s Dry Cleaning and the Pita Bread restaurant. It wasn’t an easy find if you didn’t know you were looking for it.

Giving the lobby a once over, he was glad to notice that he was the only one there, besides Marina the receptionist. Her fingers sped across the keyboard as her eyes stayed focused on the computer screen. She was completely oblivious that Atticus was now standing at her desk.

Tilting his head to the side he stooped lower to be in her eyesight. She blinked a few times before looking up and catching his gaze, and he smiled.

“Oh! I’m sorry Atticus I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s alright, I could tell you were in the zone. You must have been listening to something exciting.” He assumed.

Marina’s cheeks turned a shade of pink as she pulled a paper out of the printer. “A very intense music score. I’m still working on my fantasy novel.”

“I hope you’ll let me read it when it’s done,” he said, taking the paper from her and signing his name at the bottom. It was another $350 from his bank account. The sessions were putting a dent in his income, but still, Dr. Conway was cheaper than anyone else in the inner city.

“If I ever finish I will.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“The previous patient left about 20 minutes ago; you can go back to Tye’s office.” She instructed, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear.

Atticus watched with curiosity as her eyes shifted downward when he looked at her again. He’d been seeing Dr. Conway for three months once a week, and every time he got to see and know Marina a little more. She was stunning, and he enjoyed the way her amber-colored eyes lit up when she caught sight of him. He wondered if it was inappropriate to ask her to dinner.

“Thanks, I’ll head back then.”

Coward. He thought to himself. Marina knew the patients that came to see Dr. Conway were the most broken ones. He’d wait till his sessions ended for good before he attempted to ask her out. He’d wait till Dr. Conway cured him from feeling like he was losing his grip on reality.

Atticus knocked on the black-painted wooden door before turning the knob and pushing it open. “Hey, Dr. Conway.” He greeted, striding into the small earth-toned office.

“Atticus, hi come in have a seat. I had a feeling you were here.” Tye stated, knitting his brows together in a confused expression. “Sorry, that sounded weird. I’m not sure why I’d even have any sense of you arriving.”

Atticus hesitated as he watched Tye’s tall and slender figure move around from his desk and over to the window. He shut the blinds and felt his forehead a moment before motioning towards the dark leather sofa.

“My head is pounding, please get comfortable,” Tye instructed, reaching into the pocket of his black slacks he pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Are you ok Conway? You always get these headaches whenever I show up. Am I that bad of a patient?” Atticus laughed, crossing the room he took his seat on the sofa.

Tye shook his head as he swallowed the two white pills. “No, I didn’t sleep well last night. This isn’t about me though it’s about you. Would you be open to an experiment today? It might help unlock some answers.”

Atticus examined Tye for a moment. Every time he stepped into his office Tye seemed to feel ‘off’ and not like himself. This worried Atticus, and if there was a chance an experiment would help, why not give it a shot?

“What kind of experiment?”

“Hypnosis.”

Atticus threw his hand up to object immediately. “Nope. No way, it gets worse every time I’m unconscious. The sleepwalking is bad enough, who even knows what hypnosis is going to bring out.”

“Exactly my reason to try it. We don’t know what it can unlock. You’re safe here. I’ve done it many times to other patients, and they’ve had positive reactions. We could succeed and get closer to solving the questions of why you keep seeing the life of someone you don’t even know.” Tye said, rubbing the side of his neck. He toyed with the button on his tan blazer a moment while offering Atticus a bit of a forced smile.

Atticus stayed quiet while he reconsidered his resentment to try hypnosis. He grew tired of feeling crazy, tired of the nightmares, tired of spending money each week on the sessions. He needed answers, he needed to be free from everything. He needed to find a cure so he could finally ask Marina on a proper date.

“Fine. I trust you know what you’re doing Conway.” He said, swinging his legs up onto the couch and placing a red velvet pillow behind his head.

“I know what I’m doing. Relax. Take a few deep breaths and close your eyes.” Tye encouraged, he pulled his chair closer to the sofa and put on some jazz music.

Atticus fought the urge to roll his eyes, he wasn’t someone who tried alternative therapy, but now he was willing to. Getting situated, he focused on clearing his mind. His eyes wandered around the room, and the shock of a new painting on the wall in front of him caused him to sit upright. “When did you get that?” He asked, his anxiety soared as the jazz band played on. A tremor in his right hand started as he felt his mind try to get away from him once more.

“Conway, why do you have that picture of an old barn on your wall?” He demanded; the urgency rang clear in his voice.

Tye rose from his chair and glanced back at the framed picture on his wall. “It’s something I dreamt about. I painted it; I paint as a hobby. I see it often in my dreams, I’ve painted it so many times but the other day it was so clear in my mind. It was as if I’d been there before and –” his words trailed off as Atticus pulled the painting off the wall.

“So have I,” Atticus whispered. He held the painting in front of him, his hands shook as he stared at the field, the tree line, and the old wooden barn. “What is going on? Is this some kind of game Conway? How do you know this barn?!”

Tye flinched at the raised tone of Atticus’ voice. He wiped at the sweat that had formed on his forehead and reached into his pocket. With his thumb, he managed to pull the top off a syringe filled with a sedative. “You’re not yourself right now. You’re trying to fight off the visions, let them happen Atticus. I’m trying to help you remember.”

Atticus felt a tightening in his chest. He began struggling to pull air into his lungs, but he still wasn’t done with Tye and his mind games. “What are you talking about? You’re lying to me! That’s my barn! You’ve never been there before because it burned down in 1943.”

Tye’s eyes brightened, and he smiled the slightest smile. “How did it burn down?”

The room felt like it was spinning, and Atticus fought to hold onto his reality. He didn’t want to lose his grip, but the picture of the barn had transported him to the bayous of Louisiana. The night was damp and humid, fireflies lit up the tall grass, and the barn sat at the tree line visible in the moonlight. He felt his body moving closer and closer to it, and as he got closer, the tightness tugged at his chest.

“Atticus, focus. How did it burn down?” Tye’s voice asked, but he was nowhere now. There was no city, only farmland for as far as the eye could see.

Atticus spotted two teenage boys lighting cigarettes in his barn. He sprinted through the tall grass as they sat on hay barrels and tossed one of the lit butts down onto the hay. The fire spread at a rapid pace, and they fled instead of attempting to put it out. There was no time to chase them, he had to free the animals, he had to get them all out. He needed to get them all out, they were all he had left.

He couldn’t breathe.

The smoke was filling his lungs, and he coughed more than once but didn’t stop opening all the animal pins. It was too much smoke, the fire kept growing and growing until it surrounded him on all sides.

Atticus let out a scream, his body jolted and the feeling of a needle pinch in his neck calmed him. His lungs were opening again. “Teenage boys smoking cigarettes. The animals, I saved them all.” He whispered, his eyes fluttered open, and he was laying on the couch looking up at Tye and Marina.

“The teenagers set fire to the barn. That’s how you died then. You went in to save your animals and never made it out.” Tye stated, he gave Atticus a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Atticus, the hypnosis, and the jazz music helped. It’s a past life you were seeing. You’re safe now it worked.” Marina said, her smile reached from ear to ear as she smoothed down Atticus’ sweaty hair.

“It was the painting of the barn that ignited it Marina.” Tye stated, scratching his head. He seemed bewildered over the painting but said nothing more on it.

The sedative that Tye had given Atticus cleared his mind. It wasn’t strong enough to render him unconscious, but enough to relax him. He held onto reality with the realization that he wasn’t crazy, the memories were real. The blackouts confused and terrified him, but the hypnosis gave a clear picture of what happened. “I didn’t die there.” He stated, his eyes meeting Tye’s as he sat up.

“What do you mean? You said they set fire to the barn.” Tye rubbed at his temples again, a sign the intensity of his headache increased.

“Yeah, but I got out. I made it to the river, and then I saw him hiding out on the other side. The man who had taken everything from me. The drifter who ended my wife and son’s life over a rumor of an inheritance that was never real. He saw me, we saw each other, and he stabbed me too.” Atticus lifted his shirt and revealed a long scar on his abdomen. Marina gasped as her hands flew over her mouth.

“He almost got away with it all, till I managed to grab a river rock and hit him in the head before everything went dark. It explains your headache’s Conway.” Atticus smiled and gave a nod once the realization caused the color to completely drain from Tye’s face.