The Memory Painter: A Novel by Gwendolyn Womack Page A

little black dress in the mirror , she rolled her eyes at herself and settled for jeans.
    *   *   *
    The Corner was a quaint neighborhood pub with dim lighting, leather booths, and three dartboards along the back wall. Bryan sat in the far corner with a vodka shot and kept his eyes on the door.
    Linz walked in. She scanned the bar and found him. When they saw each other, Bryan’s chest constricted, making it hard for him to breathe. New memories threatened to take hold of him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Stay here. Stay. Here. I am here now. I am here now.
    “Bryan?”
    Bryan opened his eyes to see her staring down at him with a frown on her face, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
    “Something funny?” she asked.
    “My life.” He gestured, “Please.”
    She sat across from him and put her laptop on the table.
    To Bryan, the intimate booth became even smaller. He stared at the tattoo circling her arm, seeing it for the first time. “That looks like the armband from the museum,” he commented. It also made her look fierce.
    Her eyes flashed in surprise at his observation.
    “I like it,” he said simply, feeling her size him up.
    “So do you normally show up at people’s doorsteps like this?” she asked. Her laptop beeped.
    “Do you normally bring a computer everywhere with you?”
    “I was in the middle of scanning a program when you called. It needs babysitting.” She typed in a quick command. “This’ll just take a second.”
    Bryan waited, content to watch her. He had so many memories of her brimming up inside of him, but instead of dwelling on them, he forced his mind to find the most socially acceptable question he could possibly ask. “What do you do?”
    Linz focused on the monitor as her hands flew across the keyboard. “Give you a hint.” She motioned to her tattoo.
    Bryan wasn’t sure what she was getting at. He took a guess. “A spiral?”
    “A double helix.”
    He choked on his drink. “You’re a scientist?”
    “Geneticist.” Her computer beeped again. “I decipher code to determine how the brain makes memories.” She saw the expression on his face. “Your disbelief is noted.”
    “No, it’s not that. I…” he floundered, grappling with the impossibility of it. What could he say?
    Just then a gum-smacking waitress came over to take their order. “What’ll it be, kiddos?”
    Linz debated. “I’ll have a glass of the claret.”
    Bryan tapped his glass. “Another Stoli.”
    “You got it.” The waitress sashayed off.
    Linz typed one more command. Bryan studied her fingers. She has Katarina’s hands.
    Her computer beeped in response and she turned to Bryan, giving him her undivided attention. “So. What did you want to talk to me about?”
    Bryan didn’t know where to start. He saw the hurt lurking in her eyes and realized she needed an apology. “First off, I’m sorry I ran out on you this morning. I’m not good with people.”
    “No kidding.”
    He ignored the jibe. “I don’t talk about myself, ever, but you deserve an explanation.” He took a deep breath, about to go out on a limb. “I did the painting after a dream I had. Well, kind of a dream.” He frowned. How to explain it? “Sometimes, I wake up, and there’s the canvas—done. It’s not painting. I don’t know what it is. Most of the time, I don’t even remember doing them.”
    He didn’t go into the fact that the paintings had been a coping mechanism for years now, or that he had started painting when he was a young teenager at the height of his attacks. He called them attacks because that was what the dreams felt like, battering the wall of his consciousness, until sometimes he didn’t know reality from the dream. He had other names for them as well: visions, recalls, episodes, foreign memories. But no matter what words he used, it was all the same.
    Linz stared at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Bryan wondered if she realized he was telling her something no one else