NoNo Bass

NoNo 1

Sleep creeps back like a slow moving fog revealing a new day. I open my eyes anticipating the something good that always seems to be just out of my reach. While I am still half asleep, I seem to be teetering on the edge of an abyss. Fearful of falling over the edge, I shake myself into the new day only to feel apprehensive and hopelessly lost. Consciousness rushes over me, saturating the first view of my day with unfamiliar sights. 2

I am never greeted by the day; my first feelings are always those of terror. I bolt up to a sitting position, only to face a stranger in the mirror across from my bed. The stranger stares at me, looking as panic-stricken as I feel. I focus on the bright, yellow, block letters on the mirror above the stranger’s head that demand I READ the journal on the nightstand, NOW. I am shocked when the stranger reaches for the journal with me and I scramble to snatch it before she does. 3

I struggle to recognize where I am, the stranger in the mirror prompts an even more frightening realization, I do not recognize her, who is she and... who am I? Obeying the yellow words, so neatly affixed to the mirror, I open the book. The book is my dawn, my real awakening. 4

The book is unadorned. The words, Read the first page, FIRST, are printed in bold black letters that stretch the width of its plain, red cover. The fear that once loomed over my wakefulness seems to tip toe to the side as I clutch the book in anticipation of opening it. 5

Ignoring the instruction, I thumb through the book. The white paper is divided into an array of blue lines that cross to make a pattern of, small, perfect squares. The words graph paper pop into my head, as if they should have some meaning. The pages are full with the same neat, artistic printing, each letter fitting into one small blue square. There are no numbers on the pages, rather each one is dated. The day, month date and year are neatly printed in large block letters at the top of each sheet.6

I close the book. I feel that by scanning through it I am disobeying a rule that should not be broken. I open the book to the first page; the book starts my day.7

Good morning NoNo Bass. NoNo, that is what everybody calls you. Your mama named you Susan but, as a baby you were always so curious and always into everything. From the time you could crawl and pull yourself up, ‘NoNo’ preceded Susan so much, that most folk just dropped Susan and called you ‘NoNo’. 8

NoNo, before your accident you were a writer. Mostly, you wrote short stories about things you wanted to happen. You sold a few stories to magazines, not many, but enough to keep you writing. After the accident you became a very successful writer, writing about things you do not remember. Go figure, it took tripping over Harold, the dog that belongs to you and Sam, and boppin’ your head on the kitchen floor to write those memories and become a best selling author. Your ‘stories’, as you call them, are books that are read by millions.9

A small, brown Chihuahua places both paws on the side of the bed as if he has been cued by my reading. He knows me and nudges my hand to rub his head. “Harold?” I quiz. The dog licks my hand and hops on the bed. He curls up next to me, soulful brown eyes encouraging me to read, he places one paw on the book.10

NoNo, tomorrow you will not remember anything that happens today. Everyday is a clean slate for you and you choose how it will turn out. Your mantra was, “Make today a very good day.” You saw no reason to let a little memory loss change that. This book is your journal, a way for you to record all that will happen today, so you can read it on your tomorrows. Funny thing is, on the days you write your stories, you seem to draw on those things you were supposed to have forgotten and pen them perfectly to paper. Too bad you cannot pin them to your mind.11

NoNo, you are a woman of integrity with a sense of fairness that guides you to be the person you are. You have a laugh that tickles the spirit, an embrace that soothes the soul, a look that says it will be fine and a beauty that radiates from inside out. You use wit to diffuse problems and wisdom to solve them. You have a way of making things magical. 12

NoNo, you wrote his page as a story in one of your books. One of those things you were supposed to have forgotten. But, somewhere deep inside, you feel that this is the true essence of who you are, so you start each day by reading it and using it to MAKE the day you will forget, unforgettable for someone you will come in contact with. 13

NoNo, take this day and make someone laugh. Share a song with someone that does not hear the music anymore. Speak a kind word to someone who kindness has forgotten. Play with a child. I mean REALLY play with a child. Act silly; make a fool of yourself, you will not remember, so you cannot be embarrassed. Read your stories to someone in a nursing home. Listen to someone whose voice is no longer heard, NoNo, use today to make someone else’s day memorable. 14

I raise my head to the image in the mirror. I am no longer apprehensive or afraid. Harold balances his paws on my shoulder and licks my face. He looks into the mirror and then cocks his head towards me as if to validate what I have just read. When our eyes meet there is a fleeting moment of recognition, ’I am NoNo Bass’ but, it passes before I can sense it was there. Harold nudges me, his eyes filled with the recognition I cannot feel. 15

I rise to start my day trying to wrap my head around all I have just read. I do not know who I am but I like NoNo Bass. I shuffle towards the door marked ‘BATHROOM’, in bold red letters, to shower. I let the warm water cascade over me. The steam from the shower swirls around me mingling with the memories of all I have just read. I am awash in new feelings. I step from the shower fresh and clean. I am NoNo Bass. 16

Sam 17

Morning is always the worst. She does not remember me when she wakes up. Harold seems to be the only thing that is familiar to her. She always appears, fresh from the shower clutching that journal. I always have on the same thing, a faded Redskins tee shirt and blue jeans, that way she will know me by my description in her Journal. She sometimes says, “good morning… Sam?” She calls me by name but there is always a question mark. 18

We start our day with the same breakfast, fruit salad, yogurt, steel cut oats and poached eggs. To me, repetition breeds familiarity and part of me still hopes familiarity will rub off on NoNo as well. NoNo reads about her yesterday while I prepare our meal. By the time I have breakfast on the table, she has read enough to know who I am and what we are to each other. From that point on I am Sam, with no question mark.19

Her plans are varied. She wants to spend some days at the local animal shelter. She will clean cages and dump kitty litter. She has an affinity for the senior animals and the ones who have been consistently looked over for adoption. The shelter knows of her illness, so when we fill out papers to adopt her five favorite dogs and seven favorite cats, we all know that she will not remember today, tomorrow. 20

Other days she likes to spend time at the Soup Kitchen. She will gather trash, sweep and mop floors and scrub the kitchen spotless. She also shakes hands or hugs shoulders. She always wears clean socks; she has been known to give hers to someone who has none. 21

Other days she is very introspective. Those days are often precursors to the time she spends writing. On those days, NoNo writes about all of the things she has forgotten. Her short stories are made of the memories she does not have. 22

She writes about our childhood, about how we were best friends from the moment we met. She writes about catching June Bugs in the summer and eating wild berries in the woods. She writes about our college days when I was the radical militant and she was the pacifist. She writes about our growing up and our growing apart and our growing back together again.23

When she reads her stories to me, she reads as if she does remember. She looks at me and I know why I love her. I look at her and I see, in that moment, she does love me. 24

I laugh when she reads about the time we took two cartons of soda bottles, out of the back of Abe’s store, and ran around to the front to cash them in and buy candy and sour pickles. 25

She makes me remember how we stumbled into love, unsure of whom or what we were, unprepared for society’s eyes but, too stubborn not to make it work. She writes about us parting ways to fit into the definitions others had for us.26

When I snuggle close to her, and close my eyes while she reads to me, it is almost as if NoNo is really here with me. And when we lay in each other’s arms, while she reads about the first time we made love, the love we end up making is still sweet, even through the bittersweet realization that she will not remember it or me tomorrow.27

Despite all of this, those introspective days are the best days for me. Those are the days that I can pretend that everything is fine and that NoNo has come back to me. 28

NoNo 29

I do not remember Sam but something draws us close. I know that loving Sam is right. Today I know my story was about Sam and me. I write about our loving one another with such passion that I find it hard to believe I do not remember that we are in love, harder to believe that I do not remember who Sam is.30

Sam cries whenever I write a new story, asking me where they come from and how I write about places I do not remember going to and about people I do not remember meeting. I cannot answer; I only know that they seem to flow from my heart. Sam knows that my stories are detailed descriptions of our life together and our feelings for one another. For me they are just my thoughts. 31

Sam looks at me with eyes that overflow with so much love; they almost hide the pain that lurks behind them. I read my stories straining to catch some memory of Sam, of me, of what we were. But, all I know is what I read and I must read it every day to have a fleeting glimpse of the life I once had.32

I do not remember Harold either but, sometimes in his soft brown eyes, I almost recognize myself as NoNo. Whenever that happens, Harold cocks his head to the side and nods it upward as if to encourage me to remember him, remember me, remember my life. Long after my moment of recognition passes, Harold still looks at me and knows he is looking at NoNo, even if I do not.33

Sam 34

I watch NoNo as she writes in her journal. She is so good about recording her day. She knows her careful copy will ensure tomorrow's memories. While she no longer writes about the bad days or complains about the things she does not remember, she does write about her feelings. 35

She does not remember us but she feels us. Every day she memorizes one of her stories about our past and finds me to relive it with her. I play along, sometimes forgetting my lines but, NoNo always acts as if she does not care. She laughs with me, cries with me, loves me and sometimes even fights with me. Somewhere deep inside she has found the understanding and importance of reliving both the good and the bad of what we were. While we both know she is just reciting lines from her story, for me it is a trip into the memories and the times when NoNo is real again. I know she does not remember but, on some level she is compassionate enough to make me feel as if she does. 36

I wait until she is asleep to read her journal. Each day is a wonder to her and she records it with all of the enthusiasm of a child. Whatever she writes, her last words are always to me. “I may not remember you but I love you Sam. Every time I read to you I feel the love we have. My mind may forget you but my heart will always remember us. Promise me you will never forget me.” 37

She goes to sleep smiling with her body spooned next to mine. We are so close we feel as if we are one. 38

While I will wake tomorrow to a stranger, NoNo will wake as a stranger, apart from me as well as herself. I know that tomorrow's stranger will grow to love me once again before the day ends. She will struggle to learn who NoNo Bass is this day and for a brief moment she will again build her memories.