In Memory of Gilbert Green

         He awoke tucked up tight in a strange bed. His ankle throbbed and he had an erection. While he waited to go limp he listened to the horns and revs of the traffic outside and  felt a panic so he focused on where he was. The apartment had polished wood flooring, a wide-screen TV, a laptop closed on an oak desk. Dusk pored in through a window decorated by lime green curtains. He couldn't remember buying any of this stuff.



          His brown trousers were on the floor but they were dirty and had spots of blood on them. There was nothing in the pockets but fluff. He felt like he had woken up with a hangover, where you wonder what is going on and slowly it all filters back and you remember what happened the night before and who you are.  This time nothing came back and he strained and ran through his thoughts but there was nothing.  He started to panic. The sound of wheels skidding made him look at the windows again and the green curtains. Gilbert Green. The name stuck out, so it must be mine, he decided.

         

         He hobbled around the rooms. Everything looked expensive. He liked how modern it was and how it was all simplistic with no sentiment wasted on cushions or rugs or throws. He ran his fingers over shiny plastic and hard wood and cold metal. There were no pictures anywhere. The fridge was jammed full of vegetables that he probably didn't like; leeks, carrots, cabbage and swede. There was nothing except tins and pasta in the cupboards. He limped over to the bathroom. It looked like it had been cleaned that morning by a neurotic. The toilet was white and shiny and he felt his bladder press on him, so he took out his penis and let it all flow out of him, glancing behind  to make sure thou are owner of the flat didn't come in while he was doing it. He rooted round. In the medicine cabinet he found enough pills to open a pharmacy. There were bottles for coughs and tubes full of pills and tinctures for athletes foot.  Whoever lived here was definitely an obsessive and a hypochondriac to boot. A door slammed in the living room and he dropped a plastic tube that popped open and scattered pills all over the floor.



         They  stood at the front door. A skinny, pale man shouted at him. He looked weak but  there was so much anger on his face that Gilbert was scared.



'What are you doing in my flat?' he said.



'I don't know. Look, I'll go. I'm sorry.'



The man caught him as he turned to leave. His hairless arms had puncture marks all over.



'You're going nowhere. I'm calling the police'.



'Don't do that', said Gilbert, 'Just don't do that. I don't know what I'm doing here. Really, I don't. I can't remember who I am or how I got here, all I know is I woke up over there-'



'You were in my bed!' said the man.



'Hang on a second. I couldn't have just walked in here. I don't have a key. You must have let me in'. Said Gilbert.



'My neighbour has a key. I asked him to check on things while I was away. Idiot must have left it open'.



'But how the hell did I end up here?? Just put the phone down and I'll go. I'm very sorry and I'll go Please don't call the police.'.



'Come and sit down', said the man, 'I'm Terry.'



         They sat on a black leather settee. Terry made Gilbert hot lemon and water to calm him down. Gilbert strained his brain to remember anything, even the smallest detail, but it was like trying to squeeze water from a dry cloth.



'What did you say your name was?' said Terry. He was flicking through a thick book.



'Gilbert Green, I think'.



'You think? This is too strange.. Gilbert Green, Gilbert Green. Ah here we are! There are three Gilbert Greens in the phone book'.



         Gilbert's heart jumped. Three numbers to call and one of them would be his house. What was it like? Did he have a family? He didn't feel like a family person. The thought of having a wife and kids scared him. Maybe his life was so bad that he forgot it on purpose. He wished he was Terry, with Terry's name and Terry's simple flat and no responsibility and no questions.



'You know', said Terry, ' You don't have to call these numbers'.



'How else will I find out who I am?'



'Maybe you don't need to know who you are. Think about it. Right now you are a new person – you're a blank page. If you don't call these numbers you can be whoever you want to be, do anything at all..I wish I had your opportunity'.



'Don't be stupid. I can't run away from my life.'



'Seems like you already have..I love something about your voice' said Terry.



'What??'



'Not the sound, it's the diction I think. The way you order words. Talk for me'.



'I'm calling my house' said Gilbert. He moved to the other side of the room with the phone.



         He rang the numbers. One Gilbert answered. It was a grufty voice that said 'yeah?'. Gilbert asked for Gilbert.'This is Gilbert speaking' replied grufty Gilbert. The second number went to answer phone.'Please leave a message for the Greens after the tone' said a male voice with thick Irish accent. He ruled this one out. You can forget everything about your life but you don't lose an accent. The third number rang and rang and rang. He slammed the phone down on the table.



'No luck?'



'The third one didn't answer' said Gilbert.



'Yeah...that's exactly what you want'



'I don't follow' said Gilbert.



'If you are here, you can't be at home, picking up your telephone'



         Terry had a car but he refused to drive. He wasn't allowed, he said. When Gilbert sat behind the wheel his hands shook and he didn't know why, but he got them under control. His head started to pound. 'You alight?' said Terry. 'Fine'. Terry popped open the glove compartment and it was a mini medicine cabinet full of pills.'Really, it's OK' said Terry. He drove at a steady pace and his headache grew but they pulled up at the house. 'This should be your house' said Terry. It was a tiny council house with handrails up the path, an unkempt garden and a cheap wooden door. Fusty net curtains hung in the windows and behind them the rooms looked dark. It looked like a house designed to ward off visitors and he half-expected to go in and find the mummified remains of a body sprawled on the floor. Muddy water ran down the gutter and formed a puddle near the front door. Gilbert got out of the car.



'You not coming in?' he said.



'No, looks depressing. I don't need that'.



'That could be my house you're calling depressing'.



'Your house looks fucking depressing' said Terry.



'Just come look with me'.



'I'm staying here' said Terry.



         He banged on the door three times but got no answer. His knuckles were red. He tapped on the front windows and nothing stirred. He walked round the back. More overgrown grass here. Nothing to indicate anyone lived there. He knocked on the back doors and windows but got no answer, so he went to the front. Terry still sat in the car, distracted,  his head resting on his chin. He looked ill. Gilbert looked at the cheap wooden door. Am I really going to do this? He thought. Well, it was his house. There was nothing to lose. He swung his leg into it with all the strength he could and there was a crack. He stared into the hallway of his house.



         The house was very tidy and he didn't feel like a tidy person. He walked from room to room but there was nothing to mark who the owner was. A gramophone was in the corner of the living room with dust mounting on it's surface. Near a gas-heated fire was a black and white television, a bulky piece of wood with a tiny screen.'No way on earth would I have bought that' he thought. This couldn't be his house. It was an old man's house. everything was ancient and useless and smelled of dust and the carpet was hideous. A pair of glasses were on the table. He felt his own eyes to make sure he wasn't wearing any. He ran out of the house.



         Terry had moved over into the driver's seat. Gilbert ran to the other door and pulled it open. 'Turn the radio down.....  You need to drive because I've just broken into someone's house' he said. He buckled his seatbelt.



Terry's face was even paler than it had been.



'what's wrong?' said Gilbert.



'Tell me who the hell you are' said Terry.



'Gilbert Green, I told you'.



'You can't be'.



'Well I must be.' said Gilbert



'Gilbert Green is in hospital' said Terry, 'he was hit by a car this morning. By a man talking on his mobile phone when he should have been driving. So who are you?'.



It took him a few seconds to make the connection between the old house and Gilbert Green. 'Was the man old? The one who was hit?'



'Are you trying to rob me?' said Terry. 'Is all this story of memory loss something you made up when I caught you in my flat?'



'I have no idea who I am. I thought I was Gilbert Green because the name stuck out. Drive to the hospital'.



'I'll drive you but I'm calling the police when we get there' said Terry.



         Terry drove well over the fifty mph speed limit. Cars blurred past and Gilbert wondered if he knew any of the people driving. Maybe one was his wife, another his father. Did he have a father? Did he have anyone, or was he alone like Terry or the Gilbert Green who owned the old house. He could easily have a flat that was full of nothing but useless junk, or was so simplistic it felt cold. Please let me have a wife, he thought.



         They pulled up at the hospital but Terry kept his seatbelt on. He got out his mobile phone. If he called the police Gilbert would have nothing to say. He couldn't explain anything; why he was in Terry's flat, who he was, where he lived. He had added another count of breaking and entering to his would-be rap sheet by smashing the old man's door. Any policeman in his right mind would have him down as someone high on drugs. It was amazing Terry had even given him this much help without calling the police.

'Just come in with me' he said, 'I have to see this Gilbert Green. And then you can take me to the police station. We'll let them work it all out. It isn't your problem.'



Terry said nothing for a while. Then: 'I'm not going to turn you in. Go and find out who you are'.



'Thank you so much for everything you've done Terry. When I have everything figured out I'll be in touch.'



'I wouldn't worry about that. I'll be dead soon'.



'What?' said Gilbert.



'Cancer. I'm in the final stages'. Said Terry.



         This was the magic word that brought everything rushing back into Gilbert's head.. It took a second. The days spent in waiting rooms and the white lab coats, needles in his arm and weeks without hearing anything. Worry, anger, arguments with his wife. Making his will. Driving to the hospital to pick up results, the smell of sick people in the foyer. He remembered being sat across from Dr. Small waiting to hear the terrible words.



'Billy, I'm please to say you do not have cancer' he said.



         He was so happy he jumped straight into his car and turned on the engine. He sped home. With one hand he pulled out his mobile phone. His wife didn't answer. Looking down, he dialled in his home phone number. There was a horrible thud and something flew over his windscreen.



         The old man was spread on the road, his body leaking blood. His bones were contorted and jutted out of his skin. Billy felt vomit crawl up his throat. The man had no pulse. He spewed watery sick over the body. He checked for the man's wallet while he waited for the paramedics. The man only card was an OAP buspass with the name Gilbert Green printed across.