The Heart Remembers

I didn't know the donor- they don't tell you things like that. The scar ran pink and bumpy across my chest, they said it would heal, but it always looked like shit.

September was when the episodes started- if you could call them that. They happened in the car first, flashes, like a clear sheet over reality. Two hands on the steering wheel, but they weren't mine. I'd never painted my nails. Not that there's anything wrong about a man with red fingernails.

It was the fear that grabbed me. It spread through my face like cold weather, raised the hair on my arms and neck. In all my life, I'd never felt fear like that.

October brought the nightmares- a man holding my arms, pinning me against a brick wall. I had the knowledge that I could throw this man, even kill him, but I was too afraid and my mind had no focus.

I started writing the dreams down in a black notebook I kept in my nightstand and joined online groups for heart transplant recipients.

I learned that the heart contains neurons- those little wires that belong in your brain. Those little memory storage bins that no one really understands, not even the damn scientists.

In December I was browsing a Walmart, picking up blueberries for a cobbler. Across the aisle, rotating a mango between his thick fingers, was the man.

My stomach rolled and turned. I felt his hands on my wrists, his black beard rough on my cheek. The smell of his cologne made me want to vomit.

Panicked, I lowered my gaze to a jar of minced garlic and my mind conjured a vision of smashing it against his face.

Ever so slightly, the jar began to wiggle. Then it lifted off the shelf.