The Ring

"Don't forget me," she says "Not that you could" she adds, laughing. I stop writing and look up from the notebook. She's smiling, but looks concerned. I nod my head, and try to reassure her "You're on the first page." It doesn't work. She's worried, but trying to hide it. I can tell. She always plays with the ring when she's worried.

It cost too much, a small fortune. We were only twenty years old, what can you afford when you're so young? But, she was worth every penny. Still is. It doesn't fit so snugly on her finger now, though. Time and age and the illness have seen to that. At night, I hear the stacato rattle of gold hitting the sink from the bathroom more and more. She'll lose it down the drain one day, but refuses to put it on the neckchain I got. Says it would feel like giving up.

She sees me looking at her ring finger. "We could always sell this..." She trails off. I return to the small, black notebook. It all has to go down in the book. "I know you don't want to, but surely it's better than..." She glances around the waiting room, then leans in, lowering her voice "It would be better than doing this".

I look up, putting down the pen, and taking her hand in mine. Papery skin. No weight to it. No weight to any of her, now. She doesn't have long, the doctor said as much. Unless...

I squeeze her hand, looking into her eyes. "You've worn that for 25 years. You're going to wear it for at least 25 more. If I do this, it'll cover everything, and then some. We sell that, and if you need extra treatment, if it doesn't work the first time, we won't be able to cover it."

Her eyes are watery now. I feel her hand trembling. She nods her head, and looks away. "I hate it. I hate that you have to risk this. What if you -"

"It's minimal risk" I cut her off. "There's no point going over it all again. We're here. It's happening. I'm not worried." I almost convince myself.

The advert seemed straight forward. "Healthy people wanted for medical trial". Vague on details, but heavy on the payment. It was a small fortune. Even without the medical bills, I'd have been tempted. After passing pre-screening with no issues, I signed reams of waivers and non-disclosures. It seemed unnecessary to me, after the guy in charge said what was involved. Typical corporate box ticking and risk assessments, I supposed.

I'm writing again, but I feel her gaze on me. Hear her breathing in the silence. I pause, and the words are falling out of her mouth before I've even looked up. "If you're not worried, then," she gestures at the small, black notebook which I have nearly filled "Then why are you doing this?"

"It's just a backup" I say, "Some little prompts, trigger words and so on. Doctor Chen," her face darkens at the name "Said it would help, but probably wouldn't be necessary."

This was true. I had been sitting in his office, as he explained the next steps of the trial. Doctor Chen was heading up some new research project. Neural networks. Something to do with rich idiots who wanted to live forever inside a computer. Either way, it was easy money for a medical trial, since I wouldn't have to take any pills or give blood samples. I welcomed this news, since I've always hated needles, and struggle to get down even half an aspirin. All it involved was a couple of sensors on the side of my head, for five minutes. $20,000 for each session, and they said I could do five sessions. It was ridiculous. These people clearly had too much in the R&D budget and wanted to clear it before the next round of funding. Fine by me, and it would be enough for 3 courses of the treatment she needed, with some leftover.

"Imagine waking up after a night of heavy drinking, partying?" Everything Dr Chen said sounded like a question. "And your friends tell you, 'you won't believe what you did last night'? You have to piece together what happened? And the more they tell you, the more you remember? It's possible, unlikely but possible, this may happen?"

I'd had enough mornings like that to know exactly what he meant. I hadn't woken up like that for many years, but in a strange way I missed them. It reminded me of times before before she got sick. I nodded at Dr Chen. More paperwork appeared. More signing. "These are the last ones?" he promised with a question.

"Are you sure you can trust them?" She won't leave it alone. I put the pen down again, and nod my head "These trials don't get to this stage until they're certain there's no risk. It's a formality." She's tired. She shouldn't even have come here today. When she's tired, she worries. When she worries, she asks questions. I don't want her to worry. As I'm about to offer more reassurance, I hear my name being called out. The butterflies which had been resting in my stomach suddenly take flight. I was nervous. Far more than I would ever let her see. I put on a smile, then pull her in close. She smells of hair, and perfume, and sweat.

"I love you." We say it at the same time, pulling back from each other and laughing. I stroke her thinning hair away from her wet eyes. "I'll be back in ten minutes, tops."

As I stand, she picks up the notebook and asks "Shall I hang on to this?" I nod my head.

An orderly carrying a small electronic tablet walks over. He smiles at her. "We'll have him back in no time. Can we get you anything while you wait?" She dismisses the offer with a wave of the notebook, looking back at me. She inhales, opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. I turn away and follow the orderly through a set of double doors. I look back as they close, watching her through the narrowing gap until she's gone from sight.

"We're just down here, on the left. Dr Chen is waiting." I am guided down the corridor.

"Hello? Good to see you again?" He's holding a thing that looks like a plastic hairband with two suction cups on each end. The hairband is connected, via a long white cable, to a bank of three computers. Two assistants sit behind the first two computer stations. They don't look up as I walk in.

Dr Chen extends a hand, and I shake it. He has a firm grip. I think of her hand. Felt like even a gentle squeeze would have crumpled it, like aluminium foil.

After some minor pleasantries, I'm seated in a chair that is too hard, and too upright to be comfortable. Dr Chen is securing the headband. I'm thinking about her. Her scent lingers in my nose, from our hug in the waiting room.

Dr Chen steps back, looking me over. "Run a ping test before we get started?" One of the assistants performs a series of clicks and keystrokes. I feel a gentle tingle, not where the suction cups touch my skin, but somewhere behind my eyes.

I think about the ring. Watching her turn it over between her fingers. Worrying it. Smoothing out the gold.

"All clear at levels five and six" one of the assistants says, from what sounds like the next room. "Great? Let's get started?" I'm aware of Dr Chen walking away, and taking position behind one of the computers. He's also sitting in his office, telling me this will be like a hangover.

"Run the sequence, take it to level eight?" Chen says, and moments later the tingling behind my eyes spreads to the top of my head. "How we doing? Feeling good?" I pause, before realising this is actually a question, and is directed at me. I nod.

I'm nodding, as I sign more papers. I'm nodding as I say "I do" and slide a ring onto a finger that is fleshy and strong, and attached to a body full of life. I'm nodding as I say "You're on the first page", but I know this isn't true. I was saving her until last. This thought feels sharp at first, somehow important, but quickly dulls into a vague bluntness. I'm nodding at a doctor, as he talks about months, not years. About options. A woman is crying. I'm hugging her, and I can feel her ribs, but she smells the same. Always has done. Done what. I'm nodding as I put down a pen that I tell myself I'm going to pick up again, but know I never will. Somewhere, in another room, something metal rattles on porcelain. "These are the last ones?" The last what. I'm nodding as I look at three faces, distorted and crystalline, through tears. I'm nodding as my head hits the back of a chair that is not comfortable, over and over, and I'm nodding as a tingling becomes a squeezing becomes a burning, and underneath it all I feel something like relief. I'm nodding as someone asks, shouts "Turn it off?" And I'm nodding to say yes please do turn it off, but I don't what “it” is, as the sound of metal on porcelain gets louder, faster, and the same someone is yelling a question into a corridor that is growing longer, and ends in an ever narrowing gap into a forgotten place that smells of hair and perfume and sweat. I'm nodding as the sound of running footsteps is drowned out by the increasingly rapid sound of metal hitting ceramic, until there is a wet plopping noise. Then everything is quiet.

A doctor is speaking and a woman is shouting. My head hurts and the lights are too bright. I feel nauseous, but hungry. I want to sleep, but my body feels electrified. Time passes and it could be minutes or hours or days.

A woman is talking. It feels like I know what she is going to say, but only after she says it. I open my eyes and look up at her. She's old, and is reading from a small black notebook. It must be my notebook, because I recognise the things she is saying. My name, where I grew up, and went to school. My job, my friends, my favourite meals.

As she reads, my stomach begins to settle. My head is clearing. The woman is crying. Turning a ring that is too big for her bony finger. She is making me feel sad, and I want her to stop reading from the notebook. My notebook. It must be my notebook, and I don't understand why she is reading it. There is a doctor, and I tell him I want the old woman to leave. She stands, a hurt look in her eyes, uneasily, gripping my notebook and begins walking towards me. I snatch the notebook from her, and the ring comes off with it. Probably not hers anyway. I watch as it rolls across the floor. She bends to catch it, losing balance and falling forward. The doctor is saying something, but I know I need to leave this place. Walking out into the corridor, I can see a set of double doors. On the other side, I know where home is. The woman is shouting, no, she is wailing, something about the first page. I don't want to hear any more. I have to collect something. Some money. Yes, I'm here for some money. Twenty thousand dollars. A small fortune.

I reach the doors, push them open, and walk through.