”
If I suddenly got amnesia and couldn’t recall our life together,
would you be upset?
”
I recently asked my husband.
“If I suddenly got amnesia and couldn’t recall our life together, would you be upset?” I recently asked my husband.
“Is this a trick question?” he asked, after careful consideration.
“Well, the husband in the movie I watched was pretty upset when his wife had amnesia and didn’t remember him. Obviously, from your answer, TV husbands get upset by a wife with amnesia, and real-life husbands, not so much,” I said.
“Tell me exactly how she got amnesia,” my husband demanded with sudden interest.
“Well, she was running from someone who had just broken into her bedroom. Frantic and not paying attention to where she was going, she tripped and fell down a flight of stairs, bumping her head on every step. She never should have been running in high heels,” I explained. “The result of all the head-bopping was amnesia. The husband seemed concerned and loving until the end – when it was revealed he had hired someone to kill her to collect her life insurance. You find out she was loaded.”
“You’ll never have to worry I will hire someone to kill you for your money, because $1.50 doesn’t go far these days,” he said, suppressing a chuckle.
“OK wise guy, but the question was – would you be upset if I got amnesia?” I repeated. “Keep in mind you would then be responsible for recapping my life up until that point.”
“So, let me get this straight,” he replied. “You get amnesia and can’t remember anything, and it’s up to me to remind you of your likes and dislikes. Essentially, it would be like starting over with a new, empty-headed and impressionable you.
“I could tell you anything, and you’d believe it. I could tell you that you never nagged me to pick my underwear up off the floor. I could tell you it was an insult to me that you lived under the assumption that when I did pick up my underwear without your prodding, it was a sign of foreplay. You would not be able to proclaim with certainty that I don’t listen to you since all past conversations have been erased from memory.
“You would no longer call me an idiot for buying you the wrong flavor ice cream, as you no longer know what flavor is your favorite. You would no longer argue with me over what movie to see, as my taste in films is now yours.
“The possibilities of how great our new life can be are staggering,” he went on. “I wonder what it would be like to have a wife who always agrees with me. I wonder what it would be like to have a wife who praises me every day. I wonder what it would be like to have a wife who doesn’t roll her eyes at me on a daily basis. I wonder what it would be like to have a wife that wanted to be up close and personal, daily. I wonder what the downside would be if you got amnesia. I wonder exactly how hard someone would have to be hit on the head to get amnesia.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I do know, however, this is one conversation I hope to forget.”
Cindy Argiento is a free-lance columnist who lives in North Carolina with her family. Her column appears weekly in the Gilroy Dispatch and Hollister Free Lance. She may be contacted at ca*******@*ol.com.
