“No, I don’t. Maybe imagined conversations are a Virgo thing.”
“Hold still please,” instructed Jin. “And when was the first time you called nine-one-one?”
“What does any of this have to do with Jonathan?”
The paper on the circular polygraph was waiting to be scribbled on.
“She’s trying to open up your MPs,” Vadis explained. “Memory Pathways.”
“When I first moved to New York,” I relented, “I was going down the escalator to the subway and this kid behind me had one of those black plastic deli bags and it looked like it had batteries in it. And he left it on the escalator and then ran back up. I called nine-one-one but nothing happened.”
“What was his nationality?” asked Jin.
“Is punk a nationality?”
“She means what was the color of his skin.”
“Oh, is that what she means? Brown. His skin was brown.”
“The first time I called nine-one-one,” Jin said, “I was eleven. My father stabbed my sister in the thigh with a hunting knife and hanged himself in the garage.”
I looked at Vadis, who shook her head. I was starting to sweat off the suction cup. But then the lights on the boxes began to blink, like a modem waking up.
“Here we go,” Jin spoke to her machines.
“When was the last time you thought about Jonathan?” Vadis asked.
I sat back in my chair.
“Prior to tonight?”
“Yes,” said Vadis, “prior to tonight.”
If they’d asked me straightforward questions, I might not have had access to the information. Terrorist suspects experi ence a version of this kind of inquisition. I knew because I’d interviewed a slew of military psychologists for a Modern Psychology feature about how their tactics could be broken down to help people. “Watered Down Water Boarding.” People pulled their subscriptions. Former detainees spoke out. Zach was apoplectic at having to take the side of the military and threatened to quit. Clive dedicated his editor’s letter to issuing an apology. All this happened before the dawn of Twitter, which could explain why, to this day, people were still willing to give him money.
“I probably think about him all the time without thinking about him.”
“How so?” asked Jin.
“I guess it’s just the same way if you saw Indiana missing from a map of America, you’d be like, ‘That’s an incomplete map of America,’ without missing Indiana in any real way.”
“That makes sense,” Jin said, encouragingly. “But have there been any triggers?”
“When I see people with quotes tattooed on their shoulders.”
“What about quotes other places?”
“No,” I said, “not then.”
“What about single words?”
“I think it has to be the whole sentence.”
“Hmmm,” said Jin, adjusting a knob. “And when was the last time you thought about him in a concentrated way?”
“As in prolonged?”
“More as in voluntary. Without outside stimuli.”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Lola,” Vadis groaned, “were you listening to a word Clive said?”
“No?”
Jin turned her attention to one of her screens and began clicking a mouse. I tried to peer over to see the screen but she angled the monitor toward her.
“I guess never, then. I never think about him on purpose.”
“Were you ever in love with this ‘Jonathan’？” Vadis asked.
She was still irritated that she had never heard of him.
“It was college. I loved ska and wine coolers.”
“Did you ever tell him you loved him?”
“No.”
“And did he ever tell you he loved you?”
“No.”
“But did he love you?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew about this discrepancy when you were together?”
“Yes.”
“Starting when?”
“Within five minutes of meeting him.”
I gulped. My Memory Pathways were bringing me unwelcome feelings.
“But you stayed out of insecurity.”
“I stayed out of hope.”
The needle moved so fitfully over the paper, I thought it might rip.
“I was scared Jonathan would be it. I sort of always think a guy will be it.”
“As in ‘the one’？”
“No, as in an endangered species. I’m sorry if that sounds pathetic, I’m sure it does. But it’s where monogamy comes from and no one thinks monogamy sounds pathetic.”