Bennett Davlin's Memory

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“What was Terrel doing down there?” he asked.

Deepra shrugged.

“Probably no chance of getting him shipped stateside.”

“He’s herniating into the medulla oblongata,” Deepra didn’t need to say more. The medulla oblongata controlled involuntary respiration. If crushed or severely damaged, a patient would stop breathing. Dead in 24 hours was the best prognosis, thought Taylor. Then Deepra added, “Besides, Customs’ll never clear him into the country.”

They sat in silence, staring at the scans.

“So,” Deepra slapped his hands like a drum roll against the desk, ”your answer is?”

Taylor shrugged, …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

Deepra pointed at one of the scans, “At first it looked like a limbic system lesion, but see how the mass extends into the cranium-”

“Yeah,” thoughts rushed through Taylor. Was it a tumor? But he’d never seen a tumor like this. Hell, no one had ever seen anything like this. It was as if the boy’s memory centers had blown through the roof.

The damn limbic system was swelling so big that it was about to press against the boy’s skull wall. His brain was going to blow …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“Manau-what?” interrupted Taylor.

“It’s a city in the Amazon delta in Brazil. And catch this, he was found with his eyes gauged out,” Deepra read Taylor’s facial expression, adding, “babbling, dementia and what looked liked abnormal strength. So they run an MRI on his brain and it blows their mind.”

“Wait a minute, how did you find out about this?”

Deepra explained that the kid’s father sat on the board at the medical school and was, “the big benefactor to that neurology wing who’s opening party you missed,” Deepra was never going …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“He keeps saying it’s connected,” she griped as she cleared the pile of art magazines off the desk, “but I can’t get to that internet.”

“Carol,” Deepra held up the cellular modem chord which had popped out of the wall, “it does help to plug it in.”

“That’s not on the checklist,” she gestured at the hand-drawn instructions sticky taped to the keyboard.

Taylor had to give it to Deepra’s cousin for the detailed customer support. But indeed, everything but plugging it into the wall was listed. Deepra grunted as the …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“What do you think?” Deepra’s eyes flashed devilishly.

“Nah,” he sighed, “besides artists aren’t my type.”

“Well if we’re gonna be celibate,” sighed Deepra, “I need a quick opinion–”

“Champagne leather was the only way to go.”

“I mean a professional one.”

“You got a little itch down there?” Max jumped into the conversation.

“Dirty old man,” Carol henpecked her old friend.

Deepra turned to her, “Carol, did my cousin finally get that DSL going?”

Carol’s laptop sat atop a pile of art books.

Deepra opened the sleek Sony laptop. Taylor gave it to her as a birthday …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

But it was for Deepra. Now a neurologist on staff at Harvard Medical School, with his custom crafted BMW 7 series and newly renovated house in Westin, Deepra had fostered a sudden air of slightly pompous austerity. He worked hard now to complete the gloss with golf lessons and the prerequisite beach house at the Cape. But to Taylor, he would always be that skinny, buck toothed kid who had just moved into the neighborhood, bouncing along on his fire engine red Schwinn.

“Our Cuban buddies in …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

On Saturdays, Carol and his mom used to do their nails. It was always a day of chardonnay, brie omelets, and manicures. Taylor remembered as a kid, pinching his nose to keep the fingernail paint fumes out while he watched “Super Friends” on TV.

She scoffed, “Max you need to open your mind before it’s too late. Astral projection is the way to the next world.”

“Try not to spin off the planet,” he nudged her. But even as Taylor smiled at them, he still had to admit that in …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“Happy birthday kiddo,” he handed Taylor the gift wrapped in Cowboy’s wrapping paper. He opened it revealing the tiny, SCUBA tank, “filled and ready to go.”

Scuba diving had been one of Taylor’s only passions. In the back of the Range Rover, his two scuba tanks still gently knocked against each other. Although he hadn’t used them in almost a year, they made him feel free. As if at any moment he could go diving beneath the blue water and escape from it all. Setting the gift down on the …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“Carol, you’re looking hot,” the old man playfully pinched her hip. But Carol never showed much interest in men.

“Maxy, the boy’s going to hell,” she grunted.

Max’s eyes locked with Taylor’s. He was suddenly reminded of Parents’ Olympics in fourth grade.

Taylor’s mom asked Max to run in the relay as his dad. Those well worn memories were like yellowing snapshots now: Max’s broad-chest tearing through the finish line. The way he joked with the other fathers after the race as Taylor cradled the trophy. With three daughters, Max seemed …

(Written by Bennett Joshua Davlin in chapter 4 of his novel: Mem-(o)ré)

“You needs some romance,” she urged.

“What he needs is to get layed,” thick hands hugged him from behind.

He smelled Max’s “Old Spice” cologne before he saws the aging man smiling at him. Max Lichtenstein was his mother’s closest colleague at MIT. Blue eyed with a full head of gray hair, the fifty five year old man radiated warmth. His hug wasn’t as tight as it used to be either. But even through his sweater, Max’s fit chest still hinted at the college running back that …