I have a recurring memory when channeling Max, sometimes. It’s rather vivid, and since it keeps replaying, even if he doesn’t necessarily want it to, I knew it had to be poignant.
The first part of this memory is at night. Light filters through the window from street lamps and the single bulb light in the bathroom, but for some reason the memory is always relatively monochrome. A small clock sits on the dresser. I can never make out the time, as it falls just in shadow, but he glances at it frequently. All I know, is that it’s very late, and the noise of it’s ticking is the loudest sound in the room. His brother, Frederick, is sleeping next to him on a simple, metal framed bed. Max is restless, and worried but at the same time filled with a great sense of relief.
Once, the memory continued to the morning. At some point, Max had eventually fallen asleep, but was woken up when Frederick stirred, and subsequently, fell off the bed.
It was earlier this morning that he finally revealed the significance of this memory.
Frederick had a problem with drugs, mostly heroin, or a variant of it. Earlier in the evening the memory took place, Max had come home after a trip to Berlin to find his brother in an alley way, dangerous levels of the drug coursing through him. Most likely an overdose. Max panicked, and against his better judgement, didn’t take him to a hospital. Instead, he checked them in to a place down the street and spent the better part of the night trying to flush the drugs out of Frederick’s system. At first, he wasn’t sure if his brother would make it through the night, but his condition slowly improved over the course of several hours.