The Life I Left Behind

by LThornhill Crane

  Chapter 5

  The next thing I am aware of the sun is peeking in a bright yellow line through the blackout curtain. I stare at it in all of its lemony yellowness and I know it’s mid-morning at least. A curious thought runs through my head.

  Yellow sunshine. Time to get up.

  I grunt and wonder where that thought came from. Maybe if I concentrate a little harder it will come to me. I focus on the thin band of yellow light spilling into the opposite wall. The thought is slippery, it moves when I try to catch it. I know it’s there, somewhere at the back of my mind, hiding in that place where my memories used to be. I sigh and decide to give up. I’m still drowsy and I drift off.

  Gray sunshine. The errant thought teases me. I don’t have the energy to rouse myself.

  Yellow sunshine. Gray sunshine. It calls out like a kid on the playground. You can’t figure me out can you? You can’t catch me— and that’s when I wake up, pounce on it before it can escape back into the shadows of my mind.

  You can only wake mom and dad up on Saturdays if it’s yellow sunshine. If it’s gray sunshine then you have to let them sleep…

  A thrill rushes through my body! I’ve remembered something! I don’t know what it is. I have no idea where it came from or what it means, but it’s something. Perhaps something from my childhood. My absent memory pouts like a child that has lost a game and so I get nothing more from it. I gloat at my accomplishment nonetheless.

  I file the fragment of memory in my mind as I listen to the sound of Doyle’s breathing beside me. His hand rests on my abdomen protectively and his head is next to my shoulder. It feels familiar in some ways, but there is something else that just… doesn’t feel… right. It’s almost as if I have done something wrong. What could be wrong about it? He is my husband isn’t he?

  I feel tired as I pull myself out of bed. More tired now after a long night’s sleep in my own bed than I did when I was in the hospital and nurses woke me up every five minutes. I feel like I can hardly make it to the restroom, and if my bladder wasn’t urging me so, I would just lie here and try to sleep some more.

  I drag to the restroom and relieve my full bladder. I look at myself in the mirror. There is a large garden Jacuzzi tub beside a shower. It is all glass and the walls around the Jacuzzi are mirrored. I groan. The last thing I want to see in the morning is myself… naked… but the Jacuzzi looks tempting nonetheless. Perhaps a hot bath would do me some good.

  I creep inside the closet and bring out a fresh pair of underwear as I cast a furtive look over my shoulder at the man sleeping in the bed behind me. He hasn’t stirred since I awoke. I decide to let him sleep and take these few moments to myself. I turn on the water in the tub and run my fingers under the stream as I wait for it to get hot. When it’s hot enough I turn the cold up a smidgeon and allow the tub to fill up above the jets. It takes several minutes- during which I shrug a robe over my shoulders and wander to the kitchen.

  A coffee maker beckons me and I start a pot. I wonder how I know how to do things- like make coffee, and speak French but I’ve forgotten everything else. I shake my head as the coffee pot gurgles and hisses and I return to the bathroom to my steaming Jacuzzi.

  Doyle is still sleeping and I close the door quietly. I slip my clothes off and slip into the water. I cringe because it is almost too hot, and quickly turn the cold up a little. It doesn’t take long before its hot enough to suit me without causing third degree burns. I wonder if the sounds from the jets will wake Doyle, but as I push the button on the top right corner of the tub I find that they are surprisingly quiet. The water soothes my sore muscles, and for the first time I am at leisure to inspect myself. I can see the faintest traces of bruising on my arms and legs- evidence of the trauma that I suffered but no longer remember. There is a large ugly scar on my left knee and I wince at the pain that must have been but that memory has been taken from me as well. I rest my arms on the top of the tub and lay my head back. The water swirls around me and the hum of the jets lulls me and my eyes droop. I suppose it would not hurt, to close my eyes for a second and let the water work its magic.

  “Psssttt.” The voice whispers. Just in my ear. “Wake up.”

  I turn to see a pair of green eyes looking into mine framed by a halo of golden curls. “Momma, wake up!”

  I jump and the sound of my own scream wakes me. Doyle is leaning against the counter with a satisfied smile on his face and my scream makes him jump. I scream again and he covers his face and laughs behind his hand.

  “What are you doing?” I cower lower in the churning water. I’m not sure why since I’m fairly convinced he’s seen me naked before.

  “What?” He growls playfully. “You’re my wife!”

  I don’t know if it’s the heat from the water or if it’s embarrassment I feel in my cheeks.

  “Why are you being so shy?” He turns his back to me and looks at my reflection in the mirror over the twin sinks. “After all you slept with me last night.”

  “But we didn’t do anything.” I remind him and a smile creeps over his face. He looks at me seductively out of the corners of his eyes. “Oh, but in my fantasies, my dear…In my fantasies you were fantastic!”

  I slip below the water until only my face is above the surface. “You promised you wouldn’t rush me.”

  “I’m not. Andrea, I want to be with you. I can’t help it. You are my wife. And I am only just a man.”

  That last statement makes me feel a little ashamed. He is my husband. He has taken care of me while I was hurt, slept in the chair by my bed for goodness knows how long. There’s a part of me that thinks that I should show him a little more appreciation but another part of me that is repelled by the thought of intimacy with a near stranger.

  “Oh, if only I hadn’t wakened you.” He lamented. “I could have enjoyed the view for a little longer.” He said more to his reflection in the mirror than to me.

  But he didn’t wake me.

  The child did.

  I look up at him, almost forgetting to cover myself as I lean forward.

  “Doyle. Do we have children?” I ask but I know the answer. I can’t remember, but something inside me knows already.

  I am a mother.

  I’ve had children.

  “Children?” He laughs as he washes his face. “No. No children. We decided not to remember?” Then he laughs at himself. “No, of course you don’t. What am I saying?”

  He turns to me, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “We decided not to. You were tested after we married. You are a carrier, and I have albinism so our children could be blind… or worse. That’s why we don’t have any children.”

  “Have I ever been pregnant?” I ask, not convinced.

  He laughs at me and turns back to the mirror. He speaks to me through his reflection as he finishes his shave. “Not that I know of, and I think I know you pretty well. You were a … what’s the English word? Unsullied… the first time we…You know.”

  “Unsullied?” I ask him and lower my head to give his reflection a questioning look. Who talks like that? What planet is he from?

  “Never been with a man. Before me.”

  “Oh.” I say. A virgin. I’m not sure when that became a bad word but it makes me squirm. “I understand.” I will stick with unsullied I suppose.

  “So I’ve never had children.” I say again just to be sure.

  “No, honey.”

  No. Something in my gut screams. I know. I have children.

  “Why do you ask?” There is an edge to his voice. A tone, I haven’t heard before and it makes me feel a bit uneasy in the pit of my stomach.

  “Just a dream. I dreamed of a little girl.” I told him as I lay back in the bubbling water.

  “Jackie has a little girl.” He suggests and shrugs like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.


  Not one that calls me momma. I think to myself but I don’t dare say it. The tone of his voice earlier had a warning edge to it that made me uneasy. I’m not sure why but for right now I will trust my intuition.

  I tell him I’ll be right out. He insists that I return to bed and inwardly I groan. The last thing I want to do is go back to bed but I know he’s right. I feel so tired.

  “You’re still not completely healed, honey.” He insists.

  “I’ve started coffee.” I tell him- hoping for a reprieve as he pulls the covers back for me.

  “Ah, and you have read my mind. I would love some! Thank you. Especially, since we are up so early. Three pm? Really?” He pretends to yawn and he stretches his arms above his head and his tee shirt rides up, slightly revealing his six pack abs. I blush and look away, hoping that he didn’t see me looking. The triumphant expression on his face tells me that he did see me and he knows I like what I’ve seen. But he wisely decides to not say anything to that effect and instead tells me he will bring me some coffee and something for breakfast.

  Breakfast is frozen waffles with some strawberries in a bowl to one side and some mummified looking bacon on the other. He brings it in on a tray with a cup of coffee and various condiments.

  “Frozen waffles and turkey bacon!” He announces proudly and I act like he’s just brought out filet mignon.

  “I know how to use the toaster and the microwave.” He grins shyly. “And the coffee maker of course. I know how you used to like your coffee… but I’ve read that sometimes taste preferences change when a person has amnesia.” He sits the tray beside me on the bed. “So I brought some sugar and cream. You can mix it yourself and we’ll see.”

  I drown it with cream until it’s slightly darker than my eggshell colored walls and then put several spoons of sugar in it. He watches me bemusedly with one eyebrow higher than the other and I blush.

  I taste it and smile at him. He returns my smile with one of his own.

  “Well, Sweetheart, your taste in coffee is still the same.”

  It makes me feel good. It’s like the other me is still in here somewhere, just hanging out and maybe I’ll run into her one day.

  I eat the frozen waffles like I haven’t eaten in days as he watches me. He tells me that he had some toast earlier and refuses my offer for a bite.

  After the last bite is safely tucked in my stomach he takes my plate away and orders me back to sleep. I groan. I feel like all I’ve done is sleep. My life thus far has been sleeping. Doyle places the tray to the side table and stretches out beside me. He’s still wearing casual clothes. I wonder if he will go to work tonight.

  “I’m taking two weeks off to be with my wife.” He informs me. “We both need to rest… and heal.” He waits for a moment before he says the next words, as if gauging the right words to say. “Reconnect.”

  Reconnect, right. That’s one way to put it. I nod and settle back in the bed next to him. Despite the fact that I’ve slept all night I feel myself slipping away again. Tomorrow…I tell myself. Tomorrow I will get out of bed and try to live.

  But I feel much the same way when I awake this morning as I did yesterday. I’m over tired, almost like I’ve been drugged. The more I sleep the more I feel like I need to sleep. It’s a vicious cycle. I have little desire to do anything except sleep.

  I tell Doyle it isn’t normal and he laughs at me.

  “You were in a coma. You don’t really rest while you’re in a coma, it’s not like you are sleeping. Your body was trying to heal itself- it’s still trying to heal itself. You need your rest!” He assures me quietly. “Don’t worry so, Dr. Doyle will take care of you.”

  I fall asleep and when I awaken he announces that he’s brought the dog from the sitter and proudly ushers him into our room. I squeal in delight at the giant ball of black fluff as he lopes into the room. I tell Doyle that he is the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen. I ask if he’s a Pomeranian but Doyle is somewhat appalled at that comparison.

  “This is a Giant German Spitz. His name is Vladimir.” He says with a flourish.

  I stare at him.

  Vladimir…I know…That’s not a dog name. It’s a vampire’s name, not a dog’s name but interestingly, his personality matches his name; if you can believe that. I call him and slap my thighs but he gives me a rather perturbed glare in return. It’s almost like he’s bothered by me. He appears to like Doyle a little better, but not much. He seems to tolerate us for dog treats, but there is no love there. Doyle says he’s pedigreed and I look down at him and say in a fake German accent. “Let me see your papers.” Which I find funny, but both Doyle and the dog look at each other questioningly. Perhaps he’s never seen Hogan’s Heroes. As a matter of fact- I know so.

  I decide to throw him a strip of that fake bacon left over from breakfast but Doyle catches my hand. He tells me not to feed him table food because he’s very expensive. I wonder why anyone would want such a singularly unfriendly dog. Perhaps dogs with pedigrees are a lot like humans with them. I ask if we could go to the shelter and get a dog with a little personality but Doyle is horrified and tells me again how much this dog cost.

  I slink back to bed, stung a little. God forbid Mr. Pedigree would have to tolerate the company of an inferior dog without papers.

  Days pass and I do little more than sit around in my room and sleep. Doyle is with me, and the dog- both seemingly bored. He had hoped the dog would bring back some memories but it only serves to heighten my suspicion that I’m in the wrong body. Or I’m dreaming- this very long, very realistic dream and I’ll wake up soon. But that doesn’t happen. It only seems like a couple days before he announces that he will be returning to work soon. This is our last full weekend together and Monday he says, he will be back to the grind.

  I’ve done research on amnesia while Doyle was picking up take out and I found that some people remember very little- while I- medical oddity that I am- seem to have come through my ordeal relatively unscathed. Until you take into account my appalling lack of any personal memories.

  Collective memories I have out the wazoo. I seem to be a repository of useless information. I suppose if I can’t do anything else I still could be on jeopardy. I know that Pearl Harbor was attacked on December 7th, 1941, and I know the state bird of Alabama is the yellowhammer. I know that the battle was fought over there at Chickamauga Creek in September, 1863 but the Yankees held Chattanooga. Somehow I know the Cherokee word for mountain is a-ta-la .I can tell you exactly how people around here fiddle for worms- though I can’t imagine how I ever came into the possession of that knowledge. I can remember how to make crepes and speak French with a sweet Tennessee twang.

  Much to my own surprise and my husband’s utter amazement just today I have found that I can still drive and I can tell you all the traffic rules.

  I just can’t tell you where I’m going. Even after almost two weeks I feel lost. We’ve driven around the neighborhood a couple times and he seems almost amused that every time we go to the market I can’t remember the way back.

  Doyle doesn’t trust me enough to leave me with the keys. Perhaps next week he says… when I’m more at home with things. I wonder what I am supposed to do while he’s away during this week.

  Sleep. He tells me. Rest.