When I Was Jane

by Theresa Mieczkowski

  “Other than me, you mean.” Once he says it, he seems to soften. He puts his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. “I’m sorry. I get it, I do. I can help you fill in a few things. I’m not trying to keep you in the dark.” He takes a long deep breath. “Your parents were killed in an accident when you were young. You were raised by your grandmother. She moved you around a lot trying to make a living, so you didn’t make many lasting connections with people. She passed away before we had Daisy. I’m sorry. But she loved you very much. She’d want you to know that.”

  I turn away, trying to hold back tears. “What kind of accident? I assume I have no brothers or sisters.”

  He lowers his eyes. “No siblings. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know about your parents as soon as I know you’re ready to hear such heavy stuff without getting a spasm or blacking out.”

  “It’s pretty heavy to find out I’m alone in the world outside of you and my daughter.”

  “I’m only telling you this because you seem to want visitors. And I’ll bring some if it makes you happy. Thomas loves you; my parents love you. All of the wrinkly old people you spend hours a day with love you, and I can bus them in if you want. But if you need me to produce a female friend, a best friend, I’m sorry I just can’t do that. Up until now, you’ve been happy with me in that post.”

  I lie back on the pillow and check the clock out of habit. The nurses will be in with my pain medication soon, and I’m looking forward to not feeling anything.

  “Seriously, are you messing around with that nurse, Jason?” It would explain so much.

  He turns back to the window and stares out at the night. “No. I barely know her.”

  “OK,” I say, though I know I’ve just been lied to.

  I finally realize what upsets me so much about not having female friends. It isn’t that I don’t have any visitors. It isn’t that I don’t have connections, though that is pretty pathetic. It’s that I don’t have a single person on my side that can corroborate his facts.

  ~8~

  My in-laws are ushered into the hospital through a private entrance to prevent the reporters who are camped outside from photographing them. Not that there are many left, I’m told, but there are always a few stragglers hoping to sell a photo of the Gilbert family. And truly, what could be better than catching the senator—whose political platform includes stricter penalties for drunk drivers—visiting the daughter-in-law who nearly killed herself while supposedly under the influence?

  Jason paces in front of my bed, attempting to talk me out of another panic attack before they come up.

  “This is why I didn't want you to know who they were ahead of time. So you wouldn't be doing this,” he says.

  “You’d rather have me bowled over in shock when they walk in? I see what you mean now about not being a good communicator,” I say.

  “I assumed you wouldn't recognize them, Jane. After all, you didn't recognize me.”

  “They’re pretty well known, Jason. There isn't a person in the free world that doesn't recognize them.”

  “And I’m supposed to know that someone with amnesia still knows her celebrities?”

  “I just want to make a good impression. I’m suspected of drunk driving myself into a tree, and I’m sitting here bruised and bandaged. Can you blame me for feeling a little insecure?”

  “They’re your family. You refer to them as Mom and Dad. They already love you.”

  “They love Audrey,” I say under my breath. “Assuming that’s even true.”

  “And what does that mean?” Jason grasps the rail at the foot of my bed with enough force to snap it in half.

  “Well…it seems I’m being misled about a few things,” I say.

  He looks away and clenches his jaw.

  I wonder if Audrey even possessed a backbone. From what I’ve gathered so far, she has no female friends, spends all her time at home with either her husband or his best friend, and frequently cries and wishes she “didn’t know some stuff” that she keeps from her husband—a man who seems to have a questionable association with a pretty blonde nurse. Maybe sweet Audrey drove her car into a tree on purpose. Or maybe Jason tied a brick to her gas pedal. I’m finding it difficult to trust him; I know he’s deceiving me, I just don't know how. I grit my teeth and stare at the window.

  “Please don't ask them to call you Jane,” he says when we hear the bell for the elevator. “My father won't understand. I get it, I do. But this is a lot for them to digest.”

  I turn abruptly, hearing a knock. Senator Gilbert and his wife Vivienne stand regally in the doorway. She looks like she fell out of a fashion magazine; raven hair coiffed to perfection, flawless makeup, exquisite, tasteful jewelry adorning her neck and wrists. She’d been a daytime television actress in France when they met, and she looks every bit the part. The senator is as distinguished and handsome as he looks in pictures, in an old-fashioned leading man kind of way. He is tall and athletic like his son, with the same smile; wide and friendly and full of perfect teeth.

  Vivienne sucks in her breath and grasps her husband’s arm. “Our poor, sweet girl,” she says in a melodic French accent. She rushes to my bed and bends down to kiss both of my cheeks and take my hands in hers. “My sweet Audrey, how worried we have been. Thank goodness you are well.” She wipes her tears with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief that matches her perfectly tailored cobalt blue sheath.

  I bite the inside of my mouth to keep myself from crying, but I tear up anyway.

  “Oh, chérie, come here.” She hugs me, rocking back and forth.

  I realize now how much I crave female contact. It’s such a natural urge to want to be cared for by a mother, and she’s possibly the closest thing I have to one. And even better, one who loves me not because she has to, but because she chooses to.

  She touches my cheek. “My dearest daughter, the worst is over. And when we bring you back to new, we will discover what God wants us to learn from all this. I promise you. Après la pluie, le beau temps.”

  “Every cloud has a silver lining,” I whisper to myself.

  She looks at me curiously, cupping my cheeks in her hands. “Est-ce que tu sais quand tu pourras rentrer à la maison?”

  “Bientôt, j'espère,” I reply. Do you know when you are coming home? Soon, I hope. I look up at her. “I speak French?”

  “You should,” she says with a smile, “because for the last fifteen years you have had a magnificent teacher, if I may say so myself.”

  I wish I could be happier that I remember what she’s taught me, but the things my mind kept hold of and the things it threw away seem so unfair. I turn from her in frustration and wipe my eyes.

  She folds her arms around me so gently I imagine I’m wrapped in angel wings. “Je vois, mon amour,” she says. I know, my love.

  I’ve known Vivienne all of five minutes, and I’m already half drunk in love with her. She’s possibly the most charming person I’ve ever met, which isn’t saying much since I currently know only a handful of people, but I’m sure it would still be true even if I knew a hundred. Her beautiful face, the way she smells, the comfort I feel when she holds my hand. I want to be anything she wants me to be, and she wants me to be her daughter.

  Over her shoulder I see the senator embrace Jason. “We’re so proud of the way you’ve handled yourself, son,” he says, making me wonder how much Jason has shared with them. The senator kneels next to my bed and places his hand over mine. “Audrey, honey, thank God you're OK. That’s the only thing that matters to this family, and I want you to remember that.” He tousles my hair lovingly. “You went through a lot, kid. You're tougher than I thought.”

  “Thank you, Senator,” I say, unable to meet his eyes. “I want you to know I had blood tests that confirm I wasn’t drinking.”

  He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Audrey, you’re my daughter-in-law; you don’t have to call me senator. That’s a little formal for people who’ve loved you as long as we have.” He
puts an arm around my shoulders. “And we know you weren’t drinking. Don’t concern yourself with that. The truth always finds its way out.”

  I hope he’s right. I so want the truth about everything. I feel connected to Audrey’s family in ways I didn’t expect, and more connected to Jason because of them.

  Senator Gilbert rises to his feet as Dr. Patel enters the room. “Good afternoon, Doctor. We’ve heard so much about you and the fantastic care you’re giving our Audrey.”

  “Thank you, sir. She is doing quite well.” Dr. Patel stands at attention as if speaking to a general.

  “Can you bring us up to date on her recovery?” Senator Gilbert asks.

  “There is evidence of traumatic brain injury, and her concussion still needs to be observed. The memory loss is related exclusively to her personal history, which we believe indicates that the damage is contained to one specific part of the brain.” Dr. Patel pauses and considers his words carefully. “But we will need to wait to see what becomes of it.”

  Senator Gilbert folds his arms across his chest. “I want no expense spared. Call in anyone you need. If she needs a specialist, go ahead and find one.”

  Jason looks towards his colleague apologetically. “Dr. Patel is at the top of his field.”

  Patel raises a hand in reassurance. “Jason, I understand what your father is saying. I’d feel the same if it were my children involved.”

  Senator Gilbert puts his arm on Jason’s shoulder. “We all just want her back to the Audrey we know and love.”

  Jason steps away from his father and looks out the window. “She's going to be fine. Right, Patel? Maybe even better than before.” He says the last part so quietly, I’m certain I’m the only one who hears it. He turns back to them with a smile. “Have faith in her, she’ll get there.”

  Vivienne crosses the room to embrace her son. “Oh, my sweet romantic boy, of course she will.”

  “I assure you, she’s in the best hands,” Dr. Patel says. “She has a serious condition and numerous physical injuries. She needs to be able to heal in a controlled environment in order for us to determine if she will regain her memory.”

  “If?” Vivienne grasps my hand.

  “But she is healing miraculously well and getting stronger every day,” Dr. Patel says with a reassuring smile.

  “When can he break her out of here then?” asks Senator Gilbert. “Surely she’d be more comfortable in her own home.”

  “She still needs intravenous pain medications, and some of her injuries require the care of our staff. But if things progress well, we can reassess in a few days and see about moving her,” Dr. Patel says. “She would need round-the-clock care, of course. A home nurse. Equipment.”

  “Absolutely,” Senator Gilbert says. “Anything she needs. And we will certainly compensate you for house calls.”

  “Can I choose a nurse?” I ask Jason. “Maybe someone from the hospital I already know?”

  “You can have anyone you wish, my dear,” the senator says. “And Daisy is welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. Mildred is enjoying her to no end.”

  “Mildred?” I ask.

  “Their housekeeper,” Jason says. “She used to be my nanny. You love her, and she's great with Daisy.”

  Just hearing Daisy's name makes me ache for her. I want so badly to understand the things that are just out of my reach. I don’t feel like Audrey Gilbert, whatever that feels like. And I need to know what will become of the person I am now if and when the memories come back. Will I just disappear into Audrey’s mind like she has into mine?

  Jason continues to talk with his parents about plans for my homecoming. I pretend to follow along, but my concerns are mounting. How am I to go home with a man I hardly know and dive into a life I don’t remember? How do I convince a child that I’m the same mother she’s always known? And, most important, what happens when Jason finally realizes you can’t force feelings that aren’t there? Because I can tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that he isn’t in love with the person who has replaced his precious Audrey any more than I’m in love with him.

  ~9~

  “Mornin’, sunshine.” Dottie walks in holding my breakfast tray and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Well whad’ya know? I remember characters from Alice in Wonderland. Call Dr. Patel so he can add it to his random list of nonsense.”

  Dottie ignores my comment and plops the tray down in front of me. A lit candle sticks out from a pile of mush. “Now don’t be a sour puss today. Happy two weeks awake, honey!”

  “Is this supposed to be oatmeal?” I ask.

  “Just blow out the dang candle. And make a wish!”

  I force a smile. As if a person with amnesia would even know what to wish for. It’s been over three weeks since my accident, and I'm not any closer to knowing who I am than when I woke up. Dr. Patel and I meet daily to conduct tests that will pinpoint exactly how he’ll be able to help me, but so far nothing looks too promising. Bandages have been removed, cuts and bruises will mend and fade, and my concussion will heal. But any attachments I had to being Audrey Gilbert show no signs of returning.

  I have become what Dr. Patel has referred to on numerous occasions as “depressed”. How could I not be? I'm trapped in a hospital room with no contact with the outside world. I have a few visitors; Thomas and Daisy, Jason—though he’s gone back to work as a heart surgeon, and I don’t see him as much as I did when I first woke up.

  I spend my days wondering. Wondering what my favorite color will be, where I will go on vacations, and what style of clothes I will choose to wear. Dottie keeps me company and occasionally sneaks in with news or gossip from the nurses’ station, but all in all I’m very much alone. My in-laws were called away on urgent business the day they came to see me and promised to return by the end of this week. I’d love to see Vivienne again; I suspect she’ll be the key to my survival.

  I’m now able to get out of bed with help and hobble back and forth to the bathroom. Sometimes Dottie will prop me against the windows so I can look down and watch people in the parking lot coming and going. I pass time by making up stories about their lives, and I'm actually a decent storyteller. At least Dottie says so; she’s entertained to no end by the tales I invent about people.

  There's been talk of releasing me, and I can only hope it’s true. A week ago I thought I’d rather stay in the hospital than go home and share a bed with a man I don’t feel married to, but now I’m so stir crazy I’d sleep with him right here and now if it meant getting out. I dream about walking in the grass or sitting by a stream or running through a field. It’s a frantic craving that makes me angry at the people who get to feel sun on their faces and come and go as they please. I don’t even remember what the sun on my face feels like. I’m a captive trapped by a jailer who fled her own body and left me here in her place. I’ll put up with any test and answer any question Dr. Patel asks in order to bust myself out of here and start putting the pieces of my life together. Whether or not it’s Audrey’s life I repair remains to be seen.

  Hours tick by. Physical therapists visit to massage and bend my limbs and ask me to squeeze a ball. The social worker stops in to chat. I know most of her life story now, since there isn’t much to say about my own. I act as friendly and optimistic and Audrey-like as I can, but inside I’m plotting and planning, skeptical of everyone. All of these people are bricks that make up the path that will lead me back into the world.

  At some point during the day, Dr. Patel decides I’m ready to see my reflection. He feels that my injuries are healing, and the sight of them isn’t likely to induce further anxiety.

  “You sure you’re ready?” Jason asks as Dr. Patel hands me the mirror.

  “Of course,” I say, though I’m not altogether sure. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly bring the mirror up. I’m not really that shocked. I know what Audrey looks like from the pictures Jason brought. I look like her, just quite a bit more beaten up. I refuse to let myself cry and
stare at the face I don’t believe is mine. It’s harder for me to see Audrey as someone else when I’m looking at her face in a mirror which is probably why Dr. Patel wants me to see my reflection. I suspect he’s trying to dispel the idea of Jane.

  There’s still swelling around my eye from the corneal scratch, and the part that should be white is stained red, so dark I can barely make out my iris. My nose is swollen and heavily bruised, as is my jawline, which I expected since it’s been painful to chew and talk since I woke up. I slowly study one side of my face and then the other. A clear length of tape stretches over one of my eyebrows, and I can see the black threads of the stitches underneath. My eyes are tired and sunken. My hair lays limp on my shoulders, shaved close to my head over one of my ears where they treated my injuries. I have a long narrow neck and slender shoulders. I imagine Audrey wearing a single strand of pearls everywhere she went, even with t-shirts. No trace of pearls now, just yellowing bruises that stretch out from under the collar of my hospital gown. My skin is pale and sallow.

  I stare at the reflection interested, but completely detached. She looks back at me and blinks.

  I hate you, I want to say, but I know better than to do it out loud. The woman who did this to me left me high and dry to deal with her mess. I wonder if she’d be crying about the damage to her face. I notice that my mouth is turned down at the corners, and I make a conscious effort to straighten it out.

  “Well?” Jason asks.

  I shrug. “Not as bad as I thought.”

  “Really?” He exhales in relief. “God, you’re handling this well. Everything is healing up nicely. It’ll be back to its normal state soon.”

  “It’s the normal state I’m talking about,” I say, tilting the mirror so I can see him behind me.

  Dr. Patel nods as if he’d been expecting this exchange.

  “What?” Jason asks.

  “She’s not remarking on her injuries, Gilbert,” Dr. Patel says. “She’s a smart girl; she can see past them. The problem she’s having is that she doesn’t accept this as her own face. It can be very difficult for some people.”