When I Was Jane

by Theresa Mieczkowski

  I have to push my face into the pillow to stifle my laughter. “Because it is. And keep going when you can.”

  For a moment he sits quietly rubbing his foot. “Well…Audrey was living in Georgia at the time, one of the places her grandmother moved her to. I was in college and it was spring break. She was on a church retreat with a bunch of teenagers she volunteered with, and I was with my parents as they were taking a break from my dad’s campaign. We stopped for gas at this hole-in-the-wall mini-mart and the church bus was broken down in the parking lot. Audrey was talking with the driver as he looked under the bus, and I could see she was really upset.”

  “You noticed all this while you were getting gas?”

  “Well, they were hard not to notice. There were teenagers running in and out of the mini-mart to buy junk food and sodas. There was a giant tow truck next to the bus, and the two drivers were arguing. And then there was Audrey, in a little sundress and sweater, with her hair up in a ponytail. She offered the tow guy all of her money, but he refused because he couldn’t pull a bus with his truck. I heard them say they were going to have to call for another bus, but they didn’t have enough money to rent one, and nobody from their church was picking up the phone. My father and I went over to see if we could help. Dad offered to pay for the new bus, but Audrey wouldn’t even consider taking his money.

  “I talked to her about what kind of a church it was, where they were going, and pretty much anything I could to extend our conversation. My father later told me that he could see I was a total goner, and he decided to step in before I made a complete fool of myself. He introduced himself to the driver; they talked a little about politics, and Dad convinced him to let us pay for the bus if they’d agree to take me along on the church retreat. He told them I was a lowly college kid who needed a little religion and that he and my mother would pick me up in three days on their way back home.”

  “Your parents let you drive away with a bus full of strangers?” I ask.

  “It was a church group led by a young girl who looked like an angel fallen from the sky; it hardly seemed a threat to my safety. And I was twenty-one years old, for God’s sake. My father was trying to help me meet people. That was hard for me. After my brother died, I kept to myself, spent a lot of time with my parents. They wanted me to get out and experience life. Until that point, I’d always resisted.”

  “So what made you go?”

  “Well…Audrey in that sundress was a pretty convincing argument for getting out and living a little.”

  I laugh. “So that was it? You just hopped on the bus?”

  “My father’s driver arranged for another bus to pick us up and I climbed aboard, the last minute chaperone of the Sugar Creek Baptist Church weekend revival. The kids sang the entire way. For hours. I never knew there were so many Bible songs. I sat behind Audrey and tried to talk to her, but she was too distracted with the kids. One was crying because her boyfriend was talking to another girl, another was upset because she’d lost her sunglasses. Eventually, I gave up and went to sit in the back with a bunch of boys who’d apparently only gone on the trip to be with the girls. We were all in the same boat, hanging on until we got the chance to sit with the girl we had our eye on. Audrey was the chaperone, so I didn’t have any competition there.

  “Anyway, when we got to our destination, a little lakeside camp, I stayed in one of the boys’ cabins and she stayed with the girls. There were chaperones that worked at the campsite and activities for the kids to do all day. Swimming, boating, fishing. It took Audrey a while to warm up to me. She was painfully shy, and I was just some random guy who hitched a ride on their bus from the middle of nowhere; I could have been a serial killer.”

  “Right. Because most serial killers travel with their famous parents during college break,” I say.

  “Well, that’s the thing…she didn’t know who my family was. Her grandmother didn’t follow politics and never watched the news. They didn’t even own a TV. That’s how I knew she liked me for me.”

  “Did that happen a lot? People liking you because of your parents?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s still a problem. There are sycophants everywhere. And people who want to cause trouble for us. It’s hard to know who’s genuine.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “But Audrey was real.” Jason continues with his story, oblivious to my implication that I can’t tell if he’s genuine or not. “And I finally got her to talk to me. I’m pretty sure it was my macramé skills that did it,” he says with a laugh. “We took a canoe out one day and talked the entire time. That night, she sat next to me during the bonfire and we roasted marshmallows. She let me walk her back to her cabin, and when I kissed her, all the girls were cheering in the window. It was pretty awesome.”

  I have to admit, it’s a good story. He’s a different person when he’s talking about something precious to him; he sounds alive, animated.

  “And then you just parted ways?” I ask.

  “God, no. I was hooked,” he says. “I was ready to forget medical school and stay on that church bus with her forever. But my parents were waiting in the parking lot of the mini-mart, and I left with them. My mother, the romantic that she is, decided we should take an extra day or two in Georgia, and we followed the bus back to where it came from. After Audrey handed the last of her campers off to their parents, we took her out to dinner so they could get to know her. My mother knew right away that you were the one.”

  For the first time ever, I don’t correct him that it’s Audrey he’s talking about.

  “My parents and I stayed in a hotel and took Audrey and her grandmother out for lunch the next day. Her grandmother was unimpressed by who my father was, and it was so refreshing to him. Eventually, we had to go home, but Audrey and I kept up a long distance relationship for over a year. Once I went to Chapel Hill, she moved there to be near me, and the rest is history.”

  “That’s a sweet story.” Sweet. Everything about Audrey sounds sweet. Too sweet; saccharin, almost. “Is it true?” I ask.

  “What? Why would I make that up?”

  “Because you can,” I say into the darkness. My eyelids are getting heavy.

  “Well it’s up to you at this point whether you want to believe me or not.”

  “That’s what your mother said.”

  “Then you should listen to her,” he says with a yawn.

  “So when did Audrey date Wyatt?”

  “She and I took a break once. I was too busy in my residency and dropped the ball. We weren’t spending much time together, and in the little spare time I had, I was hanging out with other resident doctors—some of whom were women. We needed to see what we wanted, and that’s when she dated him. I wasn’t too happy about it, so I decided to win her back.”

  “But you met him? He and Audrey remained friends?”

  “Yeah. If exchanging yearly Christmas cards counts as friendship. It bothered me for a while, but now that we’re married, I’m OK with it,” he says.

  There’s something tugging at me ever so slightly, a pull just below the surface that keeps me from wholeheartedly embracing this life with Jason. I wish there were a way to either figure out what it is or shake it free.

  “Thanks for sharing your story with me,” I whisper, but by the sound of his breathing, I can tell he’s asleep.

  I close my eyes. I can picture all of it; his parents, the bus driver, the scene by the lake. I can almost smell the wood from the cabins and hear the crackling fire as they roast marshmallows. I drift off to sleep imagining Audrey and Jason holding hands, walking back from the dock where they tied their canoe, and I wake up shaking when I realize the dock is covered in blood.

  ~15~

  “Are you ready?” Dr. Patel runs the blade along the length of my cast. “It’s going to look a bit odd for a while.”

  “Just get it off. I can’t wait anymore.” I kick my feet like Daisy does when she’s waiting for her dessert. The thought of spending any more time
in that contraption is torturous to me, especially because we’re in the midst of a late July heat wave.

  “You’re still going to have to take it easy.” He cracks the plaster open and peels a piece back. The skin underneath is pale and covered in hair.

  “Ew!” I say, hiding it with my hands.

  “Audrey, please. I am a doctor.”

  I pull my dress down to my knee. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Do you mind?” He looks up at me, holding the scissors carefully. “I have to get to it to remove it.” The giant glasses he’s wearing make his eyes look three times larger. He cuts another long section and lifts up the plaster.

  The smell hits me hard. “Oh my God, it stinks!” I lean towards him to pull the mask he has around his neck up over his nose.

  He swats my hand away. “Lie back, Audrey. I think you got some water in here, maybe from one of your showers.” He takes out another tool to slice through the section around my knee, pulling and tugging small sections at a time. “Straighten out, please.”

  Dottie marches in with a basin of water and some towels. Every inch of my leg that’s pulled from the cast gets covered in a warm washcloth. “Ahh, that’s so much better,” I say, relaxing into the bed.

  “Some pressure here.” Dr. Patel holds my foot as he cuts through the bulk on my ankle. It feels like I’m being smashed with a hammer.

  Dottie smiles. “Almost there. You’re gonna need a suntan, Mrs. Gilbert.” No matter how many times I ask, she won’t stop calling me that. Probably because I don’t answer to Audrey, and she thinks I’m “batshit crazy” for wanting to be called Jane.

  Dr. Patel mumbles to himself on the floor, and with one final tug, I’m free from my bondage. I pull myself up using the bars on the bed and stare down at my leg. Dr. Patel was severely underestimating the appearance when he said it may look odd for a while. It isn’t odd, it’s absolutely grotesque. The leg looks small and withered compared to my other one, and the skin is a sickly, grey color. A long, barely healed wound runs down my thigh, wider in some places than others, and involves stitches or staples of some kind. The skin surrounding the wound is purple and puckered. An odor from the cast hangs in the air, and for a moment, the bed appears to sway in front of me.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I say, just in time for Dottie to grab the basin of water and hold it under me before I throw up.

  She rubs my back. “It’s OK, honey.”

  When I think I’m done, I give her the thumbs up, only to see my leg from under the basin. I grab the basin and heave again.

  “Gilbert said she has a weak constitution,” Dr. Patel says. He places a sheet across the bars on either side of my bed to cover me while he examines my leg. His hands feel cold and foreign on my skin.

  Jason comes in through the sliding glass door. “How’s it going in here?”

  Dr. Patel answers without looking up. “The incision is healing, but it needs more time. It will need to be cleaned out three times a day.” He throws a giant piece of orange stained gauze into the bucket.

  “What was that?” I swallow to keep myself from gagging.

  Dottie pats my hand. “The antiseptic pads under your cast to stop infection. It’s lookin’ good, honey, real good.”

  “We couldn’t have been looking at the same thing then,” I say as a sharp pain rips through my thigh. I pound the bed with my fist.

  Jason clamps both of my hands in one of his and uses the other to lift the sheet and peer under it.

  “What are your thoughts, Gilbert?” Dr. Patel asks wearily, as if he’s expecting them anyway.

  “Atrophy. And we need to watch for infection. Dottie, make a note to call the plastic surgeon and the physical therapist. See if they can come out together. I want a temporary removable cast for now. And up the meds to reduce the swelling.”

  “Yes, Dr. Gilbert.”

  “She can have ginger ale but no medication until she can keep food down. Keep this covered during the day, and let it air out at night. I’ll bring down a few long dresses and skirts so she won’t have to look at it. She needs to be supervised in the shower in case she gets dizzy or tries to put too much weight on it. And no shaving for a few days.”

  “What?” I say. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You need to let the skin heal,” he says.

  I open my mouth to argue, but Daisy bounds down the stairs with Vivienne following close behind. As she runs towards my bed, Jason quickly throws the sheet back over my leg and motions for Dottie to take the basins out of the room.

  “Is it off yet?” Daisy peers over the railing to take a look.

  “Yes, sweetie,” I say.

  “Can you come in the sprinkler now?”

  Her little voice soothes my soul. I reach out and push one of her thick curls out of her eyes. “Not yet. But I can still watch you go in, and we can play our new game.”

  Jason leans down so he’s nose to nose with her. “You girls have a new game? How does it go? Can I play?” He’s so animated when Daisy’s around he seems like a cartoon character.

  She hops from one foot to the other. “Yes! I run to the sprinkler and right before I get there Mommy says, ‘favooorrrrite.’” She draws the word out really slowly.

  “Favorite?”

  “Yep. Then she says something like ‘movies’, and I have to yell the answer when I jump through the water.”

  He nods his head. “I get it…I think.”

  I reach out and tousle her hair. “I get to hear all her favorite things. We’re running out of categories, though.” Because of the game I invented, I already know her favorite foods, colors, books, holidays, and friends.

  Jason bows his head and whispers so Daisy can’t hear him. “Brilliant.”

  Vivienne places her hand on my shoulder. “How is she healing, Dr. Patel?”

  “Very well. She will need physical therapy of course, and Jason would like to consult a plastic surgeon about the scarring. But it will all be as good as new in time.”

  “Wonderful news. And when you’re ready, Daisy and I have set out lunch for everyone on the patio,” she says.

  Jason hoists me from the bed and hands me a pair of crutches. I’m disgusted by the sight of my leg and can’t imagine it ever looking normal again. My legs are like Audrey and me. One is shriveled and broken, the other is just fine. And yet the bad leg has to do all the work to get better while the fine one gets to do nothing. Seems unfair to me.

  “So when is Thomas coming back?” I ask.

  “In a few days. He’s been really busy at the hospital,” Jason says.

  I wonder if he’s staying away on purpose. If asking him to stay with me at night was too bold. All I know is that I miss him and want to see him again.

  I place the crutches under my arms and hobble outside. Jason puts his hand on the center of my back and guides me to the garden patio. It feels strange to be without my cast, but the bandages Dr. Patel applied to my leg feel sturdy and supportive. Another small taste of freedom.

  Vivienne claps her hands together as I navigate past her. “Audrey needs a celebratory gift for being such a good sport.”

  Jason pulls a chair out and helps me into it. “What did you have in mind, Maman?” he asks.

  Vivienne smiles at me. “What would you like, Audrey? Would you like for Jason to take you away someplace? Edmund and I can watch Daisy for the weekend.”

  Dr. Patel clears his throat. “It would be better if she could wait to travel.”

  “Well something pretty then. Jason, you must pamper our girl. She has been through so much.” Vivienne gets up from her seat and takes my hands. “Would you love some new flowers for your garden, chérie?”

  “Maman, you know her,” Jason says. “If I buy her flowers, she’ll be out there kneeling in the dirt. I’ll take her anywhere and buy her anything as soon as she’s healed up.”

  Vivienne’s eyes widen. “Oh! I have a lovely idea. It will be a surprise. I have the perfect gift for you, darling.
Just give me a few days to prepare.”

  “I’d love a nice long bath. That would be a great present,” I say. And even better if I happen to forget my doctor’s orders and shave my legs while I’m in there.

  Jason smiles at me. “That we can manage. I don’t even want to know what my mother has in mind for her surprise. If we give her too long to plan, we’ll have Cirque de Soleil in the backyard.” Jason leans over and puts his arm on Dottie’s shoulder. “Can you handle her in the bath?”

  I don’t even bother to wonder why he’s requesting her help. We’ve come to a place where we don’t need to pretend we’re comfortable with one another anymore.

  After dinner, Jason helps me up the stairs. It takes me so long to go one step at a time that when I reach the second floor, he gets impatient and throws me over his shoulder to carry me the rest of the way.

  “I put fresh flowers in the bathroom for you,” he says as he tries to catch his breath. “Holy crap, I’m getting out of shape. It’s been a while since I worked out.”

  He guides me into the bedroom, which is as elegant and gigantic as I imagined it would be. It has more of a masculine feel than the other rooms, and its dark mahogany walls and thick wooden trim look original to the home. In the center of the room is a huge four-poster bed draped in billowy white linen. A suede chaise flanks the end of the unmade bed, and a copy of Time magazine lies open next to a man’s robe. Piles of white throw pillows litter the floor beneath the large front windows. Across from the bed is a large fireplace with a stone mantle. The mahogany wall above it has been opened up to reveal a large TV.

  Jason points to archways that bookend each side of the fireplace, explaining that one leads to his study and the other to Audrey’s dressing area. “And over here is the bathroom,” he says, walking me past the bed to a door. “I gave Dottie instructions on where everything is. She’s in your closet getting your robe.”

  As if on cue, Dottie strolls into the room whistling. Jason hurries out, wishing me a relaxing time.

  Dottie grips one of the heavy posters at the corner of the bed. “This is some bedroom. I could get used to this.”