Savage Delight

by Sara Wolf

  So while my loveable gene donors were off debating who owned what vase for sixty months, I grew up in the loudest ways possible. Well, I wasn’t exactly loud back then, I was more an indoor-mouse-whisper kind of gal, but you get my drift. There were fights. One time, a girl tried to run me over with her scooter! Do you remember scooters? I remember scooters. My shinbone remembers scooters. One time that girl even gave me a frog! Because she was so nice! I found it in my locker! Actually I had tons of friends and by tons I mean everyone in the library who squeezed around my bulk to reach their books.”

  “And what were you doing in the library?”

  “Hiding. I read a lot of Jane Austen and cried. It was a formative experience.”

  Mernich nods, motioning for me to continue. She’s doing it. She’s making me bring out the big guns. I sigh.

  “Alright. No more pussyfooting around it. I met…Nameless…I can still call him that, right?”

  “If you must.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “After stalking him for most of middle school, the first time I exchanged words with Nameless was at Jenna Monroe’s beach party in seventh grade. The girls were wearing pastel tankinis and swimming. I was wearing two sweatshirts and yoga pants and sitting with her Mom. I was still at a loss as to why Jenna Monroe invited me at all – Jenna was all legs and brown ponytails and glitter pens – the total opposite of my pudge and pencils. We’d been friends once, when we were still pooping ourselves and learning not to eat said poop, but judging by the way Jenna’s mom waved to me when I first came, I got the impression Jenna had no hand in inviting me at all.

  Anyway, there I was, waist-deep in an element that sure as hell wasn’t mine. Girls were giggling, splashing water on each others’ boobs, and boys were around! Staring at the girls! Well, all the girls except me and Jenna’s mom. Will was there, so I hid behind the soda cans on the picnic table and tried to look like I wasn’t there. Being almost two hundred pounds is sort of counter-productive to invisibility, though. Everyone saw me. Even Will. It was like, two seconds of eye contact, and then he looked away. And I thought I was done for! Because, you know, when people look at you and you’re fat you think you’re done for.”

  I look up, and I can see the faintest glaze coming over Mernich’s eyes. She’s skinnier than a beanpole. Probably has been her whole life. She has no idea what I’m talking about. No amount of college can teach her that. I laugh.

  “You know what? Screw it. Just…I’ll just talk about the part you really wanna know. It’s what everyone wants to know. They don’t care about the how or the whys, just when and where and how quickly they can say ‘awww, I’m sorry’ or try to fix it.”

  “That’s – that’s not what I meant at all, Isis –”

  “No, you know what? It’s fine. It’s probably better this way. This way I don’t have to drag out my entire sordid history for you to pore over! Saves you time! I’m sure you’re a busy lady with a lot of crazy people to talk to and I’m, frankly, a total purveyor of common sense and not-time wasting, so. So you know what? Yeah. The day it happened it was raining. I was at his house. The frogs were outside and croaking because he lived near a marsh. That’s what Florida is. Marshes. Marshes and assholes. His mom had made us popcorn. My hands were oily. His hands were oily. We’d been secretly going out for two months but he wouldn’t let me tell anyone and when I tried to talk to him at school he ignored me, laughed at me and told me to buzz off. But then he’d apologize. When we were alone he was nice. Nicer. Marginally. I was fourteen. Fourteen, okay? I was fourteen and I thought I was in love and I would have done anything to keep him from leaving me –”

  Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back and clench my fists on the armrests.

  “Do you know what it’s like? Never wanting to lose another someone? Everyone else leaves. Mom and Dad left. I didn’t want him to leave. If he left, I would’ve lost it. He was the only normal thing in my life. He made me feel…when he smiled at me, he made me feel pretty. Do you know what that’s like, either? Being fat, being huge and gross and feeling huge and gross and then finding someone who makes you feel pretty? Do you know what you’d do to keep that person? You’d do anything. Anything in this world short of killing yourself.”

  Mernich’s eyes are softer, now. But I don’t trust them anymore. This is what she wanted. She’s getting it. Her pen is scrabbling madly across the paper even as she opens her mouth to speak.

  “I’m sorry, Isis. I didn’t mean to seem callous. But this is good. You, saying these things aloud, even if you hate me for bringing them out…it’s good. It’s helping.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  I’m shaking. My body trembles with a rage I can’t express. It’s not all anger at Mernich’s vapid, voracious curiosity, though. I’m not all mad at her. The anger is directed at someone else, too. Nameless. Myself. Mom and Dad.

  Mernich pushes back in the chair. “We’ll stop here.”

  She gets up and doubles around her desk, pulling out a familiar yellow slip.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Writing you a discharge.”

  “Not gonna grill me more? Not gonna ask me to come right out and say it? You were the one who said I needed to confront it, not run away.”

  “This isn’t running away,” she says calmly, and rips the paper off and hands it to me. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, Isis. Some people need me – a total stranger – to listen. However, some people are only further injured when a total stranger listens. As a doctor, and with you as my patient, I can’t ascribe you continue speaking to me on this matter with a good conscious. I’m not the one who should hear it. Someone else – your mother, your father, maybe Kayla, or Sophia, or perhaps someone you haven’t met yet – one of them will make you feel safe enough to say it. One of them will be the one you decide to tell. It’s up to you.”

  I stand, and grab the paper warily, like it’s a trap. But Mernich just smiles.

  “Would you like your diagnosis?”

  “I’m crazy.”

  “Not at all. Do you know what disassociation is?”

  “Something crazy people have.”

  Mernich’s smile turns patient. “It’s what occurs when a person goes through a traumatic experience. It’s a…think of it like a coping mechanism for the brain. Say someone throws a snowball, and it’s going to hit your eye. Your eyelids react much faster than the snowball flies to protect the cornea. Disassociation is like an eyelid for the brain. A traumatic event can cause the brain to disassociate the event. Sometimes this manifests as a simple case of shock that quickly wears off. Other times, we see intense reactions, such as withdrawal, PTSD, and in your case -”

  She looks up, and I dread the next words to fall from her mouth.

  “ – amnesia.”

  “What?” I scowl. “I don’t –”

  “You have periods of painful black outs when you try to recall a certain person in your life. Your brain has identified this person as the source of overstimulation, and perhaps pain. You have what’s called lacunar amnesia – it’s a very centralized and rare thing.”

  “So I’ve lost my brain? Part of my memories? I’ve totally forgotten them?”

  “You haven’t really forgotten – the brain never truly forgets. I believe in your case, the memories are still there, but buried beneath layers. It might take months to get them back. But you may also never get them back at all.”

  “Who…which person was it? The one I forgot?”

  “Think back. What have your friends told you? Have they been acting strangely towards you, concerning a certain person?”

  It filters in slowly – weeks of Kayla’s weird looks, of Wren’s concerned sighs, and Sophia, shaking her head and saying it’s sad. And then Jack’s fractured expression when I first woke up and said I didn’t know him. I stare, wide-eyed, at Mernich’s passive face.

  “Jack. That Jack guy. Everything they say about him – doesn’t make sense
. But why do I have this lactose amnesia thing? I mean, my head was bad, but - ”

  “You suffered significant head trauma. I believe the lacunar amnesia is a combination of that and your own disassociation of the traumatic event of fighting off your mother’s attacker.”

  “Did Jack – how do I know him?”

  “You’d be better off asking Sophia that question, I believe. But you’re leaving the hospital with that discharge slip right away, aren’t you? You were quite eager to go.”

  I look at the crumpled yellow note in my hand and close my fist around it.

  “It can wait.”

  Mernich smiles at me.

  “Yes. Yes it can.”

  -2-

  3 Years

  25 Weeks

  5 Days

  My mind is a white blank of confusion. I knew Jack. I know Jack. The underwear model-esque dude with the rude mouth knows me.

  Before this extremely vexing realization, he’d just been a guy I was grateful to. But now he’s a guy I know! I know guys! Guys who aren’t harmless Wren! Why hadn’t anyone told me? It’s not like I’d hate them for telling the truth! In fact, I kind of actually encourage it for everyone on this planet! It fosters clear communication and ensures things mildly don’t fucking suck!

  I find Sophia in the common room, reading a romance novel. The heaving bosom on the cover distracts me for point two seconds before I realize I have better boobs than that and slam my hands on the table.

  “Sophie! Soapy! Soapbutt!”

  She looks up calmly and puts a bookmark between the pages. “Yes ma’am?”

  “Not to be rude or overly confrontational but why the fucking hell didn’t you tell me I had amnesia?”

  She gasps. “You have amnesia?”

  “Soapy!” I lament. She stands, putting her book under one arm and offering her other to me.

  “Oh stop. I’m kidding. Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

  I debate how effective screaming until I got my way would be and decide not very and then lace my arm in hers. She leads me down the white-washed, too-sterile halls. We weave around interns and gurneys. An old woman waves hello from her wheelchair, and Sophia waves back.

  “Hello, Mrs. Anderson. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m well, dear. What about yourself? I heard you have that surgery coming up. Dr. Fenwall is very excited about it.”

  “Oh, you know him.” Sophia smiles wider. “He gets excited about everything. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

  “Don’t talk like that, sweetie! I’m sure it’ll be a success and you’ll be out of here and on dates with that dashing young man of yours in no time.”

  Sophia laughs, but once we’ve turned the corner her smiles fades rapidly, like a flower caught in a first frost.

  “She seems, uh, nice,” I try. “Also, dying. But nice.”

  “We’re all dying, Isis,” Sophia says. “Some of us just a little faster than others.”

  Feeling somehow chastised, I try to look around instead of at her.

  “They really need to redecorate,” I say. “Maybe paint some hearts on the walls. And puppies. Just strew puppies everywhere. Puppy bonanza. Pupanza.”

  She doesn’t say anything, leading me to a stairwell. Maybe this is it. Maybe she’s really going to murder me, right here and right now. Maybe she hates puppies. Maybe she hates painted hearts on walls! Maybe my big mouth has finally landed me in trouble I can’t get out of, except I could totally get out of this stairwell by jumping over the railing and straight down –

  “Isis, you’re being silly. I’m not going to kill you.”

  I look up. Sophia holds open a door at the top of the stairs, sunlight streaming through. She ushers me through it with her hand. I burst onto the roof; fresh, crisp winter air lapping at my face. From here, you can see most of Northplains nestled in the rocky valley below. Thrushes swoop around the treetops, a massive flock of them sitting on the roof pecking at nothing. They look so calm. So small. So peaceful -

  “AHHHH!” I scream, charging at them. They scatter with angry squawks, the noise deafening for a split second.

  “That’s what you get for being so damn cute!” I shout. Sophia walks up beside me, the wind toying with her beautiful silver hair.

  “This is where I come when I’m sad, or feel alone.”

  “It’s great!” I shout too close to her ear. “It’s great,” I whisper.

  “I’m glad you like it. I’ve never shown anybody it. Well, except Jack. I’ve shown him. And Naomi knows I come up here.”

  “Because she’s nosy as balls.”

  “Because she’s nosy as balls,” Sophia agrees.

  “Noisy as balls,” I try.

  “Balls don’t really make noise, but if you pull –”

  “Ah, lah lah lah lah!” I shout, covering my ears. Sophia laughs, and perches on the edge of the roof. Warily, I lower my hands and inch towards her. I look over the edge – it’s a long way down. As in, an extremely dead way down. But Sophia doesn’t seem worried at all. She just gently kicks her shoes against the building.

  Not wanting her to feel left out, I sit next to her, and gingerly ease my feet over. She hums. The sun is thinking about going down – still bright and full but drooping tiredly. The world is at peace. Or, it’s ignoring us. It doesn’t know we exist. Sick and recovering people live in separate worlds. The regular world is focused on living, and ours is focused on not dying. And sitting up here – inches away from death? That’s another third world entirely. It’s the edge, the in-between. Everything is fragile, and could change at the slightest breeze, a single soft push.

  “What are you thinking?” Sophia asks.

  “Deep intense thoughts. So deep. At least two indie songs worth of deep.”

  She laughs, and hums higher. A thrush starts chirping with her, or maybe at her.

  “What’s that on your arm?” She asks. I pull my sleeve down over it instantly.

  “Nothing.”

  “If it was nothing you wouldn’t wear long sleeves all the time.”

  “It’s nothing, honestly.”

  “Did you try to kill yourself?”

  There’s a beat. The thrush stops chirping.

  “No,” I say finally. “I’m crazy. Not stupid.”

  The silence returns with a vengeance. The weight of every world ever is on this roof, bearing down on the two girls sitting on the lip of it.

  “Have you ever had sex?” She asks. I abruptly start wobbling for no discernible reason. She grabs my arm and I gasp for air.

  “You really are trying to kill me!”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “But this isn’t answering my sort of direly important question about my amnesia and Jack!”

  “I had sex.” Sophia picks at her dress. “With Jack.”

  “That’s great!” I feel my throat tighten, and deep in the pit of my stomach something burbles. Perplexed at my sudden bodily reactions to her words, I do the smart thing and brush them off entirely. “I mean, good for you, really! I mean. Good! I hope it was good! You two are good! Together!”

  “Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she laughs.

  “Jealous? Uh, did you miss the part where Jack is a giant black hole in my brain instead of an actual person?”

  It hits me with the force of a dozen Godzillas breakdancing over the ruins of Tokyo.

  “Did I….did I –”

  “No! Oh no! Sorry, I didn’t mean to wind you up like that. I don’t think. Um. I don’t know what happened between you two for certain, but last I heard, you and Jack were engaged in a brutal, egotistic battle. Not sex.”

  “Sounds rad.”

  “He said you called it a war. Occasionally, ‘crusade’.”

  “He must’ve done something really shitty if I pulled out the medieval terminology.”

  “I don’t doubt he and you had some misunderstandings.” She nods. “He can be cold. Cruel, even. But he’s really not trying to be. He just ignores peoples’ feel
ings in favor of logic and rationality.”

  “Ugh.” I stick my tongue out. “One of those.”

  “He blackmailed you.”

  “That’s standard issue in a war.”

  “You planted weed in his locker and got him suspended.”

  “Jolly good.”

  “He kissed you.”

  I feel the blood drain out of my face and down to my feet.

  “Uh, yeah, no –”

  “Uh yeah yes,” she corrects. “Avery told me. I forgot to thank you, by the way. Even if Jack doesn’t visit as much with you around, Wren and Avery do. And it’s so nice to see them again. It’s been years. They’re feeling very guilty, you see.”

  “Wait, wait, hold on one flaming-ass second!” I get off the edge. “You’re telling me your boyfriend kissed me?”

  “I don’t know, did he?” She cocks her head to the side. “I trust Avery’s word, even if she is unforgiveable, but I trust your memory more. You should try to get it back. Then we’d both know the truth.”

  “If he kissed me, you should…you should just break up with him! He’s a scumbag! And don’t even talk to me again. I’m even more of a scumbag.”

  Sophia laughs, and gets off the edge, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. How could you know he had me? You were new, and he doesn’t talk about me a lot.”

  My skull suddenly throbs, the pain imploding along my forehead. I gasp and massage my temples as a jumble of memories come flooding back. Jack’s face, going soft when he talked about Sophia. A cigar box. A letter with her signature. His anger at me for snooping and trying to get to know Sophia - so palpable and cold I felt frozen down to my lungs. Something that happened in middle school. A baseball bat. A kiss. Someone kissing me (Jack?), and the realization he had Sophia ringing through my head the entire time.

  “Are you okay, Isis?” Sophia asks gently. I grip her hand and clasp its slender frailness between one of my own.

  “He talked about you,” I say. “I remember now. Jesus, he didn’t talk a lot about you, but when he did…he was so overprotective. So thorny. He wanted to make sure no one hurt you. He wanted to – he wanted to keep you safe. Once, I tried to read a letter by you, I mean, I broke into his house to do it, but it was with good intentions, I promise. He keeps them all in his Dad’s cigar box in the dresser. They’re all neat and you can tell he – he cares for those letters more than his life. And he found me reading one, and he was so mad, I thought he was going to literally axe me. Axe me a question. And that question was ‘do you want to die quickly or slowly’.”