Before You Were Mine

by Heidi Lowe

  "Abigail, it doesn't matter how many pictures you see of yourself, memory doesn't work like that. You can't jog it, you'll only frustrate yourself trying." His tone was sympathetic, more so now that we had become somewhat friends, colleagues. I'd told him all about the dreams, about James coming to find me, never downplaying the gravity of the situation.

  "Why do I remember my mother but nothing else?" He was right about the frustration. Forcing myself had not only proven impossible, I'd given myself a number of headaches in the process.

  "It's possible that you stored those memories in a different place, for obvious reasons. And with this type of amnesia, the farthest memories are often the first to return."

  He'd been no help at all, but I thanked him for his time anyway, once he'd given me the all clear. Perfect health...apart from the big, gaping hole in my memory.

  "Are you coming back to work any time soon?" he asked as he walked me to the door of his office. "We miss having you around here."

  He must have known the answer even before he asked, and had likely said those words to make me feel better, or to show me that I still had options. A married man himself, he was well aware of the sanctity of marriage, and that eventually, no matter how much of a life I'd built for myself here in Oakwood, I would have to return to Seattle...with my husband. So really there were no other options.

  I took my time leaving, took in my old workplace and one-time home. The overwhelming majority of my memories here were good ones, which, ironically, made the moment more bittersweet. Here, I'd fallen in love. I didn't know it at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight I could see it clearly now. The beautiful blonde nurse with the heart of gold, whose smile had healing properties. I recalled, as I loitered in the corridor, how elated I'd been at the thought of seeing her every day, of hearing her infectious laugh. I'd fallen for her long before I was even aware of it.

  It never took long for me to lose myself in the reminiscence, get swept away by happier, easier times. A time when she hadn't betrayed me; a time before I was someone's wife.

  Despite all of that, my heart ached like crazy. Why the heck else was I wandering aimlessly around the hospital? On the off chance that she might be there, of course. And although I couldn't bear to see her, I couldn't bear not seeing her.

  "Thought we'd never see you again," came a voice behind me. Not the one I was hoping for, though it relieved me to see Nurse Misery standing there. She gave me the once-over, twice, as though she'd never seen anyone of my species before; as though we'd never once been coworkers.

  "I bet that pleased you," I hit back.

  She smirked. "It's been a lot quieter, more peaceful around here, I'm not going to lie." She looked at me, waiting for me to speak, to explain the reason for my visit, or my lingering. When I didn't speak, she said, "If you're looking for Tiffany, she's not here. It's her birthday, she's taken the day off."

  "I wasn't," I said tartly. With everything that was going on I'd completely forgotten about Tiffany's thirty-fifth birthday.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, as if trying to figure me out. "Trouble in paradise?" Why did I hear a hint of amusement in her voice when she said that?

  "Goodbye," was my response, before I turned on my heel and left.

  The simple fact that Delores had chosen my door to meow outside told me that Mrs Howlett hadn't returned home from her salsa class (she'd taken it up as a dare from me, and had fallen in love with the Venezuelan dance instructor, so kept going). Delores hadn't been fed for the evening, and I was the only one around to pester.

  I sighed when I opened my door and she came rushing in, before proceeding to stroke herself against my legs, meowing incessantly.

  "Come on then," I said with a sigh. "Though you could stand to lose a bit of weight."

  She led the way, stopping every now and then to make sure I was still following her, and hadn't changed my mind about feeding her.

  For a fat cat she sure was spry, full of energy, weaving around me as I descended the stairs. I started chuckling.

  "Hey, are you trying to make me trip or something?"

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than I accidentally stepped on her tail, sending her into vicious defense mode, causing her to claw at my ankles.

  So sharp was her attack, so unexpected, that I lost my balance and went tumbling down the remaining eight steps. The impact of my head hitting the floor made me black out.

  "Your mother would want you to play it at the funeral. It was her favorite song."

  "Well she's dead, and I'm never playing it again. Never playing anything again."

  "I promise to love you forever, until the day I die. Through sickness, through health, through anger, through wealth..."

  "It's not going to kill you, for God's sake! What happened to your mother was rare, all right. You're not sick, and you're not just going to drop dead because there's a bit of soil on our floor."

  I woke to meowing and Delores's nose in my face. My head hurt, the ankle where she'd scratched me stung. I clambered to my feet, sat on the step to gather my thoughts, all twenty thousand of them. It took me a while to realize I was crying.

  "I suppose I'd better feed you," I said to a whining Delores, who'd forgiven me for stepping on her tail. "And thank you."

  I scooped a generous helping of slushy, smelly cat food into her bowl, topped up her water bowl, then dashed from that house as fast as I could, one thing on my mind: I wanted to see my husband, the love of my life.

  He'd barely opened the door before I dived into his arms, smashed my lips to his.

  "I remember," I said, tearful and thankful. "I remember everything."

  He said nothing, let his own tears fall and speak for him. Then he lifted me into his arms and carried me to his room.

  Our love-making was as passionate as I remembered it, much to my surprise. His body, his touch, no longer felt alien. Nothing had changed in that respect. Though something had, I just couldn't put my finger on what it was.

  "Are you ready to come home now?" he asked me several hours later, while we were still curled up in bed, in each other's arms.

  "Yes, take me home."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "In the afternoon. There's something I have to do first."

  He looked at me, his expression indecipherable, but said nothing. Did he know what that something was? Or who?

  Orion greeted me with a warm smile as soon as I snuck into his room at Oakwood General. Hey Arnold! was playing on the TV, which he muted when I sat down by his bed.

  "Hey, champ," I said, giving him a high five, taking care not to hit too hard and harm him. His skin didn't look as pallid as it usually did, and he seemed to have a little more energy than normal.

  "Where have you been? You've missed all the fun." He proceeded to tell me all the hospital highlights, give me the scoop on the good gossip. It was kind of our thing. He liked filling me in on what I'd missed on my days off.

  "Oh, and the best news of all. Bet you can't guess."

  "Let's see... Did Nurse Misery grow a pair of horns?"

  He chuckled. "You mean another pair? No, even better than that." When he got tired of waiting for me to guess, he burst out with it: "They found a matching donor for me!"

  As if I wasn't already in a tearful mood, this sent me over the edge. I threw my arms around him, so filled with joy. "That is the best news I've heard in a long time."

  "It means that we can go skating like you promised."

  I smiled in sadness, nodded but couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth. Couldn't tell him that I was going home, to Seattle, and I wouldn't be back. I couldn't tell him, and I still had no idea how I was going to tell Tiffany.

  "When are you coming back to work? It's no fun without you. Everyone misses your music."

  I shrugged. "I just need some time. Once I figure everything out, I'll be back with a medley of new tunes."

  "We'll hold you to that."

  My stomach twisted in knots when I heard that voi
ce. My heart slammed against my chest. When I spun around to see her, my heart broke in two. I could feel it tearing at the seams, one piece for James, and one for Tiffany.

  It was a big mistake going there, I realized that as soon as I saw her. I should have just left without a word, and sent a letter once I'd settled back into my old life. Cowardly though that would have been, I would have spared us both the heartache of a goodbye.

  "Do you have a minute?"

  Her eyes were distrustful, like she knew why I'd come – to step all over her heart. She nodded, waited for me to say farewell to Orion, to wish him good luck with the surgery, then she led the way. We didn't speak to each other until we were outside.

  "Happy belated birthday. I know I should have called yesterday, but...well..."

  She turned to me, eyes filled with hurt, "You got your memory back, didn't you?"

  "How did you know?"

  She laughed without humor. "Because you're different. I can feel it."

  "I'm still the same."

  "No you're not. You're Lara Murray, isn't that what you said? Straight, married Lara Murray, with the perfect suburban life, the cliche, boring office job. Happy, heterosexual Lara."

  "Stop it, this doesn't suit you."

  She opened her mouth to say something else completely out of character, but shut it again, no doubt agreeing that this vexed, petty behavior was so not like her.

  "And for the record, before you, there was another woman. First year of college. We dated for six months." Amanda and I had lasted just half a year before she left to study in the Netherlands. She'd meant the world to me. My first girlfriend, but not the first woman I'd had feelings for. I'd been bisexual long before Tiffany, or Amanda.

  "Well at least she had you longer than I did. Because you're here to tell me that you're leaving, right?"

  I lowered my head, looked at the floor, couldn't look her in the eye.

  "That's what I thought. Well have a nice life...Lara."

  She went to walk away, but I seized her by the arm. "What am I supposed to do? He's my husband. I have a life in Seattle."

  "And you don't have one here?" she screamed, yanking her arm out of my grip. "All that crap you told me about this being your home, what was that? Now who's the liar?"

  "I'm sorry," I said, bawling my eyes out. She didn't understand that leaving hurt me as much as it hurt her. "This is an impossible decision."

  "Obviously not, because you've already made it." And now she was crying, despite her best efforts to keep the tears at bay. "Why would you do this here, when I'm on my shift? How am I supposed to go back in there looking like this? Broken like this?"

  "I'm sorry." I had no more words for her, nothing that could ever make her feel better. Telling her I loved her would only have made matters worse.

  She wiped her face with the palm of her hand, sniffed, then steeled herself. "So am I." She just looked at me, disappointed, heartbroken, then finally turned and headed back inside, without looking back.

  Outside I wept alone, devastated that those were her final, parting words to me.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The computer screen had been spotless after the first wipe; but after the fourth time over with a cloth, I'd begun adding dust to it!

  "Lara, come on, your screen can wait until Monday morning, I promise," Rachel said when she burst into my office.

  "It really can't," I insisted, not taking my eyes off the screen. "Just go ahead without me. I'll see you down there." I felt her eyes on me, that silent concern I'd been getting from everyone since my big return. I looked up, forced a smile of reassurance. "Really."

  "All right. There'll be a glass of wine with your name on it. And don't take too long, either, or it might be gone."

  I dropped the cloth, slumped into my chair, and let out the biggest sigh. In brief moments of clarity, like now, it was easy for me to see how out of hand the cleaning had gotten.

  I yanked open the drawer of my desk and took out a pill bottle. First prescribed to me two months ago, a week after I'd returned. I'd finally taken James's advice to seek help, talk to someone. These pills were the result of said talk.

  I opened the bottle, then closed it again, not taking a single pill out. The bottle was still completely full, and I had every intention of keeping it that way, unbeknown to James. It meant pretending to be sane, not to freak out as much at the sight of mess. I would have done anything not to be doped up on anxiety medication. He wouldn't have understood.

  Medication couldn't fix me.

  I spent another fifteen minutes tidying my desk and office, disregarding the fact that everyone else in the building had already started their weekend, and were throwing back drinks in their usual spot. Not that I'd ever been a diehard bar goer, but since coming back, I'd found the whole Friday drinking thing to be a vapid waste of time. The thought of having to use the filthy, insalubrious restroom made me break out in hives!

  Satisfied with the state of the office, I went to leave, but stopped. My eyes drifted to the phone. Just contemplating doing it, making the call I'd been promising to make for eight long weeks, gave me goosebumps, made my stomach twist into knots.

  I just wanted to hear her voice, that was all. I wouldn't speak, I'd hang up long before I could let any words out. That way I would spare her the pain, keep it to myself.

  Her number was memorized. I'd dialed it so many times when we were together, a couple of times a day, even when I had nothing to say. And then, an hour later, after talking about every ridiculous thing that came to our heads, neither of us wanted to hang up first.

  I couldn't laugh at those memories without crying about them too. I'd never missed anyone like I missed Tiffany. And James didn't know it, but I attributed my deteriorating condition to leaving her, losing her.

  I chickened out before she picked up, and slammed the phone down hurriedly, trembling. No, I'd made my bed and now I had to lie in it...without her. Calling her was selfish; I'd already caused her enough pain.

  "I didn't think I'd see you in here again, Bella," a voice behind me said, as I ordered a drink at the crowded bar.

  I spun around to see James standing there, suited and booted, sporting a new buzz cut.

  "I come here every Friday, and you see me every time," I said, very little enthusiasm to play our game. Bella the Bitch would have to do tonight.

  "Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Already ordered one. Thanks anyway."

  He frowned at me. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Do we have to do this tonight?" This was me talking, Lara. I didn't have the heart to tell him the game had lost its appeal since I'd actually lived this – spent several months living as another person...and subsequently falling in love with someone else.

  "No, of course not." He looked disappointed. "Are you all right? How was work?"

  "Uneventful. And I'm fine."

  He saw my eyes dart to a sticky patch on the bar counter.

  "Have you taken your medication?" he said in a whisper.

  Pulling my eyes away from it and trying to pretend it wasn't there, I thought I would explode. I forced a smile, nodded quickly, steadied my breathing before he realized something was up. "Every day," I lied. "Actually, I'm feeling a little under the weather. Can we leave?"

  "Sure, if that's what you want."

  We were about to leave, head home, when something stopped me. A quiet lull fell across the bar as the music started. In the corner of the room, an old man sat at a baby grand piano, an instrument I'd never noticed in the bar in all the years I'd frequented the place.

  I became hypnotized by the melody – Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight, played smoothly and beautifully, as though he had nowhere else in the world to be but here, playing this song.

  Once upon a time, the sound of the piano, even the sight of it, had filled me with dread, transporting me back to the most agonizing time of my life – losing my mother. Hence why I'd stayed away from it as long as I had. Now, those notes held a different me
aning for me, transporting me back to one of my happiest times. Absent the memory of my mother's passing, absent the OCD, but most importantly, it reminded me of Tiffany.

  Instead of wanting to flee, the music drew me closer. I pushed my way through the crowd, to the pianist. I waited until the song and applause were over before I approached him.

  "Do you mind if I play something?"

  He's smile was almost toothless, but kind. "Go right ahead, hun."

  To an audience of my peers, people who'd known me for years, I gave the performance of my life to cheers and whistles of encouragement. To my friends and coworkers of six years, this was the first time they'd ever heard me play. I knew I would have to give them an explanation once it was over. An explanation about why I'd kept my piano playing skills a secret, and where the song had come from. The former, I could tell them; the latter I had to keep to myself. For James's sake. It would have been wholly disrespectful to tell the world that the song I'd played, the one they loved, had been composed in the bed of my female lover, shortly after having made love to her. It was Tiffany's song, and I was sharing it with the world.

  James didn't speak all the way home in the taxi. And when we got in, he stormed up the stairs without saying anything to me. I made myself a coffee before I joined him in our bedroom.

  I watched him undress angrily, refusing to look at me. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost reach out and touch it.

  "You made me look a fool out there, I hope you know that," he said moments later.

  "How?" I was stripping down to my underwear. Usually he liked watching, but tonight his fury trumped his desire.

  "Playing like that in front of everyone. Playing that song."

  "What was wrong with the song?"

  "Don't play dumb, Lara. I know who you wrote that song for."

  I opened my mouth to lie, to assure him that I'd written it for no one, but I didn't have the energy to keep up the pretense.