I know my parents are angry at the police for not doing more to identify me. They could have saved them four years of anguish about not knowing my whereabouts. I can understand their frustration, but they try to keep it from me.
Everyone only tells me good things, like I can’t handle any bad news. They’re probably right, but it still doesn’t sit well. If only they knew what I thought I had been doing for four years, they would definitely think I was a case for the loony bin.
Looking out the window, I can recognize the houses now. We are on my block, only seconds away from pulling up at our house. My stomach feels nauseous. I don’t want anything to have changed but I know it had to. Nothing stays the same for four years, everything is always changing. It’s an inevitability I have to be prepared for, just like the truth of the last four years.
We pull into the driveway. The outside of the house is how I remembered it. But then again, I also remember standing across the street from it and watching my family hang missing persons posters on all the trees. One of those memories I know isn’t real so how can I be sure of the other?
“Finally home,” Mom says as she turns in her seat to look at me. I smile back, trying to put on a brave face. I’m terrified of going inside, I don’t know what I’m going to find there.
But I can’t avoid it. I try to tell myself I should be happy, I’m home for the first time in so long. This is where I wished I could be so many times. It might have only been a dream, but I know I wanted to come home. And here I am, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other just to make it through the front door.
“Your room is ready for you.” Mom takes my arm and guides me, like I might not remember my way around. I do, I remember it all, but things are different. It’s only subtle things, a changed picture here and there, a new couch, the kitchen walls have been painted. Just little things.
She takes me to my room, right in between my brothers’ bedrooms. They don’t know that I know, but they’ve been told to give me some space. They’re either hiding in their rooms or they’ve found a place to go for the morning. I don’t want them to feel like I’m an alien they can’t talk to, but I am grateful not to be overwhelmed with people.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my room. It’s exactly how I remember it, nothing in here has changed. The walls are still baby pink, clutter from photo frames and trinkets are on every available space, my bookcase is filled with all my favorite books. It’s just like I stepped out only a moment ago.
“You kept everything the same?” I ask, incredulous that it could be true.
“We always knew you’d come home,” Mom answers, her voice breaking on the last word. She’s holding back tears, but I’m not. I freely let them run down my cheeks. I’m home. Home. My home. This is where I belong.
I spin around and wrap my arms around my mother, holding her tighter than I ever have before. I don’t ever want to let her go again, I never want to leave these four walls.
“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.
Mom pats my back without saying anything. Another hand joins hers, one belonging to my father. We stay there for a long time, no-one willing to be the first to let go.
Eventually we must. My parents leave me to my own devices in the room. It’s very quiet in here, much more so than the busy hospital.
I sink into the bed, tired of lying around but not feeling like doing anything else. I guess I’ll have to enroll back in school soon, there will be a lot to catch up on. I wonder if I’ll have to start back in seventh grade with all the young kids? I guess they won’t let me just skip four grades.
Then everything will go back to normal. I might make some new friends, be busy with homework, and it would be like the last four years never happened. I will forget about my time travelling dream and Noah. It will all seem like a silly fantasy. I almost wish I could skip to that point now without having to go through all the grief. It would be nice if life had a fast forward button.
I stay in my room all day. The clothes that hang in my closet no longer fit me and definitely aren’t my style anymore. The same goes with the rows of shoes neatly lined up on the bottom. My old school textbooks are on my desk, I guess they’ll come in handy sometime.
Looking at all the posters of celebrities and bands on my walls, I wonder what has happened to them all. Have all the bands broken up? Are the movie stars still popular? They probably don’t look anything like the posters anymore. My room is like a time capsule now, anyone else would probably find it outdated.
By mid-afternoon I’m starting to get hungry. At least I don’t have to steal food to eat anymore. I have access to a kitchen where I’m sure my mother will make sure I eat to my heart’s content.
I leave the safety of my room, passing by my brother’s bedroom and head to the kitchen. As I approach, I can hear voices. My family are talking amongst themselves. I stop in the hallway when I hear my name. I press myself against the wall, straining to hear.
“We just have to be patient,” Mom says, with her usual sympathetic tone in her voice.
“But it’s weird, it’s like she’s a stranger. She’s different now,” my brother, James, moans. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Just act like she’s your sister, just like you used to. She’ll start to feel at home after a while.”
“Are we even sure it’s really her?” The question came from my other brother, Tony. I would like to know the answer too. I’m sure I’m really Ella Breeland, but I’m definitely not the girl I used to be.
“Of course it’s her,” Mom scolds him quickly. “But she’s been through a lot. Lying in a hospital bed without anyone knowing who she was, that must have been horrible.”
“She was asleep, she didn’t know it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Right now she just needs time to adjust. We’ll get our Ella back, give it time.”
A collective round of sighs comes from the group. Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore. I creep back to my room and close the door behind me. Curling up in the bed, I pull the covers to my chin. I don’t think I ever want to leave this space again.
I’m not sure what’s worse, having a family that no longer know me, or still loving someone that never really existed. I just want it all to go away.
Chapter 21
I feel awkward, like everyone is staring at me. It’s probably just in my imagination, but I can’t help it. I only let my mother talk me into going shopping with her because I didn’t have anything to wear. I was trying to squeeze into my underwear and clothes from when I was twelve and it just wasn’t working.
I need everything in the clothes department. I have to wear my mom’s shoes and they are too big. Team that with the too tight clothes and I look like a clown.
I should be relieved to finally be shopping, but I’m not. Everything has changed at the mall and I’m terrified of running into someone I used to know. I don’t want them to see me like this, they should remember me as a happy twelve year old. Not a moping sixteen year old.
“I think this is your size,” Mom says as she holds up a long sleeve shirt against me. It’s just plain white so it will do. I have no idea what the fashion is like now.
“Let’s just get it then,” I reply, eager to have the ordeal over and done with.
“No, you have to try it on. Why don’t you head for the change rooms and I’ll pick out some cute outfits for you?” She pushes me toward the little curtained rooms.
I go reluctantly. At least nobody will be able to see me in there. I can have a few moments where I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.
“Show me when you have it on.” Her voice travels through the curtain. Thankfully, we are the only ones in the change rooms.
The white top is fine but I still pull back the curtains to show her. She looks me up and down as she studies the fit. “You’re really going to need a better bra.”
“But the top, it fits, right?” I don’t roll my eyes, as much as I want to. Flashes of bei
ng in a change room and watching another mother and daughter do this same thing jump into my mind. I have to remind myself that it wasn’t real, it didn’t actually happen, my mind just made it up.
“The top fits. At least we know what size you are now.” She smiles as she hands me a mountain of clothes. “Now try these on. And I want to see every one of them.”
I take the clothes and start on the first one. As annoying as it is, it’s also kind of sweet. We used to go shopping all the time together, I really did miss it even if I was only dreaming. I’m happy to try on as many outfits as she wants—even if most of them are ugly.
After agreeing on a half dozen pieces of clothing, we head to the underwear department. That’s a bit more traumatic as she works out what size bra I need. I never realized there was such a science to it all. Everything I had worn in the last four years was stolen, it didn’t matter what size I was. But that wasn’t real, I have to keep reminding myself of that.
Next is pajamas and shoes, both requiring more sizing and trying on. I think my mother really enjoys dressing me up, like I’m a big Barbie doll or something. It’s sweet, but tiring.
Finally, we’re done with the shopping. I should be good to get dressed for a while now. I won’t have to squeeze into anything way too small.
“I just need to pop into the bathroom,” Mom announces as we walk through the mall. “Then we can get something to eat. How does that sound?”
I just smile, wanting to be out of here. I would much rather go straight home without having to spend time in the food court but I don’t want to disappoint her. I want to prove I’m still the daughter I once was, I think I need to prove that—if only to myself.
Holding all the bags, I wait outside the bathroom and read through the notice board. People are trying to sell their unwanted items, although why anyone would want them is beyond me. I also think they’re being very unrealistic about their prices. Two hundred dollars for a used armchair? They’re dreaming.
I move along and stop. I’m looking at a picture of myself—my twelve year old self. The words “Missing Person” flash at the top in big, bold letters. Even though I’ve seen this poster before, it’s different now. I know what happened now.
This poster is the exact reason why I didn’t want to leave my bedroom. Everybody knows that I was missing for four years. I’m a freak. I’m the girl that people whisper about when they see me. I’m the one nobody speaks to because they don’t know what to say. I’m that girl.
Suddenly, the poster is torn down in front of me. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” my mom apologizes. She scrunches up the poster and shoves it into her handbag. “I thought we got them all.”
I try to fight back the tears. It was just a poster, it didn’t mean anything. It was good they were looking for me. But terrible that they had to. Every time I think about how much pain I caused them, it’s like someone stabs me with a knife right through my heart. Sometimes it’s too much to bear.
“Come on, Ella, let’s get something to eat.” She walks away and I make my feet start moving too. It was just a poster, it was just a poster.
By the time we arrive at home, my nerves are shot. I crave to just retreat back to my bedroom and shut the world out. Unfortunately, I can’t be that lucky. As we pull into the drive, several news vans are parked outside. Cameras and microphones are pushed in front of us as we try to make it inside.
I freeze when one of the cameras is shoved into my face. The female reporter dressed impeccably in a gray suit starts barking questions at me.
“What was it like being in a coma for four years? Have things changed? How are you adjusting to life now? Are you angry at the driver who caused this?”
Warm hands clasp around my shoulders as my mother steers me inside. She doesn’t say anything to the journalists, she’s learning to tune them out. They’ve been here all week, ever since I arrived home. Everyone wants to talk to the girl who survived being run over and a four-year coma. It’s only out of morbid curiosity so they can be happy it didn’t happen to themselves. I have nothing to say to them.
Mom slams the door pointedly and locks it with the deadbolt—just to make sure they stay on the outside. I’m so glad she doesn’t make me talk to them. If I did, I would have to be so careful about not letting anything slip about what I dreamed about. One comment about time travelling and I’d be a laughing stock.
“Thank you for taking me shopping,” I say, picking up all my bags. “I really liked spending time with you.”
Mom wraps her arms around me. “I liked it too. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have you back. I missed you so much, Ella.”
“Me too.” I mean it too. I am happy to be back. It’s just like Mom told my brothers, I need time to adjust. Surely time will heal everything eventually.
I take my shopping into my room and close the door. I put away my new clothes slowly, letting the domestic task fill my mind so nothing else has to.
I pack up all the items that no longer fit so they can be donated to charity. There is no use hanging onto them, it’s not like I’ll ever wear them again. I don’t have a little sister I can pass them onto so someone may as well have them.
The afternoon passes quickly enough and dinner goes by without incident. Mom doesn’t mention the missing person poster and neither do I. I don’t really want to have a discussion about it, nobody would understand why it upset me so much.
After the plates have been cleared, I sit with my family in the living room. I’m trying to be more social and spend more time with them, even if it is in a comfortable silence. I want them to see I’m making an effort, that I can be my old self again.
My father flicks on the news and we all watch the day’s events intently. Even though I haven’t seen the news in four years, it doesn’t seem like much changed. People still kill people, car accidents still happen, and politicians still sling mud at each other. Human nature doesn’t seem to ever change.
My ears prick up when they mention a person waking up after years of being in a coma. I don’t know how they can run a story on me when I didn’t even say anything to them. What are they going to show? My mom and I pulling up in our car and getting out? It’s hardly newsworthy.
I wait for the story with trepidation. I am probably going to look terrible in my little girl clothes. It’s not exactly how I want to be re-introduced to the world. A part of me wants to change the channel but I know I have to see it. It’s better to know than always wonder, right?
The story starts off in a hospital but it’s not the hospital I was in. The blankets are a different color, so are the walls. Was there seriously another person who was in a coma? Or have they just completely got the facts wrong?
“We’re here today with a miracle survivor,” the male reporter starts. “After being in a coma and never expected to wake up, today we witnessed a miracle.”
A middle-aged man and woman appear on the screen, their eyes red ringed from crying. “We are so happy to have our baby back. We always thought he would wake up and now it’s happened. We’re just overjoyed.”
The camera pans from the parents to the patient in the hospital bed. My heart stops beating when I see him for the first time. I don’t believe my eyes, I’m sure they’re playing tricks on me. They can’t be right.
Noah stares back at me through the camera. He’s pale and thin but it’s definitely him. It’s my Noah, the one that I completely made up.
I grab the remote control and turn up the volume so I can hear him clearly. He sounds like Noah, but it has to be my ears playing a joke on me. I made him up, he’s not supposed to exist.
“It’s such a miracle,” his father continues. “With all his injuries, they told us he would never wake up. They said we should turn off the life support. I am so thankful we didn’t. Not now, not when we have our son back.”
His parents look back at him proudly, like they can barely believe it either. That makes all of us.
“Is something the matter?�
� Dad asks. I probably look crazy staring at the television screen with my eyeballs practically popping out of my head. I give him the remote control back, trying to calm down.
“No, it’s fine,” I reply, trying to stop my voice from shaking. It can’t be the Noah I knew. I probably saw him somewhere and my subconscious brought his image into my dreams. It did have four years to fill, it probably dragged up any iota of a memory it could to incorporate into my dreams.
The news program moves onto the weather but it keeps replaying in my mind. The boy looked exactly like Noah. It sounded exactly like Noah. But I know it couldn’t be.
I can’t get him out of my head, I have to do something. I can’t sit here like there is nothing wrong. I need to go to the hospital. I need to see for myself that he’s not my Noah. Once I see he doesn’t know who I am, I will be able to get over it. I can move on, knowing my mind is just playing tricks on me.
I suddenly stand. “I need to go to the hospital,” I declare. Everyone looks at me, a moment of concern passing over my parents’ faces.
“Why, honey, are you not feeling well?” Mom asks. I don’t even bother lying, it will take up too much precious time. I have to get to the hospital and every second that passes just makes it even more urgent.
“That boy, I know him. Or at least I did. I need to get there and see him.”
“We can go tomorrow.”
“No, I need to go now. Please, can you take me now?” I stare at them, my eyes wide open as they silently plead for a lift. I don’t know what else I can do to convince them. “Please? Seriously, I need to see him. It can’t wait until tomorrow.”
They exchange a glance, they probably think I don’t notice. My brothers are both staring at me like I’m crazy. At this point, I think they’re justified. Even I think I’m going crazy, if I’m not there already.
Perfectly Timed Page 18
