"Yes, they're the pennies," Abuela would explain, endlessly patient. "You need ten..."
I'd sit there with my trig homework while Abuela would work through the concept of tens and ones with my mom over and over until it sunk in. Mom had a master's degree but couldn't pass a third grader's mid-term math test. For years when I walked in the kitchen and saw those coins, I headed straight for my room to avoid helping her count pennies again.
And today she knew calculus. Heck, I didn't even know calculus.
"How did this happen?"
"They don't know," he said with a shrug. "She just woke up late last night and ..."
"Last night? Why didn't anyone call me?"
"They tried, but your mother said she couldn't reach your cell phone and couldn't find the number for this place."
Damn. I thought of my cell phone sitting on the passenger seat of my car. The battery was dead, and I didn't have time yesterday to hook it up to the charger. We'd gone out to dinner with the team last night, and since I didn't have a landline in my apartment, there was no other phone to reach me at other than work. I didn't think it mattered; no one called me except on the weekends. It was one of the conditions Abuela had laid down when I moved away.
Abuela probably forgot to write down the number to the ranch when I'd given it her a month ago during our weekly update. I was sure she figured that as long as she had my cell phone she could reach me anytime.
Mr. Calderon continued. "By then your mother had called me. Antonia's doctor came by as well. It was midnight before we even realized we hadn't reached you yet. The doctors want to run a few tests." He stopped cold, looking away.
I could feel my heart drop. "What is it?"
"Well," he leaned back in the chair. "They, the doctors—a neurologist, Valencia? Do you know him?"
I knew who Valencia was. He'd been taking care of my mother for years. Even did a paper on her – A Life Lost in TBI. "Yes."
He hurried on. "They don't have any idea how long this will last. It could be another day or a few weeks."
"Not..." I couldn't say the word I really wanted to use. I couldn't say forever. "Not longer?"
He closed his eyes as if my words were exactly what he'd been avoiding thinking himself. When he looked at me again, he looked grim.
"I don't want to mislead you," he said. "It's most likely a temporary situation. Valencia said he's only heard of three cases where there was some lingering increase in memory retention. He even did a paper on it."
He opened his eyes, meeting mine directly. I noticed they were the exact brown of a tarnished penny.
"You need to get back to El Paso right now, Kati. Or you may lose the opportunity to see her, the real Antonia."
"But why didn't you call? Why didn't Abuela call? You could have looked it up; you could have found it on the Internet. We've got a huge web page."
"Because your mother insisted. She was practically hysterical. After the cell phone didn't work she was beside herself. She said no more calls. I was to retrieve you myself, in person." He clapped his hands on his legs and stood up, brushing off non-existent dust. "It's a short flight. I've booked you on the same one I'm taking back to El Paso. It leaves in four hours. We can be there in time for dinner."
Mr. Calderon and I agreed on a time to meet at the airport, and I explained the situation to my boss, Lisa. We agreed that Mike could handle the last few hours of the team, and since there wasn't another group for a few days, they'd manage without me.
"We'll need you by Friday, though," she said, looking over her glasses. "Mike is good, but..."
"I know, I know," Mike was a good guy, but his relentless enthusiasm chafed the corporate types after a few hours. The next team on the calendar was a group of CPAs. It would be like tossing a cheerleader into a funeral procession.
Pilar offered to help me pack and drop me off at the airport in San Antonio, a good forty minutes away; I took her up on it.
As I walked to my car, I thought of the separation Abuela had insisted on. "You need to have space, Kati," she said. "You need to have time to make friends, meet people. If we're calling you every minute you might as well be here." She shut my door on the car, her old Subaru that she gave me as a going-away present.
I rolled down the window and leaned out. "I just don't know, I don't know if I should leave, Abuela. What if you need me? What if something happens?"
She reached through the window, her weathered hand as strong as the cottonwood in the backyard. White seeds from the tree were falling everywhere around us, and I knew I'd find them in the car for days afterward. "Kati. What could happen? Besides, I can always call you."
Mom came out of the house with a lunch bag. She wiped away a tear from my face. "Kati. I love ya, ma little Kati." She held my hand against her cheek, then turned it over, kissing my palm intently. "You might need that later," she said, beaming as she closed my fingers into a gentle fist. I placed my hand on my heart, opening my fist slowly.
"I'll save it right here."
I drove off from them both, watching them getting smaller and smaller as I headed to my first apartment, first new city, first job away from home.
"So, who is this guy?" Pilar was facing me in the passenger seat as we drove to the apartment. She had a penetrating, honest gaze, one I wanted to meet even though I was driving. That was the thing with Pilar. Her intensity drew you, compelled you to talk, open up before you even realized it. She already knew everything about me and we'd only worked together for a couple of months. I think I'd managed to keep the name of my first dog to myself, but it was only a matter of time.
I chewed my lip. "He says he's mom's lawyer from years ago."
"Really? He looks like a lawyer." She mulled the idea over, her square jaw tightening and loosening. "Have you called home yet?"
I pointed to my phone, plugged into the cigarette lighter, blinking as it charged. "I'm giving it five minutes. Besides I can't get a decent signal on this road. I need to wait till I get to 281." That was the problem with the Hill Country. It was brutal on cell service. I had been here three months and was still identifying all the dead zones.
We drove in silence for a mile, slipping over the rolling waves and curves. Cedar and oaks lined the roadway, scrawny branches poking through barbed wire and cedar post fences. My first week here I'd been horrified. Coming from the desert, the endless stands of twisted trees and scrub felt oppressive as if every branch was grabbing for my legs and arms like a haunted forest. I missed the wide-open space of home, the sparseness and seriousness of the land that carefully measured out its plant life. I longed for the mighty embrace of the mountains that circled El Paso like big brothers protecting their little sister.
So far, I was growing to find some comfort in the hills, these very distant cousins to the mountains of my home. My old home.
"So," she said quietly. "What do you think she'll be like?"
I felt a cold dread fill my chest and took a deep breath. Who was she now? And how long would it last? I swallowed hard. No crying, Kati. "I have no idea."
"Do you even remember? I mean, do you remember what she used to be like? You were like, nine, right?"
"Ten," I said. Memories of the tall, fast-moving woman came to my mind, her eyes burning with intelligence and focus. She walked everywhere with such certainty that when we arrived somewhere early and doors were still closed, I was sure their clocks were wrong. She was strong and relentless, the kind of person you could see crashing through high seas and arriving on the other shore ready to conquer the world.
She had scared the hell out of me.
"I don't remember much," I said, pretending to concentrate on an upcoming curve. After Mom's accident, I stopped being caught up in her wake because suddenly there was no wake. She was stopped dead in the water. The waves smoothed, the roar of her engine was gone and all that was left was a confused silence where our family floated idly and slowly tried to find a new way to be together.
Pilar looked at me, he
r dark eyes seeing right through me, but she didn't say a word. That, I thought, should be the definition of a true friend. Knowing when to let silence fill the air.
A minute later, we hit 281 and I reached for the phone to call home. Then everything went black.
Chapter 4
"Right there. See? She moved. Call the doctor."
I could hear her talking, but she must have been in another room or across the hall. I felt a tingle on my hand, fingers slipping into my palm. I instinctively closed my hand around those fingers, tried to hold on.
"Oh my God, Mother! Did you see that? Katarina? Can you hear me?"
Mom? Is that you?
I couldn't form the words, couldn't open my eyes. It was too much, too much to do. I tried to squeeze her hand, it must have been her hand.
Don't let me go, Mom. Don't let me go.
There was a sob, a flurry of words, then as I drifted away, waves slowly dissolved the voices in a hissing foam that sent me back to sleep.
She brushed my hair away from my face. Her fingers were cold. They always keep hospitals so cold. She was here, though. I recognized the way she traced my eyebrows, running a slow, gentle line down my cheek. She used to do that when I was little, when I was sick.
I could hear her humming, she always had such a beautiful voice, but I couldn't quite figure out the tune. Then I heard a click and she began talking to someone. Or maybe not to someone. Maybe to me. But I couldn't hear the words, they blended into a murmur, thick and long, tangling with the ticking sounds of machines, the whisper of the air conditioner. Still, I felt safe. She was here, watching over me.
Wherever here was.
Hurts. That hurts.
"Kati? Are you okay? Do you want me to call the nurse, Kati?"
I tried to move my head. Oof. No, not just that hurts. Everything hurts. I groaned again, trying to open my eyes. I heard a chair creak, the clicking of heels on a floor.
"Antonia! She's waking up! Come here!"
I saw Abuela leaning over me, waving at someone off to the side. I tried to speak, but my throat wouldn't cooperate.
"Katarina?" My mom came into focus. It was her, wasn't it? She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I squeezed back.
"Oh, Katarina. You're back."
Her voice. Something was wrong with her voice. And why was she calling me that? She hadn't called me Katarina in a dozen years.
"Wh...where?" I tried to speak, but the sound was raspy.
"I'll get you some water," Abuela rushed over to a table, returning with a tall plastic tumbler and straw.
"You're in the hospital," Mom said, tears flowing down her face.
Something was different. She was different. There was a ferocity in her eyes, a fever bright intelligence, primal and intense. It was as if she were gathering in every detail of my face, every line. I closed my own eyes for a moment, feeling the dull pounding at my temples.
Mom kept talking. "You were in an accident. You've been here for three days. But you're going to be fine. A little bruised and battered, but you'll be fine."
Three days? I opened my eyes again and tried to think.
In quick flashes I remembered a man jumping from a wooden tower, a woman running to embrace him on the ground, then Pilar and Mike, wrapping the ropes up, Pilar looking at me with concern as I walked to the lodge. I saw Pilar asking me about my mother, her intense gray eyes diving beneath the surface of our conversation and uncovering the quiet truths under the layers of self-deceit. I remembered Pilar looking away from me, looking out the other window graciously, understanding that I had grown uncomfortable. I drove over the hill and bend in the road, letting the silence cool my nerves. I had leaned forward to grab the phone. Then...
Pilar. She was in the car.
I looked at Abuela, not wanting to ask the question. I shook my head, fighting as tears blurred the edges of the room.
"Pilar?" I croaked.
"She's fine, she's doing fine." My mother's voice cut across the bed.
Abuela turned away, heading back to the table. Pilar was not fine.
I closed my eyes, then felt Mom squeeze my hand. "I knew you'd be all right. I knew it. They are so much better at all this now. So much more sophisticated."
I stared at her, trying to understand what was happening, why she seemed so different. She looked nervous, but held my gaze, waiting for me. Then I realized what it was. Her accent. She'd lost her accent.
About a year after the accident, her accident, a sweet southern accent crept into her voice little by little. By my thirteenth birthday, she sounded like she'd walked off the set of the Country Music Awards. I got so used to it that it had long since stopped being strange. It was just another weird thing about Antonia, another in a very long list.
Mr. Calderon. His face flashed in my mind, sitting in the leather chair, talking about Antonia, Antonia. 'She's back,' he had said.
This was the Antonia he was talking about.
"Mom?"
She gently brushed my hair away from my forehead. "It's me, Katarina. It's Mom." She laughed, the sound was thin as fishing line. "Did you miss me?"
"Antonia!" Abuela admonished.
Mom straightened, shooting a look at Abuela I had never, ever seen. It was exasperation. "I'm kidding, Mother."
But we all knew she wasn't. A doctor came in with a nurse hot on her heels, sparing us any more questions or, more importantly, answers.
Chapter 5
Twelve years ago, I sat in my room for a month after Mom came home from the hospital. I refused to go to school, refused to go outside, refused to do anything. Abuela had moved into our spare bedroom temporarily as she met with the physical therapists, the cognitive therapists, the social workers, and a parade of strangers coming in to figure out what could be rebuilt in my mother's head and what was gone forever.
Gradually, they created a routine for Mom, who would then forget it all by the next morning and they'd have to start from scratch again every morning.
"Your name is Antonia."
"Antonia?"
"Yes. This is your house. Let me show you where the bathroom is."
Abuela would lead her to the bathroom, showing her how to brush her teeth, her hair, lord knows what else.
For those first few months, we'd meet at breakfast, introduced like we were distant cousins at a family reunion.
"Antonia, this is Kati."
"Hello, Kati." Mom would beam a warm smile at me, no recognition in her eyes, just a polite acceptance of my name, as she politely accepted the names of everything. Toothbrush. Lipstick. Refrigerator. Kati.
Abuela would lean closer to her, emphasizing the words. "She's your daughter."
Mom's eyes would grow wide.
"Hi, Mom." I'd say, and look down at my cereal, the o's swelling in too much milk because Abuela didn't know that I didn't like milk with my cereal. I liked them dry in the bowl, milk in a glass.
Mom watched me eat like a traveler watches people when they're in a new country, careful not to mistakenly pick up the wrong utensil. She'd smile at Abuela and me, proud of her accomplishment.
I'd walk away from the table feeling like I was walking off a stage, where everything was paper thin and fake. The only problem was there was nothing real waiting in the wings.
After three weeks of this, Abuela talked about us moving into her house. They'd figured out that Mom was in no shape to take care of herself, let alone me. Everything was collapsing. It was as if the accident hadn't just knocked away Mom's life, it had crumbled at the foundation that supported all our lives, and now the structures all around us were crashing down as well.
I had sat on the backyard porch swing, kicking at the deck with my stained tennies, sitting on my hands. The back door slammed, but I didn't look up. I felt one of the dozens of strangers sit down next to me, saw her white shoes, worn on the edges. Margie.
Margie was my favorite of all the therapists. She was the same age as my mother and would often sit on the porch with me after a
long cognitive therapy session. She had lived in El Paso all her life and her family was from Socorro where the cotton farms knelt at the dry lips of the canals. She had swath of freckles across her nose, a gift from her Irish grandfather, she said, and wore bright red sneakers. She always wore big hoop earrings that bobbed when she talked.
Margie told me stories about how, when she was thirteen, she used to drive down the caliche roads, kicking up dust tails in her dad's Impala. "Thank God they made cars out of metal in those days," she'd said, whispering to me as if she might still get in trouble. "Otherwise I'd have gone in the canal for sure. My new car, that little Toyota? It would have lost a muffler on the first turn," she scoffed.
In the beginning, all the sessions with Mom were long as Margie and the other therapists methodically drew a map of what exactly had been lost inside Mom's head. I envisioned countries colored in light colors, like the ability to walk, the names of her favorite salsa bands, and the memory of her Christmas at the coast when she was five. Within the borders of each country were huge black holes. And at the edges of the countries furthest to the north, where our life used to be, were the words Beyond This There Be Dragons etched in long slanting strokes.
"Aye, niña. It won't be like this forever, Kati," Margie had said, her voice low and steady, a little lilt of Spanish flowing in every word, much like it was with Abuela. "Right now is the worst of it. But your mother is very bright and she's fighting this. She's fighting to get back. In time, she'll keep hold of these things we keep talking about. Not everything, but some things."
"Like me?" I said miserably.
She put her arm around me and held me close. I could smell the almond scent in her hair that curled around her shoulders like a throw. "Yes, Kati. Especially you." She leaned back and took my face in her hands. "We have to build bridges in her mind. New bridges, you see? Brick by brick, plank by plank. We won't be able to build them for everything, but the things that really matter, you'll see, those we'll be able to build."
When I Knew You Page 2
