When I Knew You

by Desireé Prosapio

  Margie was right. And wrong.

  Maps only show the outlines of place. The streets, but not the people who live there. The mountains, but not the smell of the yucca in bloom. The border, but not the children who swarm the bridges between countries, selling candy to tourists waiting to get across.

  The map of my mom's mind was as shallow a dinner plate. She couldn't remember anything for more than a week if it wasn't reinforced. She couldn't learn to read. But these were the smallest things, sand on the shore of the ocean. In the deeper waters of her mind, the change was total. Mom had gone from a forceful, impatient, and (even her friends would say) unpleasant woman, to a sweet, kind-hearted child. She wasn't merely a woman who had lost her memory and the ability to read. She wasn't even close to being the same person anymore.

  In that first year, she did begin to hold onto some things. She learned the basics, remembered who I was, as long as I saw her every day, managed to cook simple meals. She even began to act like a mom in little ways, worrying about me, asking about school. But the woman who could do the Sunday crossword in pen and silence a room with a look—that woman was gone.

  After that year, my mom became Antonia to me. I liked to think it was easier on both of us when I started calling her Antonia, even though I could tell it made Abuela unhappy.

  The terrible thing, the bit I never said out loud, was that in a way, after a couple of years, I didn't think this was all bad. The pressure Mom had put on me for years to do more at school, more at home, more everywhere...that pressure was gone. I had choices I'd never had before: freedom to pick my after school activities, my clothes, opt to have cookies after dinner. Even Pilot was allowed to sleep on my bed, his orange fur establishing a permanent rust-colored circle on my comforter no matter how often I used the lint brush. It was like getting away with a whole host of crimes because no one even knew they were crimes. It definitely had its upside.

  I felt guilty about even thinking this way. My mother had effectively lost her life while I had gained another one. I kept my thoughts to myself as we worked our way through a new world.

  "Katarina."

  Mom?

  "Katarina, I don't know how much longer... Damn it, I'm losing, losing again." I heard her sniffing quietly, but no matter what I did I couldn't pry my eyes open. She was touching my hand and I tried to squeeze it, to let her know that I could hear her. But she moved her hand away too quickly, to my face, my hair, my shoulder.

  "I just want you to know that I love you."

  I heard a brief, soft thumping, the sound of someone placing their fist on their chest.

  "I love you. You understand? Me. Even if I'm... gone, or whatever. Oh, damn it." The sniffling was back, muffled, and fading.

  I know, Mom. I know.

  Chapter 6

  The sounds of rapid-fire Spanish filled the room, a brief burst of overly dramatic music punching through the words. I knew immediately what it was. Abuela was watching novelas.

  She preferred the Mexican novelas that were on the believable end of the scale, without alien abductions, although she didn't mind a saint visitation now and then.

  I hated the novelas, only because I'd get sucked right into the ridiculous story line. Before I knew it I was rushing home from class to find out if Hortencia had caught her airline pilot husband sleeping with her beautiful but greedy half sister who was plotting to kill Hortencia by poisoning her with exotic herbs she'd gotten from an evil "curandera," a witch of sorts, who had hated Hortencia since she married the witch's cousin, the pilot who was, actually, afraid of flying.

  "Isn't there something else on?" I said, opening my eyes, blinking rapidly as I adjusted to the light.

  "It's almost over and—" Abuela said, then whirled in her chair to look at me. "Kati? Kati! You're awake!" She rushed to my side, beaming.

  We fussed over the television and bed controls, and soon the novella was gone and I was sitting up a bit. I looked around the room, but we were alone. "Where's Mom?"

  Abuela paused and her jaw tightened. "She's with Margie. She..." She shook her head. "Kati, it's over. She's back to the way she was."

  My stomach twisted. "No."

  "It happened, well, it had been happening since yesterday morning. By today, it was as if she'd never been back."

  I felt the burning in my eyes, then the blur of tears. I'd missed it. Missed her completely. "But I didn't get to..." I whispered, taking her hands in mine, gripping them with all my might.

  "I know, I know. I'm so sorry, Mija. I'm so sorry."

  As Abuela leaned over to hold me, the door to the room swung open and there she was, my mother, her silhouette cutting into the wedge of light. In her arms, she gingerly held a bright pink shoe box. She smiled at me, that sweet, tender smile, and I could see the fire in her eyes had faded like the last rays of a desert sunset. The fire had been smothered by the return of the velvet blanket of her naïve and broken mind.

  I could see Margie over her shoulder, holding the door. Her eyes met mine and she looked away. She placed her hand on my mother's shoulder. "Look, Antonia. Your daughter, Kati. She's awake."

  "Hello, Kati," she said, her voice uncertain, tainted with a Southern accent. "I believe I made these for you."

  I brushed the tears away and tried to sit up on the bed. She held the box out to me, and Margie encouraged her forward the last few steps.

  "Thanks, Antonia," I said, taking the box and setting it on my lap. I lifted the lid and found cassette tapes in their shiny plastic cases lined up inside. Simple labels were on each one, numbered one through five, with dates next to each.

  "I... I think I made them, Kati," Antonia repeated, a slightly dazed look crossing over her face. She reached in the box, running her fingers over the cases. "I don't remember, really."

  I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's okay. I know."

  I looked over at Abuela, caught her exchanging a terse glare with Margie.

  What was that about?

  Margie broke off the exchange and looked at me, smiling as if nothing had happened. "I found them in the hotel room with a note. So, Antonia and I put them in the box to bring to you." She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, examining my face with a clinician's review. I could almost hear it in her head. Eyes, tracking. No visible twitching. She patted my leg under the blanket. "I came as soon as I heard, niña. How are you feeling?"

  "Like my brain's been covered in cotton." I replaced the lid on the box and tried to set it down on the table beside the bed, biting on my lip from the pain of my bruised rib as I leaned over. Abuela took the box from me and put it on the dresser on the other side of the room. Antonia patted my hand, then joined Abuela at the dresser.

  "We should unpack her the clothes we picked up, shouldn't we?" she asked Abuela.

  "Good idea, Antonia," Abuela said. They began looking through drawers, getting things out of a plastic bag on the dresser.

  I heard the rustling of Mylar balloons. Margie was still in the room, fussing with the get well balloon bouquet in the corner of the room. A wildly distorted cat on a balloon encouraged me to Get well soon, twisting on its pink curling ribbon. She glanced over at Antonia and Abuela, then came over to my bed.

  "Kati, I know this is none of my business," she said quietly.

  "That's hardly stopped you before," I said, forcing a smile.

  "True." She turned to face me. "I know you're worried about your friend. And you should be. But that box of tapes, Kati. Make sure you keep track of those."

  I pushed the blanket off my legs and started to work toward sitting up. Flames laced around my lungs, my bruised rib reminding me to move slowly. "Right. I know Mom wanted me to hear them."

  Margie shook her head. "Actually, I think you need to know that someone might not want you to hear them." She squared her shoulders and went to the dresser, reaching between Abuela and Antonia, returning with the box. She put it back on the bed. "Your mother left a note. She said you really needed to hear what was
in there."

  "Sure, right. I'll listen."

  Margie put her long fingers on the top of the box. "Kati, you're not hearing me. I found the note, but the tapes were gone. I looked all over. Turns out the tapes were shoved under the bed. Way under. I only found them because we were looking for Antonia's shoes." She looked over her shoulder at Abuela who was closing the top drawer. Antonia opened another drawer.

  Margie turned back to me, her voice softer, more urgent. "I don't know why your grandmother doesn't want you to hear what your mother wanted to tell you. But you're an adult. And Antonia wanted you to hear whatever is in these tapes."

  I thought of Abuela's reaction to my mother asking me if I had missed her, the sense that these were the kinds of things you never discussed with a daughter. Margie turned to Abuela. "Don't you think Antonia would want Kati to listen to the tapes?" she said.

  "I'm sure," said Abuela sharply, glaring at Margie. Then she turned away, rummaged in the plastic bag, pulling out a hideous pair of fluorescent pink sweats, price tags still attached. Antonia took them from her and started to fold them.

  "You should listen to them, Kati," Antonia said quietly, her back to me. She put the sweats in the drawer and reached for a matching shirt from the bag.

  I reached in the shoebox and pulled out a tape. The block writing was neat and precise, almost to the point of looking like it had been typed out. "Antonia. To Katarina. Tape 1."

  I slipped it under my covers and put the lid back on.

  The nurse outside Pilar's room greeted us with a stern look well on its way to becoming a full grimace. "She's very tired and she's had a tough day. You can come in but only for a minute."

  It was dark in the room, the only light pouring in through the tall window across from the bed. The slim tree outside dipped back and forth silently, dancing in a wind I couldn't hear. Pilar laid on her side under the covers, her back to me. I walked over to the chair near her bed.

  "Pilar? It's me, Kati."

  She nodded her head a fraction but didn't say anything. I looked back at the tree framed in the window and took a deep breath.

  "I'm sorry, Pilar. I—"

  "Don't." Her voice was low, coarse.

  "But I just..." My words died on my lips. She lay perfectly still under the blanket and I fought the desire to stare at the area below her hip, to see what was missing. I turned away quickly, my head throbbing in response to the sudden movement. In the bright rectangle of the window the tree began to swing wildly, green leaves flying off the tips of branches.

  I looked back at Pilar. She had rolled over onto her back, looking at me with her gray eyes, frowning.

  "Wow, Kat," she said, "you look like hell."

  "I guess the airbag took the whole exploding thing a little too literally."

  Pilar shrugged.

  I swallowed dryly. I reached for her hand, stopping just short. It was something I'd learned from my mentor on the ropes course. When in doubt, reach out only halfway. "What pisses me off is what happened to you."

  "No shit." She reached down to the area where her left knee should be and slammed a hand down on the blanket. It sunk down, too far down. "No more stick shifts."

  She reached back toward my outstretched hand, patting it. After a few silent moments, she turned back over, away from me.

  "I'm not ready, Kati. I'm just not fucking ready, okay? I know it wasn't your fault. But I'm not ready to deal with it."

  My eyes stung and I tilted my head back, a pain circling my throat like a noose. It was my fault, Pilar. It was my fault. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. "I understand. I'll be back around."

  I heard her broken inhale, a choked sob. "They never even found who hit us..." she let her voice trail off.

  I looked back to the window. The tree dipped and twisted in the silent wind.

  Chapter 7

  When I got back to my room I felt like I had hiked for miles instead of walking down two long hallways. My hospital room was strangely empty, and I was grateful to drift off to sleep without questions or searching looks.

  It was dark when I woke up, and I was still alone. I looked around and realized that something about the room was different. The Mylar balloons were still on the window sill, twisting in the persistent mechanical breeze, but Abuela's knitting bag, my mother's sweater, and even Margie's Border Walk 5k sport bottle, they were all gone.

  Including the bright pink shoebox.

  I got up, ignoring the nausea that rose from the pit of my stomach, reminding me that I shouldn't move fast unless I wanted a reunion with lunch. I swallowed hard, then searched every drawer, but the only things there were the change of clothes Abuela had brought.

  A pale skinned nurse with pastel fuzzy bears on her scrubs rushed into the room. "What are you doing? You need to lie down!"

  "Where did they go? Where's my family?"

  She gave me that look, the one reserved for crazy people. I knew it well, I'd certainly seen it directed at my mother by enough nurses.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to guide me back to the bed. "Let's get you in bed."

  I stood my ground. "I'm talking about my mother and Abuela," I said irritably. "They were just here."

  She gave me an accommodating nod. They must all learn that nod at nursing school. The "yes, I can see you're upset; just relax and I'll get you some pretty little blue pills" nod.

  "I'm sure they'll be right back." She fluffed the pillows as if by making the bed more attractive I'd be more likely to cooperate. "They met with an older gentleman, I'm sure they went to have lunch."

  "An older gentleman?" I wondered if it was Mr. Calderon. But he wasn't that old, he only looked a few years older than Antonia, mid-40s. "How old?"

  She straightened the covers, then came around my side, effectively blocking the door. It struck me that she had practice in this particular strategy. "I'd guess around late 60s, maybe 70? Nice guy." She checked the chart near the door, then hung it back on the hook and gestured to the bed. "Now, let's get you back into bed, and I'll find out where they went, okay?"

  I glanced out the door and spotted a security guard there, looking at me with some concern.

  "Okay," I said, allowing myself to be put back in bed. She walked out, assuring me she'd check into what had happened.

  I tried to convince myself they'd just decided to go back to the hotel early, and since I was doing better, relieved that they didn't need to stay in the room for a change. But I couldn't get rid of the nauseous feeling in my stomach. It was starting to feel a lot like dread.

  Would they have left me here? I couldn't believe it. Abuela and Antonia were overprotective to a fault. Still, I knew Mom in her current state would do whatever Abuela said. But why now? Did they take the tapes? What happened to Margie? All I had were questions, questions I chased into a dark sleep where I dreamed of being alone in a room with dozens of doors, none of which would open.

  I woke up as the nurse's assistant wheeled in her blood pressure machine. She hadn't seen my family all night but said there was someone here to see me. She said to give her a buzz when I was ready.

  "Who is it?"

  She shrugged. "I just got the message. And it looks like you'll be going home today," she said. She clicked her pen and wrote on her chart. "Do you have someone who can drive you home?"

  "I'm not sure, actually."

  She frowned and told me they'd insist I have a ride home.

  Seemed reasonable, particularly since my car probably looked like a wadded up tissue in a junkyard somewhere. I couldn't believe that Abuela had actually left for more than a good night's sleep. A shadow in the back of my mind hinted at something else.

  I cleaned up as best I could and hit the call button. When my visitor walked in the room, though, I wished I hadn't.

  "Eliah?"

  He laughed nervously, his big teeth gleaming. "Surprise!"

  Eliah had been my big mistake when I moved to San Antonio. I'd talked to him at the client mi
xer after one of our ropes course sessions with the local insurance sales group. He was what I'd heard someone in the group refer to as "freakishly tall." At 6'6," he walked with a constant slouch as if attempting to bridge the distance between his world and that of the little people around him. With his jet-black hair and thin build, he looked like an underfed giant.

  Somewhere along the way I'd sent him a signal that he'd been trying to get me to replicate for months. We were, he insisted, friends. On a good day, I'd have said we were maybe acquaintances.

  "How are you feeling, Kati?" He sat down on the edge of the chair next to the bed. "You look..."

  I'd seen myself in the mirror. The puffiness around my face had gone down, but my eyes were still swollen. "I look like hell."

  His grin was pained; he placed a giant hand on mine, enveloping it completely. I found myself wondering what size glove he wore.

  "Actually Eliah, I have to make a few calls."

  "No worries, Kati. I've already taken care of all of that."

  "What? Taken care of all what?"

  He leaned in conspiratorially. "I have connections, you know." He looked around as if the CIA might drop in at any moment. Satisfied, he continued, ticking off items on his four inch long fingers. "One. Got the car totaled with the insurance company. Two. Made them cough up the rental. Three. Got you an extra week on the rental so you can take your time getting a new car. And," he raised his eyebrows, "got my buddy at the dealership to set aside a couple of sweet deals just for you."

  Whoa. I really needed to set a boundary with this guy. Like a 'Great Wall of China' scale boundary. "Thanks," I said.

  Sitting back up, he beamed. "I told your grandmother I'd take care of everything."

  "You saw Abuela? When?"

  "I dropped by to see you yesterday. Your mother was here too," he hesitated.