And still, nobody noticed that I’d opened my eyes! They weren’t even paying attention to me. They were too busy planning my plastic surgery. I didn’t have a lot of experience waking up in hospitals after significant traumas, but I knew enough to know this was not how it was supposed to be. Finally my mom glanced my way and noticed that I was awake.
“Jordan, my God! Thank goodness! We were so worried about you!”
I just looked at her blankly. They weren’t worried about me. They were dissecting me like a lab rat.
“Jordan! Hello?! Did she lose some brain cells while she was at it?” This came from my ever-sympathetic sister.
I wanted to tune them all out, but I’d already made the mistake of opening my eyes. I remembered the last conversation I’d had with Todd . . . him telling me to confront Dirk . . . me saying that I didn’t want to, I just wanted it to all go away . . . him telling me that things just didn’t go away—I had to make them go away.
“Jordan . . . are you okay?” That was my mother. It sounded like she was concerned but then as she was leaning in to look closer at me, I could swear she was staring at a zit on my forehead with disapproval. Even at a time like this! I desperately longed for a mother to comfort me . . . but not my mother. I wouldn’t mind losing this mother for a while, find someone else for the job while this one went back to school and learned how to love.
All I knew was that I didn’t want to listen to the petty ravings and psychotic self-centeredness of these people anymore. I didn’t want to be related to them. I didn’t want to know them. All these people around me and not a single good memory among them. As I scanned the room, it seemed that an odd, blue-tinged haze made everyone look somehow cold and small, and I wished I’d awakened somewhere else.
Or as someone else.
“Jordan?” my mother said again. And then it hit me. I could make this all go away. I could do in real life what I’d failed to do in my role-playing exercise with Cat.
I was about to embark on the performance of a lifetime. I needed a new start. I needed it more than anything I’d ever needed before.
I blinked a couple times and looked up at my mother. “Hello,” I said in a confused and innocent tone. “Do I know you?”
My mother hesitated, as if not comprehending what I was asking. “Jordan? Honey, you’re awake.”
I looked at her. “Agreed,” I said. “But who are you?”
In the background, Sam stopped twirling her hair and turned slowly to face me. “What’d she just say?”
I looked back and forth now from my mom to Sam to my stepdad. I settled on Walter. “I . . .” I kept my mouth open, then looked worried. “What am I doing here?”
“Maybe if we slap her, she’ll snap out of it,” Sam said, stepping forward to get a better angle of attack.
Walter raised his arms. “Hold on now,” he said crossly. “Nobody does anything till I get back here. I’m getting the doctor.”
They all stared. And I stared right back, as emptily as I could.
* * * * *
After I’d feigned utter ignorance of everyone in the room, everything that had happened, my workplace, my home, and all but the most mundane details, the doctor leaned in.
“Jordan?” he said.
I let my eyes drift as though he may have been talking to my mother or my sister or the nurse, who then looked at me quizzically. The doctor took his deep inhale and sized me up. With no reason to believe I was pretending, and a major head wound to support the possibility, he explained to my family that my amnesia could be a temporary reaction caused by the trauma of the accident.
I couldn’t believe it. They were buying it.
The last time I’d attempted acting I was seven years old and playing a tree in a school play. I didn’t have any lines, but everyone said I was very convincing. Now, all these years later, it turned out I had this hidden talent for playing the wide-eyed innocent without a clue. Who knew? All I had to do was act like I didn’t know who I was or who anyone around me was and I was home free. Piece of cake. Why hadn’t anyone else thought of this before? Or maybe they had. What if everyone who had amnesia was just faking, I wondered, taking much-needed breaks from their lives?
My family looked concerned, but for all I knew, they could have been just acting too. Maybe the whole family had this talent and none of us knew it. The doctor explained that they were going to consult a specialist. My stepdad frowned as he listened, and my mom came over and rubbed between his eyes to make him stop. She was the wrinkle-police; if anybody frowned in her presence she would put an end to it immediately. She even had these little sticky triangle paper things called Frownies that you put in between your eyes to keep you from frowning. I’m surprised she didn’t carry them around and slap them on random strangers and passersby.
Samantha came over to the side of my bed and stared at me. I stared back. “You really don’t remember anything?” she asked.
“I remember I have a bed, but I’m not sure where,” I said apologetically.
“I’m your sister,” Sam said, a little singsongy, as though I were an idiot.
I looked at her and then at my mom. “I like her,” I said to my mother, smiling. “She seems so nice!”
“Oh my God,” my stepdad said quickly with genuine alarm, “she really has lost her memory.”
Just then Todd came running in, out of breath. He looked completely panicked, his eyes darting back and forth from the doctor to my family to me—then locking on me. I saw the fear in his eyes as he looked at me, and although my head hurt like hell and the room was spinning, I felt relief for the first time since I’d woken up. So far he was the only one who’d set foot in that door that I knew really cared about me.
“Jordy! Are you okay?” he said.
I wanted to answer, but I was also trying to be true to my untruth. So I glanced around with a blank expression and sought guidance from the doctor.
“She may not remember you,” he said to Todd while looking at me carefully. Then he looked to my mom and Walter. “This might be a little distressing, with people who seem like strangers. I’m thinking—”
“No,” my mom said, “this one’s all right. We can limit visitors, but he’s known her forever. She might even remember Todd. Sweetheart?”
“Are you part of my family too?” I said hopefully.
“She has amnesia,” my mom said to Todd.
Todd tentatively stepped closer and moved a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Well,” he said with his trademark goofy smile. “We were married when we were seven. I think technically that does make us family.”
“Can I mention once again that I’m hungry?” Sam interjected. Walter looked perturbed and whispered something to her.
“So glad you’re here, Todd,” my mom said, and Walter whispered to her. “Jordan . . .”
She saw the questioning in my eyes.
“Jordan,” she said with a hand on my arm. “Remember? Jordan, will you be okay for just a minute if we go to the cafeteria? Just a minute?”
“I’ll stay right here,” I said.
“This is Todd, and he’ll watch over you. You can trust Todd. Honey, you grew up with Todd.” The doctor took his leave, giving some private warnings to Mom and Walter. Then the four of them—the doctor, Mom, Walter, and Sam—filed out of my hospital room, looking back at the curiosity I represented.
Todd was there so they felt like they were now excused. They’d done their time, the new shift was in, and they needed snacks. I looked toward the door to make sure that they were gone.
Todd was stiff, standing straight up by the door, looking afraid.
“Can they see us?” I whispered.
“No,” Todd said curiously.
“And there’s no surveillance cameras?” I said. We looked from ceiling corner to ceiling corner.
I pounded the mattress with as much gusto as I could manage, tubes waving everywhere to get him to step closer. “Listen. I’m fine, Todd. It’s me. I don’t really have am
nesia.”
“What?”
“Shhhh! Look, I just need a do-over. My life sucks.”
“What?” he said again louder, not necessarily asking me to repeat what I said, more insisting I defend it.
“Will you keep it down?!” I looked at the door but spoke to him. “I can’t take it anymore. Everything about my life is a disaster, and I’ve had enough. So, starting today, I’m reinventing myself. But you can’t say anything to anyone. Not your parents, not mine—definitely not Cat. Not your pet, not a stranger, don’t write it, don’t think it. Just forget I told you entirely. Pretend you have amnesia! At least as far as this conversation goes.” He looked doubtful. “Please do this for me. You know you’re the only one I can trust.”
“You’re insane!”
“No, you don’t catch insanity from a head injury. I’m gonna stick with amnesia.”
“Funny,” he said, rolling his eyes in disapproval.
“Will you help me?” I asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?” I begged.
“No! Jordan, this isn’t a joke,” he snapped.
“No kidding. This is my life,” I defended.
“There are doctors and your family . . . and other people involved here.”
“Where are these people that you’re talking about? My loving family just put you on Jordy duty less than five minutes after being told their daughter suffered a head trauma so severe that she can’t remember who they are. ‘Jeepers, Judy Patootie, let’s go get some snacks and talk more about Jordy’s plastic surgery now that she’s regained consciousness and can hear us.’ Oh, and I’m sure my loving boyfriend might swing by at some point later. Maybe he can bring his skinny yet busty date from Alice’s Tea Cup.”
Todd had started to turn a pale shade that made me want to ask the nurse if we could get him a bed in an adjoining room.
“Look, I know what’s involved, Todd. And I’m sorry for wasting the doctor’s time—I am. But I’m not completely faking here. I’m hurt. I have a fractured skull. That’s huge. I do have a headache and you’re making it worse by not saying you’ll help me,” I said, sensing that he was starting to relent. I turned down the defiance and softened my approach. “I need this. I can’t take my life anymore. With as much physical pain as I am in right now, I’ll take my head trauma over my entire-life trauma any day. I need to buy some time, Todd, so I can figure things out. Just indulge me. Please? I need a break!”
“So take a vacation!”
“I can’t afford a vacation! Please, Todd?” I looked at him pleadingly and gave him the puppy dog eyes through my puffy eye slits. I even batted my eyelashes with effort, which made him laugh.
“Only because I love you so much.”
“Yes!” I said, punching the mattress. “Thank you, thank you! Okay, I need you to do me a favor. Find out everything you can about amnesia. Look on the Internet or ask around here. I need to make this seem legitimate.”
“And what do I get out of this?”
“I’m your wife, remember? ‘For better or for worse’? Well, sophomore year when I got drunk and we made out? That was for better. This? Is for worse.”
He rolled his eyes and slumped into the chair at my bedside, snatching the remote from my hands. Todd was the one person I knew I could count on no matter what.
“I guess we’ll be watching a lot of daytime television in here,” he said.
“It’ll be just like college!”
“Can I have your Jell-O?” he asked, already digging in.
“All yours.”
“Excellent.”
“See, this situation is already starting to pay off for you.”
“Sure.” He paused for a minute, fighting with the plastic on the Jell-O container before finally pulling it off and staring intently at the Jell-O as though he were looking through it.
“What is it?”
“The Jell-O is a start, but I was just wondering if the nurses would mind if we got drunk and made out.”
As he dug into the Jell-O, I remembered clearly why he was my best friend in the world. I suddenly had the feeling that everything was going to be all right.
10.
mercury and amnesia
in retrograde
Samantha showed up at my bedside again early the next morning, peering into my eyes and cocking her head from side to side as though she’d chosen to impersonate Sneevil Knievel. I was surprised to see her, especially as it seemed she’d come on her own, but my mom walked in a few moments after her with a big flower arrangement covering her face.
“It’s me,” my mom said, from behind the spider mums and stargazer lilies. “Aren’t these beautiful?”
“Yes,” I said as she placed them on the table next to my bed. I reached for the card that was tucked into the arrangement between some baby’s breath and a branch. I read the card aloud. “‘To Judith, Hang in there. The Rosens.’”
I looked up at my mom and wondered aloud, “Judith? Wow, I must be in real trouble. I could have sworn you guys told me my name was Jordan yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, bustling awkwardly. “That shouldn’t have been in there,” she said and snatched the card back, tucking it into her purse. “Those were sent to the house. I’m Judith. I just brought them to brighten up the room. They were for the whole family. Including you. And, yes, your name is Jordan.”
“Would it help if I showed you pictures?” asked Sam. “Maybe to jog your memory?”
“I don’t know . . . What kind of pictures?” I said, sounding just the slightest bit panicky.
“Nothing incriminating,” Sam said as she reached into her Prada backpack and pulled out a brand-new iPod, clearly purchased the day before as a way for my mother to console her daughter . . . the one without the skull fracture and amnesia. She started scrolling through the pictures one by one and showing them to me.
“Remember this? We were at summer school? I was the most popular girl and you didn’t have very many friends. And I let you hang out with my friends?”
“No, I don’t remember that,” I said. “Is that me? Wow . . . and who is that pudgy little thing next to me?”
“Pudgy?” She balked. “I wasn’t pudgy. That shirt was an extra large. It hung funny on me.” And with that she snatched the iPod away and scrolled to another photo. “How about this? It was your prom and you got poison oak? Oh my God, you looked awful! And you didn’t want to go but you didn’t want to cancel. And then your date didn’t even show up, so it didn’t matter. Remember? This was you in your dress, waiting for him to come. You must remember that!”
I shook my head and smiled meekly. It was so thoughtful of her to try to jog my memory with the most traumatic events of my awkward past.
Then she scrolled to the next picture, glanced at it, and immediately tried to skip to the next one.
“What’s that one?” I piped up.
“That one isn’t going to jog any memories,” she said. But I suspected I knew exactly which photo she didn’t want me to see.
Then I saw Dirk. He was standing in the doorway, looking in at me, possibly waiting to see my reaction to him. I gave him a half smile and kind of raised my eyebrows. He walked in.
“Hi,” he said and then kissed my mother on her cheek and crossed over to my bedside. “Remember me?” he asked. I tried to look as if I was straining to remember. I even furrowed my brow, something my mom would have loathed to see.
“No,” I said. Sweet . . . innocent . . . vacant. “Sorry. I don’t.”
“I was your boyfriend. We’d been going out for like two years.”
“Huh,” I said and then realized he had used the past tense. Maybe he had seen me at Alice’s Tea Cup. “You said you were my boyfriend.” A sweet smile. “Did we break up?”
“No,” he fired back at lightning speed. “I mean . . . you were totally into me.”
“Totally? And you were totally into me?” I said, my voice rising with childlike hope.
<
br /> “Well, yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Sure.” Buzzz. The correct answer would have been “No, I treated you like shit and cheated on you,” but thank you for playing.
“Wow, I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.”
He looked confused and a little bummed out. I guess he thought that even after the trauma of a head injury and severe memory loss, I would have to remember him. I mean—he was Long-Daggered Dirk, after all.
“Well, I’ll take you back to my place when you get out of here and I’m sure that will jog your memory. We’ve had a lot of good times there.”
And in this awkward moment, with Sam pondering the meaning of “good times,” I saw my opportunity and darted a hand out to seize the iPod and check out the photo Sam had tried to hide. Bingo. I’d gotten a good long look at it and stifled a laugh before she was aware of what I’d done.
There she was, arms encircling, lips attached to Bo Caldwell, my then boyfriend, whom my charming sister tried to steal from me and succeeded. Their relationship lasted the two weeks she worked him to betray me and an entire four days after I found out. The novelty wore off. She discarded Bo—recognizing, perhaps, that if he’d settled for me, he couldn’t be much of a catch—and she moved on to someone else’s boyfriend who was at least more age appropriate. She held on to that photo like a trophy. It was the first tangent proof of her evil victory. If I were her, I’d have just savored the memory and destroyed the unflattering photo—her hair tied up in a scrunchie that could not hide the unfortunate home-highlighting job she’d botched the week before. This one had earned a place in neighborhood legend. Suffice it to say that they weren’t highlights as much as zebra stripes, which were aiming for blond but landed on orange. She’d cried for two days and demanded my mom’s stylist fix the mess, but he’d thrown up his hands in defeat. Her look was completed by the braces she’d claimed had ruined two years of her life. All in all—heinous.
“You look so in love. Is this your boyfriend?” I asked sweetly.
Forget About It Page 8
