When We Were Mortals

by E. S. Mercer

  I leaned over the bed and picked up the papers, ripping them into tiny little pieces and stuffed them into the water glass I had beside my bed. I didn’t want Ryan to see them anymore than his father did, but for my reasons only.

  The envelope was harder to dispose of. The more I tried to rip it up, the more it seemed to harden until it the surface turned into an odd looking shell. I held it over a lit candle on the kitchen table, but nothing happened; not a burn mark on the surface to be seen. It was then that I noticed something scribbled on the back.

  “Return to sender, postage prepaid, answer must be included.”

  I gladly obliged, finding a scrap piece of paper and wrote two simple words. “Offer Declined.”

  I stuffed the paper in the envelope, watching it seal itself, and placed it on the table by the door while I went to put a pair of pants on. But as I walked away, the front door opened and the well-dressed courier reached her perfectly manicured hand in, grabbed the envelope and then shut the door again, all in one fell swoop.

  I ran to catch her, but as I opened the door and stood out on the landing, I saw no one, not a single person on any of the four flights of stairs. Granted she could have been hiding in the dark corners of the stairwell, but I couldn’t sense her presence at all.

  I threw my hands up in the air as surrendering myself to the craziness of this strange event and walked back into my loft. I welcomed the challenge and hoped Mr. Renaldi would keep his promise, so I could continue to turn him down.

  And as promised, week after week I would receive a letter, post card, or something to symbolize Alistairs relentless pestering. Sometimes, it was so subtle, that I would ask myself if I was just starting to buckle under the pressure.

  I skipped the next brunch in fear of dealing with Alistair. I was strong enough to flip him off from a distance, but I did not feel like dealing with it person.

  When I finally told Zara what was going on, she insisted on heading down to his office and telling him off, but I assured her that doing so would get us nowhere. I had a feeling that to confront him would only make him more determined to get what he wanted. It did, however, began to make me question what it was I really did want to do once I ‘grew up.’

  Then one day, as I was cleaning up a mess in the art department, I found myself staring at the projects around me. Black and white photographs of a homeless camp in the Poison District hanging from strings on the wall, spoke to me in a way I had never felt before. I had walked by them a million times, but this time I really saw them.

  One in particular, with crisp lines in the woman’s wrinkled face and forced wisdom exposed in her cold eyes and crooked smile, pulled me into a place of great emotion. I realized though, it wasn’t necessarily the complexity of the simple photo, but more of an awareness on my part.

  It was at that moment I reflected on the fact that I didn’t know who my mother was. I slumped down on the stool behind me and thought really, really, hard about it. I don’t know why, but I could feel the warmth of her hand on my cheek and the peace that came along with her presence, but could not convince myself that she actually ever existed.

  Then, I got angry. I wish I could describe how quickly the rage surfaced as I realized how much I didn’t know about myself. Since I had been with Ryan, I had been distracted enough to not care much about it, and now it was finally getting to me.

  Then the burning question I had been asked a few times before came out of my own mouth.

  “Who am I?”

  “You are the woman I love,” Ryan said, coming up behind me.

  Up until that point, the ‘L’ word had not been mentioned by either of us once.

  “You love me?” I asked, shaking off the tears that had been slowly streaming down my face.. “I do,” he said, spinning me around on the stool. “I really think I do.” “But love who?” I asked looking up at him. “I don’t even really know who I am. How can you love someone like me? I have no history!”

  “What does your history have to do with who you are right now?” he asked, stroking my hair.

  “Everything,” I said, standing up. Still angry about all of it. “What I did, who I was and who I surrounded myself with makes me who I am today.” “Does it?” he asked, trying to comfort me. “Does it really make you who you are? You woke up with no memory of yourself, invented ‘Anessa O’Shea’ and became whoever she was supposed to be. You did that in the present, without memory of the past.”

  “I’m not debating this with you,” I snapped, pushing him out of the way.

  “Don’t you love me too?” he begged. “Whatever part of you that stands here today, cannot it love me?”

  “I don’t even know what love is,” I replied, holding back more tears. “I don’t even know who I am.” “You are Anessa,” he bellowed. “You are the woman I love and the woman I someday intend to marry,” he continued, desperately fighting back tears. “Why can’t that be enough for you?”

  I stopped in my tracks, refusing to turn around and look at him.

  "Ryan, I am sorry, but I can’t say that I love you. I can’t give you what you want. Not until I understand who I am.” “Fine,” he said, rushing at me. He grabbed my hands and pulled them to his chest. “Then just let me love you instead. Just let me love and the rest will come later.”

  “I can’t do this with you right now,” I cried, pulling away. “I need some time.”

  “But,” he started, as I walked out the door. “You can’t leave me again.”

  “Again?” I asked, now turning to face him. “What do you mean again?”

  “Nothing,” he responded. You could see the fear and confusion in his eyes.

  “No,” I growled. “Tell me what you meant by again.” “I didn’t mean you in particular, I just can’t be left again,” he replied. “I can’t handle the heartbreak again.”

  “I just need some time,” I said, softening a bit. “Just give me some time to figure this out.”

  I could feel how my anger was affecting him and I didn’t mean to hurt him at all. I just felt the pressure of having to be something I wasn’t, mixed with not knowing who I was and it all was just too overwhelming for me.

  “I shouldn’t have told you I loved you,” he sounded. “It was too soon.”

  “No,” I countered. “It wasn’t. I just can’t give you what you want. I just need to be myself for a little while.” I started to back away, but my heart shattered as I watched him drop to his knees in tears. We had only been together a few months by now, but his affection for me ran deep. I could see him break as he let himself feel his emotions all over the art room floor.

  I could have run back to him and taken it all back. Pull him into my arms and tell him I was sorry, but I knew that at that moment it would do me no good. So, I turned and walked out the door and left him behind to pick up the pieces.

  *****

  My birthday came and went and I spent every bit of it hiding in my loft. It was a night Zara insisted should have been full of partying and celebration but it only turned out to be one more reason for me to feel lost.

  Lying in bed alone, as Zara and her friends went out and celebrated for me, I found myself sobbing as I tried hard to remember anything past my last birthday. Over and over again I would ask myself “Who Am I?” hoping that it would jar some memory out of the abyss that was my brain, but nothing came of it except more anger and frustration.

  I beat my pillow as I gave in to the self-pity that began to strangle me through it all. Shoving my face into the down feathers, I screamed until there was no more voice to destroy. Finally, exhausting myself to the point of nearly passing out, I finally dozed off to sleep.

  At least I thought I was going to sleep. By the time Zara found me I was in a full catatonic state. The only movement she could see coming from me, were the tears that fell dramatically slow down my face. My eyes, hazed with a milky white film, stayed open, pointed towards the glass ceiling. My gypsy sister planted her tiny frame on top of me as she desper
ately tried to shake me awake.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she kept shouting as she started pounding on my shoulders. “I was supposed to protect you. I wasn’t gonna let any’ting happen to ya.”

  Ryan, who had conveniently come over to plead with me to reconsider, heard Zara’s cries and sprinted up the four flights of stairs quickly. Busting through the door, he saw her on top of me and ran over to try and stop what he thought was an attack.

  “No,” Zara screamed, as he pulled her off. “I’m not hurting her, I’m trying to get her to wake up.”

  Ryan turned his attention to me, dropping her to the floor and quickly checking for a pulse.

  “What happened?” he asked, feeling for a heartbeat. “How did she get like this?”

  “I don’t know,” Zara replied, rocking back and forth on the bed. “All I know is that Ksenia is going to kill me.”

  “Why?” Ryan asked, pacing the floor. “Why would she kill you?”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t know who she is?” she asked, grabbing at his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, trying to bat her away.

  Zara unzipped her pants just enough to pull them down past the middle of her left butt cheek. Hiding in plain sight, was the same tattoo Ryan had.

  “You?” he asked in disbelief. “But the Gypsies aren’t guardians.”

  “Yes, we are!” Zara argued. “We come from a line of Guardians. I was chosen to be hers.”

  “Well you aren’t doing a very good job,” he said, pacing the floor. “Look at her!” “I didn’t do this,” she replied. “When I left, she was fine!” “Does this look fine to you?” he asked again. “Do you know what you have done?”

  “Me?” Zara asked, throwing her phone at him. “This is your fault. Your father’s fault. You take responsibility. I will not.”

  Ryan stood staring at the phone, without a response, desperately trying to figure out his next move. *****

  While they were fretting about my condition, I found myself waking up on a dirt floor, someplace dark and unrecognizable. As dark as it was, it should have been cold, but I could feel a warmth radiating from outside the place.

  As I stood up and adjusted myself, my eyes started to focus enough for me to see the walls surrounding me. I realized that I was in a log cabin, with doors and windows shut off from the outside world, but there was just enough light penetrating the cracks in the walls for me to see a dirt floor and a single welcome mat across the room from me.

  I made my way towards the rug, feeling around for a knob to a door or window. Soon I was able to find one, pushing the door outwards and into the very hot and bright sun. It was so bright, as a matter of fact, it knocked me back into the dark room, blinding me for a good five minutes.

  Once I adapted to the light, I was able to see the flowing white sheer house dress I was wearing. A dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination, but didn’t seem to faze me. My feet, bare and clean, walked across the dirt, as if they never truly touched the ground. My hair, blew around me ever so slightly, as if it had caught a strange breeze.

  Unaffected by the bizarre nature of any of this, I made my way outside the cabin, to a place I know I had seen before. A place where sunflowers were pink and the wind blew in reverse. An island in a vast ocean of dark water and nothingness. But there was something different about it this time. Trees, full of various forms of fruit, lined a path to the meadow, which held the most incredibly clear lake I had ever seen. The water, so transparent, allowed you to see to the very bottom and every peculiar creature that lived in it. It was warm to the touch, yet tasting sweet and cold once it entered your mouth. It was a glorious place, with a peaceful energy that stimulated every cell in my body instantaneously. It made me feel safe, as if I had finally found my way home.

  I wandered the meadow soaking it all in, when I found myself getting lost in a space that wasn’t large enough to get lost in. Everywhere I turned, something changed, new paths would emerge and I would lose track of where I was. But soon I learned that the cabin, always steadfast at the far end of the island, would flash itself every so often, like a beacon in the night. If I kept my eyes on it, I could able to find my way back almost instantly.

  Once I finally reached my shelter, I began to knock out the boards that blocked the windows, in letting the warmth and brilliance of the sun in. It was like a blanket that surrounded me and I needed the rays to be able to touch me at all times.

  It was easy to lose track of time in this place, as the sun never fully went down. It would change from a bright white light to a sunset orange and lavender, dulling itself ever so slightly, but it never succumbed to the night.

  When I was hungry I would eat the berries and fruit off the trees that never seemed to become barren of its harvest. As soon as I would pluck something juicy off its branches, another would spring up in its place. And the brook that lined the path to the meadow carried water from the lake, so that I didn’t have to.

  Day after day I would eat, drink and wander the meadow, deliriously happy and unafraid. One morning, as I took a stroll through the island, I stopped to soak in the gloriousness of it all. I looked down at a patch of the flowered grass beneath me, wishing that I could lay in the soft bed of earth that welcomed me. And as I wished it, I saw each blade rise to place their green tips on the skin of my back and arms, pulling me gently to the ground. It felt like I was floating, as they carried the full weight of my body effortlessly. Once they released me, I laid there, staring at my reflection in the sky, wishing I never had to leave.

  But the longer I laid there, the more I started to remember about the crazy events of the past year. I remembered the last time I was there, with the faceless man. I remembered the scene with the apple tree and the men that conversed. I remembered the men who tried to dig into the depths of my subconscious.

  “Now if I could just remember the rest,” I thought to myself. There was a name they kept calling me and for some reason it was escaping me. That was until a familiar voice called out to me, using the name so effortlessly.

  “Evangeline,” he called out. The voice came closer and I was no longer alone.

  I sat up as the grass parted enough for me to see him come towards me.

  There stood the faceless man, calling out to me.

  “Are you Michael?” I asked him.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, sitting down beside me. “But then again, I’m not sure I really know who I am.”

  “You too?” I asked with a chuckle. “There must be an epidemic.”

  “I don’t know,” he continued. “I really don’t know anything, except, when I am around you, I feel like I know you, like really know you.”

  “Same here,” I said, as I laid back down in the grass. I couldn’t help but to succumb to the uncontrollable urge to just relax.

  “Do you remember me when you are not here?” I asked, reaching out to the man next to me.

  He gently grabbed my hand.

  As soon as I touched him, I remembered his name.

  “Gabriel,” I said, sitting up. “Your name is Gabriel.”

  “My name is Adam,” he responded confusedly. “But Gabriel sounds cool.” “I thought you said you didn’t know who you were,” I asked looking over at him. As I did, I could feel the mood of the meadow quickly change. The sun, which stood proudly in the sky, began to hide behind an ominous cloud. The wind picked up, howling through the grass in an eerie metallic tone.

  “I don’t,” he said looking puzzled. “I mean I know my name is Adam.” “Are you sure?” I yelled above the howling wind.

  “I am sure you need to come find me,” he yelled back.

  “Come find you where?” I asked. “You are right here.”

  “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. As soon as he said it, I could see him begin to fade away.

  We both jumped up as I grabbed onto him, trying to keep him from leaving.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, fading even mor
e. “Why does this always happen?”

  But before I could answer, he was gone. I looked out past the edge of the meadow, where I could see a man standing there, watching the whole thing. He was too far away for me to recognize, even if I could, and when noticed, quickly vanished as the faceless man had. I fretted about it for a moment, but soon, the clouds shifted, allowing the sun to come out again. I immediately forgot that I didn’t feel happy, even for a moment and laid back on the ground, staring up at the ripples that always moved me.

  There I laid in silence for a good few hours. As I basked in the sun, I didn’t have a care in the world and didn’t have any place else I wanted to be.

  But then, a man I had recognized from the beneath the apple tree came running in my direction. “You have to get up Eva,” he said, pulling me up. “You can’t stay here. Go back and remember who you are. You’ll forget this conversation when you wake up, but I’m telling you, you must fight to remember.

  “Michael?” I asked, touching a face I could actually see. “Listen to me,” he said, grabbing my wrists. “I am not supposed to be here and if he found out, you and I both would be so much danger. They don’t want you to remember, but you must. You must remember.”

  I could see him fidgeting, looking around to make sure we were alone. “But how?” I asked, trying to get him to focus. “I can’t remember who I am.”

  “You are Evangeline,” he replied. “Say it to yourself over and over again. Say it until you remember and just remember. I love you.”

  He pulled away from me and disappeared, leaving me to repeat over and over again. “I am Evangeline! I must remember. I am Evangeline.” The more I said it, the more it seemed by surroundings grew angry. The sky became turbulent once again, whipping the wind in a tantrum that began to uproot the flowers, the grass and pull me off my feet. I tried to grab onto something, but everything I touched pulled up from the ground and spun around me. Finally, one powerful push of the wind knocked me into the ground, causing me to hit my head and black out.