by E. S. Mercer
As I awoke, I desperately tried to focus eyes that felt like they hadn’t been used for a very long time, but I couldn’t adjust to the light surrounding me. My eyelids seemed to forget how to open, as they slammed shut before I could ever expose the whites of my eyes fully. However, I could feel someone holding my hand and by the size of it, I figured it was most likely a man’s. Another hand laid gently on my leg, with the weight of their head pulling on the blankets covering me.
Finally, after much effort, I managed to open them enough to get someone’s attention.
“She’s awake,” Ryan gasped as he sat up. He was barely recognizable with beard growth and an overall unkempt appearance.
“Do you know who you are?” Zara asked me, bolting up from the bed.
“I am E,” I started to say a name, but couldn’t remember it to finish it. “I am Anessa,” I said through a dry mouth. “I am Anessa O’Shea.” To make a long story extremely short, I had put myself into a six-month coma. No one or nothing could explain why. That night in the loft I had gotten myself so upset, I literally shut down. Concerned with how I would be treated in a public hospital, Alistair put up his own money to ensure that I be treated in their home with private nurses and doctors on duty 24/7.
“You were not built for sadness and despair,” Alistair said, entering the room. “It seems your body couldn’t handle it.”
“It wasn’t the sadness, it was the pressure,” I said smugly to my benefactor. Even after all this time, I couldn’t find a way to get past the irritation I had with him.
“The pressure of what? Not knowing who you are?” Ryan asked.
“Something like that,” I said, looking over at his father. The conversation dropped as Alistair insisted that Zara and Ryan go home to get cleaned up. Now that I was awake, the worst was over and I would surely be fine until they returned. Both resisted at first but finally succumbed to the idea, when reminded how much the two of them lacked grooming.
When the room finally quieted down, Alistair took a seat in the corner, contemplating what to say next.
After a while, I could tell he couldn’t find the words so I started the conversation for him. “I am not going to do what you asked because you think I am beneath your son,” I said, pushing the buttons on my bed so I could sit up. “If Ryan thinks I am good enough for him, that is all that matters.”
The senior Renaldi shifted in his seat desperately trying to hide his guilt. “My intention was to never make you feel that way,” he answered quietly. “Your intentions were pretty clear when you said it in black and white,” I argued. “Your words and persistence were clear enough not to be misunderstood.”
“I merely wished that you would consider a different career path is all,” he said, wringing his hands. “As part of the Renaldi family, we have a reputation to uphold and I wanted to give you the chance to participate as a member of this family.”
“That is how you welcome someone to the family?” I asked.
“Look,” he said, getting up from the chair. “You are not making this easy on any of us. You were meant to stay the course set for you. You were meant to be in someone else’s life, not ours, we are merely trying to adjust.”
“You know who I am don’t you?” I asked, looking deep in the cold man’s soul. I could tell he knew more than he was willing to tell me. “I know that you are a woman who came to us after ditching a life of drugs and alcohol and you found my son, hoping he would bring you out of the gutter even more.”
“Alistair, enough!” Elaina chastised as she walked into the room. “That is not what this is about and you know it. You will apologize to her and leave at once.”
Mr. Renaldi did what he was told, as Elaina made her way to my bedside, showing me a much softer version of herself than I was used to. Almost mother-like in her attentiveness, she made sure to make me comfortable before sitting on the side of the bed to talk.
“Truth is,” she said, fluffing my pillow, “there is something about you that goes way beyond what any of us understand. Your inability to remember who you are, with your ability to make everyone around you feel as if you mean more to them than you understand, causes very different emotions in some people. At first, I didn’t know what that meant but now that I do, I realize how important it is for you to be in our lives.”
“What do you know?” I asked her. “Do you know who I am?” “I cannot,” she said, straightening my blankets, “but what I can tell you is that you need to stay the course. Whatever urge you have to find your past, leave it alone. You are who you are now. My son loves you, your friends love you and your life, however much my husband disapproves, is your life.”
“But I must remember,” I replied, “it’s who I am.”
“It’s not, I assure you,” she said, patting me on the head and walking out of the room. “You are better off being who you are now.” She almost had me convinced that I needed to let it all go. That, coupled with the fact that anything I learned while I was in a coma, began to fade away. I couldn’t remember that I was supposed to remember anything.
*****
After six months of inactivity, my body should have needed extensive rehabilitation but just like the coma, my quick recovery baffled the doctors. Within a week, I was up and able to function better than I had before. I was faster than I ever was, finding my reflexes to be just hair over normal. My senses, became heightened to a level that was almost unbearable. I could see farther, hear more clearly and my sense of touch made every interaction between my skin and others to become more sensual than it should.
However, readjusting to my life wasn’t so easy. I had to convince Mr. Crater to give me my job back, just long enough for me to put my life back together. I knew this was an opportunity to decide what I wanted to do, but needed to keep myself busy in the process. Sitting in silence did nothing for my mental stability, especially when I was able to hear things so very loudly, including the silence.
Ryan had offered to take care of everything but as much as I was willing to work things out with him, I didn’t want to be indebted to him in the process. I needed to keep a sense of independence in order to maintain the happiness I felt being alive.
However, I always felt like something was missing. The part of me that I longed to understand, stayed disconnected from me, as if I truly didn’t exist before the overdose. But now, instead of being a blank part of me, it was more like a haunting I couldn’t shake. There were feelings, emotions and snippets of thought that would emerge every once in a while that I couldn’t understand. But I these I knew were my own; I could definitely tell a difference.
And then there were the mirrors. Every time I would see myself move in the mirror, I would see my reflection in trails…as if the mirror delayed what it was echoing back to me. I was the only one who could see it though, because when I asked Zara or Ryan, they laughed it off as if I was being strange as usual.
“I am sure everything you feel is merely left over from the coma,” Ryan assured me one evening. “To be under that long can’t be healthy for anyone.”
“Yeah, but I feel different,” I responded. “I can’t describe it, just that I feel like someone else.” “You felt like someone else when you woke up the first time,” he reminded me. “You felt completely out of place. Just think about what happens to you every time you disappear like that. You have to be rewiring your brain or something.”
Maybe he was right and although I wasn’t convinced, I dropped it. No matter how I tried to explain how I felt, I was met with resistance from both Zara and Ryan.
This forced me to start writing down how I felt, in a leather-bound journal that I carried with me everywhere. I documented every feeling, every emotion, strange occurrence or subtle changes I felt in my life. It helped a bit, allowing me to focus more on my life around me and less on my concerns.
I found that I needed a purpose in life. I needed to do more than worry about myself. I had a unique gift of empathy and I wanted so badly to find a way to use
it. Maybe, if I focused more on other people, I could get over myself a bit.
So, Ryan set me up with a job in one the shelters he volunteered with on the weekends. It was a place that housed young adults who were escaping abuse, persecution or neglect. They were people who couldn’t trust a soul, but deep down, knew they needed a safe place to stay. Ryan felt that with my gifts, I could penetrate the walls these people had built and help them find a new lease on life.
I found so much joy in it too. Watching people succumb to the kindness I offered and finding the drive to better their lives made my life worth living. They would come to us broken and leave so much more fulfilled than even I could have predicted. I had a hundred percent success rate, causing me to be the most sought after case worker in the city.
As satisfied as I was with my life, I also found I needed a hobby. I remembered the emotional connection I had with the photography in the art studio and I wanted to find a way to incite that same emotions in others. I wanted them to see what I saw, the way I saw it. I wanted others to feel what I felt and maybe, just maybe there would be someone out there that understood me.
I went to the nearest pawn shop and picked up an old film camera. Something I could learn on.
As soon as I put the film in the camera, I just started snapping. Everything I saw I would capture, hoping that somewhere in there I would capture something beautiful.
It was fun, therapeutic and something I knew I would find a great satisfaction in doing.
***** For the next few months, things on the home-front stayed pretty much the same, except that Zara had grown a bit distant, heavily clubbing and partying every single night. She loved the freedom that she had on campus and found that it consumed her. I tried to talk some sense into her but she just wouldn’t listen. She was hooked on the night life and I could feel her spiraling because of it.
“Zara, you have to be careful, if Ksenia finds out, she will pull you back to camp.” I pleaded one Friday night.
“She won’t find out,” she said, slipping her stilettos on. "Besides, you could come with me. It doesn’t hurt to get out once in a while.” “Ryan and I like the quiet life,” I responded, sitting down on the couch. “So much so that he keeps begging me to move in with him so we can live like an old married couple.”
“So, do it,” she urged, plopping down on the couch beside me. “He will take care of you.”
She grabbed the bottle of vodka from the coffee table and poured herself a pre-outing shot.
“I can’t leave you here by yourself,” I responded. “You are my sister and I need to take care of you.”
“I don’t need you,” she said, slamming back the shot. “I have Gail and Levi and da gang. Trust me, I’ll be ok.” Truth be told, she never could admit that her guilt over my coma forced her to push me away. She was so torn apart by the fact that she let it happen in the first place that she refused to be put in a position to care for me ever again. She was pawning me off on Ryan because she didn’t have the strength and she felt he was better suited to look after me.
“I’ll come visit you and love you. We are sisters for life. I just don’t need you to be here. Go be with Ryan and be happy. You deserve it.”
“But,” I started to say, before she covered my mouth with her hand.
“I will come and see you every single weekend,” she responded.
She jumped up, placed her hands on my cheeks and planted a strong kiss on my lips.
“I love you goofball. I’ll help you pack your stuff and we’ll surprise him before I go out.”
She grabbed a suit case and threw it at me, as she reached for the vodka bottle on the table.
“Pack,” she demanded between sips. “Chop, chop.”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if she really was ok with me leaving, but her insistence guaranteed me I wasn’t going to have much of a choice. I did what she asked and started packing my clothes. I assured her that she could leave for the night and that when she returned I would be gone. As fast as she was drinking, she wouldn’t be any good to me soon anyway.
She left, after giving me one last kiss and waving as she slammed the old door behind her, leaving me alone to realize what it was I just about to do.
“Do you love him?” I asked myself as I continued packing. “Do you see yourself with this man down the road?” I looked in the mirror as if I expected an answer. “He is not him,” my glass counterpart responded, much to my surprise. “He will never be him.”
“Um, him who?” I answered, as if talking to my reflection in the mirror was a normal thing. But she stared back at me for a moment, refusing to give me an answer. Instead she looked down and then back up at me before finally responding. “Ryan is worthy for now, but he will never be him.”
I moved closer to the mirror, squinting my eyes at what I really thought was an illusion. I figured she would start moving like I did but she still just sat there, staring at me.
“Who are you?” I asked, touching the glass.
“Who are you?” she asked in return.
“Really? You are going to ask me that too?” I asked, arguing with my mirror image. “Why does everyone ask me that?”
“Why don’t you ever answer correctly?” she responded. “You know who you are. You just have to dig deep enough.”
“There is nothing there when I do!” I yelled. “I am blank. Empty. There is nothing there.”
“Who are you yelling at?” Zara asked. She had apparently forgotten her wallet and returned. “Her!” I exclaimed, turning back towards the mirror. Of course at this point, my reflection was back to normal.
“Are you done?” she asked, ignoring the rest.
“Almost,” I answered, looking back and forth into the mirror. I thought if I waited long enough, she would return.
“Ok, love you, bye,” Zara said, grabbing her wallet and jetting out the door.
“Bye,” I whispered to the closed door. “Love you too.” I zipped up my suitcase and walked towards the loft door. It felt like another chapter of my life was ending. As if this decision I was about to make would change so many things in my life. It felt right, but more like a direction I was to go in, not the destination. It sounds cruel in a way, if you knew how much Ryan really loved me, but I couldn’t help feeling the way I did. I loved him. I could assure you that but I wasn’t sure I could ever love him the way he wanted. There was something or someone in the way, I couldn’t tell which. But there was something holding me back from loving him fully.
But as my reflection reminded me, he was worthy of whatever I could give him and I was going to give him and us the best shot possible. Maybe, how I felt would change. Maybe I could figure out what it was that prevented me from fully being with him and change it.
He definitely deserved every effort I could give. Before I left campus, I stopped by Mr. Crater’s office and left him a note. I thanked him for the opportunities he gave me and for allowing me to stay in the loft long after my employment had ended.
Then, I flagged down a cab at the University entrance and found my way to Ryan’s. It was pouring rain when I arrived at his building. A building that was locked from the first floor up. With all the commotion in the loft, I had forgotten that he wouldn’t be home until much later, so I found myself sitting on the front stoop, waiting in the rain. No umbrella, no raincoat, and inconveniently, no one coming into the building who could let me in.
Finally, after about a half hour an extremely handsome man finally came out of the building. He didn’t live there, so he didn’t have a key, but noticing me, he quickly stopped the door from shutting before I got locked out again.
“Can I help you with your things?” he asked, grabbing my suitcase and propping the door open with his foot. But instead of answering, I just stood there staring. I was distracted by how good looking this man truly was. He had the most translucent blue eyes and perfectly sculpted face, with dimples that flashed with his pearly white smile. His chiseled jaw, pulsated ever so slightly a
s he held the grin that drew me in. The way he looked at me, I couldn’t help but feel like I was melting.
“Oh, um thank you,” I said, finally snapping out of it and walking through the door. Instinctively, I grabbed my suitcase from him, causing our hands to touch for split second.
“Gabriel?” I blurted, feeling skin against mine. I don’t know why or where that came from. It just happened as if the name fell out of my mouth. I just stood there, baffled at my own reaction.
“Adam,” he answered, looking at me with the same confusion on his face. “But Gabriel sounds cool.”
He followed me into the building to finish the conversation. “Do I know you?” he asked. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”
“You seem familiar to me too,” I responded, trying to brush the rain off my face with my wet shirt. “But I don’t know from where.”
“Hmmm, maybe we knew each other in a different life,” he joked as he moved closer to help me dry off.
As he touched my hair, he stepped back with the same puzzled look that I had earlier. “Why aren’t you in the car yet?” A tall pretty blonde asked from the top of the stairs. It was obvious she didn’t like the fact that he was talking to me. But her tone wasn’t so much riddled with jealousy as it was demanding and protective.
“Oh, I didn’t catch your name,” he said, ignoring her and staring at me.
“Anessa,” I said, looking back at him. I couldn’t get over how familiar he looked.
“Anessa, this is Lydia, my girlfriend. She lives here in the building,” he said, pulling Lydia towards me.
I reached out my hand for her to shake but she just brushed me off.
“We will be late for dinner,” she said, as she tried to push Adam towards the door.
“Do you live here?” he asked, ignoring his girlfriend.
“I do now,” I responded, equally ignoring her. “Then I hope to run into you again,” he said, trying to reach out to shake my hand goodbye. But Lydia slapped his hand down demanding they leave right away.
