Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  FORGET

  It’s like a veil from another time covers her, changing her. “I don’t know any Amalie.” Her gaze shifts to Nana, following behind me. “I’m tired, Mother.”

  Goosebumps raise the hairs on my arms.

  Is she joking?

  “Mom! It’s not funny!”

  But Mom’s wondering eyes are blank. She has no idea who I am and doesn’t wait long to respond. “Well, if you say so. Now, please leave.” Her face hardens. The beeps increase.

  I back out of the room, my eyes locked on Mom’s face through the small window in the door while closing it behind me.

  She has to know me.

  We’ve spent every day together since I was born.

  What is this?

  There has to be something we can do? The doctor can fix this, can’t she?

  “Amalie?” Nana’s familiar voice churns through my increasingly desperate thoughts. When she opens her arms, I throw myself into them, and can’t hold my tears back.

  What have I done?

  Nana strokes my hair. “Mr. Jensen, please follow Amalie to her room. I will ask Dr. Rose to meet us there.”

  I let her go, and Mr. Jensen, who has waited in the corridor, helps me back.

  “Your mother, like you, had several blows to the head that will take time healing,” Dr. Rose explains as if she’s reading a recipe for scrambled eggs.

  Outside my window, the sun is shining, and birds are chirping. Mom relishes days like these. I can’t bear the harsh light, so I look away.

  “Unfortunately, there are no tests we can do to determine if memory loss will be permanent.”

  “Permanent?” As if I stand up too fast, the room spins and my eyelids become heavy.

  “You both need rest. She might remember. But psychologically she’s been through enough trauma that she might have sustained a memory loss due to lacunar amnesia.” She gives me that smile doctors do. That fake sympathetic smile showing they have bad news but are unsure whether a patient is strong enough to handle it.

  “Tell me what it means!” I demand, spending every bit of strength I have left to stay awake.

  Dr. Rose sits down in the chair beside my bed. She sighs, the mechanical voice is gone, and with a soothing voice, she explains. “Lacunar amnesia is a partial loss of memory, a gap. It can be the result of physical injuries like blows to the head, something your mother has suffered. Or it can be psychological, a trauma.”

  After a few deep breaths, I nod, as she continues to explain.

  “If a person goes through something horrible, something they can’t cope with, this gap kicks in as a defense mechanism. It deletes the bad memories so you can live on without them.”

  If my mother needs to erase bad memories, she would have to delete most of her life with Dad.

  My grip on the mattress tightens as I try to fit together the pieces of information. Brewing in my stomach is a new round of acid rumbling a warning. The only way Mom can have a gap without me in her memory is if her memory gap covers twenty years, which is impossible. “This makes no sense. Nobody has a memory loss of twenty years.”

  Dr. Rose’s voice is careful. “I have not heard of any case that severe before, so let’s stay positive. Let her rest, and this might sort itself out.”

  I swallow to keep the acid down, realizing there could be a chance Mom might never know who I am. I grip the mattress tighter.

  Nana puts her hand on mine and turns to Dr. Rose. “This does sound extreme, you see. But you think there might be a chance for Celina’s memory to return after rest?”

  Dr. Rose goes out of focus as my mind blurs with racing thoughts of the life Mom and I have had together. Our happy memories are turning sad. Dancing and laughing in the kitchen at The Bluebird, her excited face when I show her a new painting or piece of art I’ve made, all our precious moments, only her and I. Losing her will be like losing a part of myself. This has to be a nightmare. “This is insane! There is no way Mom would delete me to protect herself.” I close my eyes. This isn’t real. Things like this don’t happen in real life.

  “A trauma isn’t a disease to cure. It’s a tension that builds in a person’s nervous system, and if she can’t remember, she can’t process and release that tension.” Dr. Rose knits her eyebrows together as if recalling a similar patient. “Let’s give it a night, and hope for the best.”

  There’s a knock on the door to my room, and two police officers walk in, a man and a woman. She’s short and muscular, her arms toned through her long black sleeves. The man is tall and plump and wears rimless eyeglasses.

  I pull on my blanket to cover my bare legs. “Have you arrested him?”

  Dr. Rose holds her hand up, stopping them from entering further. “She needs more time.”

  “No, I’ll talk to them.” I need the distraction. Looking to Mr. Jensen, I can tell they haven’t caught Dad, and if I can help with that, I will.

  “All right. These are officers Clara and Robert,” Dr. Rose says, before signaling for Nana and Mr. Jensen to leave my room with her. “Get some rest, and we’ll revisit your mother tomorrow, together.”

  Clara and Robert sit next to my bed and as soon as the door closes, Clara asks. “Do you recall who did this to you?”

  I gasp. “You don’t know? It was my father. He did this to Mom and me.”

  Robert clicks his pen and writes.

  “We have to inform you then that, since he is a relative, you have no obligation to explain anything to us you fear might put yourself in danger,” Clara says.

  That’s not like in the movies where police kick down doors and scream in people’s faces to give up information. “What did Mom say?”

  “We can’t share that with you.”

  I wonder if she forgot that too or if she chose to keep it secret. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything you want to tell us about yesterday.”

  My breathing increases as I tell them what Dad did. Clara listens, and Robert writes down everything I say while peering at me over his glasses. After only a few minutes, they get up to leave.

  “Please catch Dad and lock him up for good.”

  “We’ll try,” Clara says. She opens the door to leave.

  Explaining that evening in detail reminds me of the gap in my memory from what happened between the time Dad knocked me out, and I woke up in the hospital. “How did we get here?”

  Robert flips a few pages back in his notebook. “A man called it in. William Sand.”

  A rainbow of emotions comes over me. I’m beaming from hearing William’s name, seeing his face before me. Why would he be at our house? Maybe he looked for me when I didn’t show up to meet him? If he found us beaten on the floor in a bloodbath…

  Shit.

  He must think my family is crazy. Which it’s turned out to be.

  Oh no.

  This has to be too much for him. He saved us, and now he won’t want anything more to do with me.

  As the police close the door behind them, it’s as if someone dims the light inside of me. I doze off.

  Waking up the next morning, I refuse to open my eyes, hoping I’ll wake up in my own bed. But the stiff sheets and pain in my body give it away, and I’m disappointed to find I’m still in the hospital, not waking up from a bad dream. It’s cloudy outside, a pressure is in the air even inside, and moisture on the window blurs my view of the hospital grounds. Soon, it will rain.

  Outside my room, rubber soles squeak on the linoleum floor and electric doors open and close. I have just pulled a sweater over my head when Mr. Jensen knocks.

  “Good morning, Amalie. Have you seen this weather? It is dreadful, I tell you, dreadful. But the garden needs it. How are you feeling?”

  “Scared.” Mom has to remember me today. I don’t know if I can go through that look on her face again.

  He tucks his arm around my waist and escorts me into the corridor. “Let’s speak with Dr. Rose. She’ll know what to do.”

  I force
a smile.

  Dr. Rose is outside Mom’s room talking to Nana and a police officer appearing to be there on guard. Come to think of it, I saw him outside my room yesterday, as well, after Clara and Robert left.

  Dr. Rose gestures for me to go in. “We’ll know right away if she remembers you, Amalie. She seems to recall everyone else, so we have our hopes up. I’m sorry to put you through this.”

  My pulse quickens. I push the door open, wishing with all my heart Mom will say my name, open her arms, and allow me to breathe again.

  Mom’s eyes widen seeing me, the heart monitor speeds up. Does she know who I am?

  Come on. Remember me!

  She presses her alarm button, and Dr. Rose enters behind me. Mom points in my direction. “I understand I’ve had a severe blow to my head and some sort of memory loss, but I’m still entitled to choose who I see. I don’t want this girl to revisit me until I ask for it. Do you understand?”

  Dr. Rose nods. My stomach cramps as I back out of her room. When the door closes behind me, it’s more than acid on its way up. I desperately glance around me for a trashcan, bag or anything to release the vomit cramping its way up the insides of my body. Mr. Jensen must have seen it coming because he pulls a paper bag off the rack by the door and is by my side within a second holding my hair back while I hurl into it.

  When I don’t have anything left in me, Dr. Rose exits Mom’s room. “I’m so sorry, Amalie. When you’re ready, come to see me in my office.”

  I wipe my mouth. “I’m ready.”

  Nana joins me in Dr. Rose’s office. A matte white vase stands tall on the edge of her desk, and the room smells of lilies. She drapes her coat over her chair and reveals ankle-length charcoal jeans with a matching sweater. She gestures for us to take a seat in front of her. She reminds me of Mom. Elegant and classy.

  My breathing quickens again like I’m entering a marathon over and over, a marathon for pushing the limits of my emotions. I search the room for anything to fixate my gaze on while I fight to stay calm. Behind Dr. Rose is a picture of her with a golden terrier. The dog has a birthday hat on and looks ecstatic, eyes straight at the camera. The doctor’s expression next to the dog reminds me of Mom’s face, holding the yellow suitcase in the picture with Nana. Pure happiness.

  She notices me gazing. “She’s my everything,” she says.

  I nod. So is Mom to me. “How is this possible? She remembers Nana and Mr. Jensen?”

  “She might remember them from before she had you.”

  “What can I do to help her?”

  “She’ll try to make sense of her new world. In some patients, this is a scary process, which may lead to her protecting herself, isolating herself like we saw this morning. Although she says she doesn’t want to see you, find a way to spend time with her, allow her to feel safe with you. Over time, if she trusts you, she might give herself the room she needs to let her memory come back.”

  “How long is a while? Weeks? Years?”

  Dr. Rose tilts her head to the side, her expression sympathetic. She doesn’t know. “I’ll keep you informed of any changes. The problem is further stress could cause your mother to forget even more than she already has.”

  If stress makes it worse…“But I live in the same house as her.” I turn around and look in the direction of room 232. If Mom still has no recollection of me when discharged, then I can’t live there.

  The doctor sighs. “I cannot interfere with your personal lives. My advice is to keep Celina’s stress levels as low as possible.”

  I look at Nana. If Mom comes home to see me living there, a stranger to her, that will freak her out. “I have to move out.”

  Nana takes my hand. “You’ll live with me until she gets back to normal.”

  Dr. Rose leans across the desk. “I have to warn you. Not all patients recover.”

  Mom might not recover?

  It’s as if my skin freezes.

  Can you stop making this worse than it already is?

  Nausea. I don’t have time to find a bag but cover my mouth with my hands.

  Dr. Rose pulls a paper bag out from her desk drawer. “Here.”

  When my body stops trying to expel the information that Mom might never remember me, Nana pats my hand lovingly before Mr. Jensen follows me back to my room where I immediately fall asleep.

  When I wake up, a second bouquet of red roses stands on the table next to my bed. A card hangs from a silver string on one of the flowers. Another card is on the first bouquet that was here when I woke up. I read the first one:

  Looking forward to seeing you better,

  William

  He wants to meet me again. Ecstatic I read the second card:

  Looking forward to a third date,

  William

  It might be a crazy family, but it hasn’t scared him off.

  Woohoo!

  Although I wish he’d choose a different flower since these remind me too much of what Dad would pick, it’s a kind gesture. I shouldn’t be critical of the flowers. I’m putting too much meaning into details. Not only did William find me, lying on the floor, and probably saved our lives, he’s stopped by the hospital twice with flowers. If it weren’t for William right now, I’d have a hard time trusting any man again after what Dad did. I won’t end up like Mom.

  A knock on my door. “Oh, aren’t they beautiful? Just beautiful,” Mr. Jensen says.

  “Is he still here?” I try to look past him out into the hallway, which seems empty.

  “He was here a few hours ago. Oh, he’s charming, that man. I didn’t let him in to see you, though, but put his flowers in the vase for you.”

  I try to hide my disappointment by looking out the window.

  Mr. Jensen hands me a paper coffee cup, sipping from another as he speaks. “The coffee is dreadful, though, dreadful, I tell you.” He takes another sip and grimaces. “According to Dr. Rose, you’re cleared to go home.”

  “I have no home.” I dread going back to where Dad attacked us to pack my things. Instead, I want to bury my head in a pillow and never look up.

  “Of course you do. I’ll help you get your things over to Nana’s. You’re always welcome to stay with me if you’d like.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “Oh, she’s staying for a while longer,” Mr. Jensen says.

  An hour later, Mr. Jensen carries my bag for me out to his electric car. I take the flowers from William. While Mr. Jensen puts the bag in the trunk, I cling onto the roof handle, lowering myself slowly into the front passenger seat, wishing for it to be soft, but it isn’t, and I clench my teeth as I let my full body weight sink.

  I pull down the sunscreen mirror. I look terrible, damaged.

  “Can you drop me off at Nana’s?” I have to face the battle scene at home as soon as possible, but I long for one night away from it first. I turn slightly to get a hold of the seat belt strap even though this makes my shoulder burn as though it’s on fire, then buckle myself in.

  All the way home, I dread having to undo my seat belt. So when we park outside Nana’s, I hurl my arm around and click the buckle open. It has to be what a knife cut feels like, every muscle tightening to withstand the pain.

  Mr. Jensen opens my door and holds out his arm for support. I take it and hoist myself out as if in slow motion. My spine feels like shattered glass, cutting me from the inside as I straighten up, one vertebra at a time. I suppress the pain and put on a smile to thank him. In the car window, my reflection reveals that what I imagine to be a smile looks more like I’m going to throw up. I limp ahead of him while he closes the car door. He quickly catches up with me, and I surrender to his helping arm yet again.

  Outside Nana’s front door, Mr. Jensen fidgets in his pocket, pulling out an envelope. “Hermann must have gone mad. He should have gone to the police himself after what he did to you and Celina, of course. Instead, sadly, he’s probably on the beach in Brazil by now, basking in the sun.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Skar have a house there. I
’ve never been, but Mr. Jensen and Dad supposedly vacationed there a lot when he was younger.

  Mr. Jensen shakes his head. “I regret to say I received this letter from your father this morning. You need to see it.”

  I open it, recognizing my father’s signature at the bottom. Hairs on my arms rise, so I stick it back and throw the letter into my bag. I want this day to end, my colorful remnants of Dad’s behavior to vanish and be forgotten. After crying, throwing up, and showing myself at my most vulnerable, I want to read this alone.

  A LETTER TO MR. JENSEN

  “I have prepared your room for you,” Nana says, taking the flowers from my hands. “I’ll put these in water and bring them up to your room.”

  “William brought them,” I say, grinning through sore lips.

  I walk carefully into the house, supporting myself on the wall past her library, and up the dark wooden stairs lined with family photos. My room has white wallpaper with flowers painted on it, and it looks precisely the same as when I stayed here as a child. The window overlooks the garden where dark clouds gather above. I place my bag on the bed when Nana enters the bedroom. “Have you heard from Dr. Rose?” I ask.

  Nana shakes her head while putting the flowers on the dresser by the window. A ray of light hits the petals. “I will make us a cup of tea.” The stairs creak as she heads down to the kitchen.

  She really has given up coffee?

  I pull out the letter Dad sent Mr. Jensen, then lay on the bed to read it.

  Balder, my friend.

  I lost it today. I never meant to hurt Celina. I love her. It’s no excuse, but it's been hell the last nineteen years. The day Amalie was born, my life ended.

  It’s hard for you to understand, since you don't have kids, but they change everything.