Girl With a Past (11 page)

“That’s because it was designed by the same
architect, the same year,” Elliott explained. “Edward Durell Stone.
Won a bunch of architectural awards.”

“Impressive, I hope that means they’re
good,” I said.

We piled out of the two cars, found the
emergency room waiting area, and elected Jeff to speak with the
medical staff. Thanks to his EMT training as a lifeguard, he would
understand their lingo better than the rest of us. He stood next to
Jamie at the reception counter. Jamie signed his name with a
flourish at the end of a pile of papers.

“They’ll let one family member at a time
into the exam room,” Jamie explained when he and Jeff returned to
where the rest of us sat clustered on a leather clad window
seat.

“That won’t be me as I already made the
mistake of admitting I’m not . . . a family member that is,” Jeff
said.

With Jeff’s strawberry blonde hair, and
tanned, freckled skin, there was not a chance he could pass for
Carol’s brother.

We looked from one face to another. Jamie
with his year round tan and blonde hair looked nothing like Carol.
Nor did blonde Ron. Pudgy Elliott didn’t even faintly resemble my
slender, elegant friend. Tom’s hair was light brown, his eyes
brown, his body tall and sturdy. Dave had dark hair, was tall and
slender––but Carol was not at all fond of him. In fact, she claimed
he gave her the creeps. Carol barely knew any of the guys. A couple
of them, she was to meet that day. That left me, but she and I were
a contrast in opposites.

“What if we just told them the truth? That
none of us are related, but I’ve known her all her life. What do ya
think?” I asked.

Jeff shook his head.

“Jamie’s paying. Doesn’t that give him any
privileges?” Ron asked.

“I think Lexi should just go in there as
though she has every right to be there. Ignore any questioning
regarding your relationship.” Jamie smiled at me. “I’ll run
interference if need be.”

Yeah, I’ll just be like Jamie. Calm and
confident; like I own the world. Which, of course, he almost
does.

And I don’t. Never mind that, I told myself
as I pushed past the receptionist and demanded to know where Carol
was. No one answered, so I walked in like I owned the place.

The first white clad nurse I asked glanced
at me before hurrying down the hall. I peeked in an open doorway
and caught a glimpse of a wall of windows overlooking a spectacular
fountain court. The room was empty.

The next room was buzzing with activity. I
slipped in behind the medical personnel and watched two men clad in
white coats study two x-rays and confer with a nurse. A guy in
green scrubs cut away Carol’s sweatshirt while a nurse attached a
tube to each arm, and one attached to her nostrils.

I turned my head until I thought they were
through cutting and poking, I hate anything sharp.

When I turned back, a second nurse was
checking vitals; a man pulled open her eyes and shone a small
flashlight into each one.

I remained quiet, trying to make sense out
of their conversations.

The two conferring doctors turned to leave
the room. I stepped in front of them.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Both men looked at me with surprise. “Time
will tell,” one said as they brushed past me.

The nurse who had been part of their
conversation had a better bedside manner. She smiled and touched my
arm, “The prognosis is good. She has a broken wrist, a compound
fracture of her forearm––”

“People don’t die from broken arms,” I
blurted.

“No, the problem is she also has a severe
concussion.”

A squeak escaped my mouth. “How do you treat
that?”

“She’ll be closely monitored.”

I jumped at the sound of Carol’s bed being
moved behind us.

“What are they doing? Where are they taking
her?”

“We need more x-rays.” The nurse studied my
face. “Take a deep breath. Here, sit down in that chair and put
your head between your knees.” She led me to an armchair and sat me
down. “Most likely your friend will be fine. But when someone has
been unconscious for more than thirty minutes, it sometimes
indicates severe brain injury.”

“What does that mean? Is she going to
die?”

“She may require surgery if there is
swelling. Even in the best case, with traumatic brain injury, we’ll
keep her under observation for twenty-four hours.” She looked at my
dusty clothes and body. “You have time to get cleaned up and eat
something before you see her. But you must wait outside that door.”
She nodded at the door I had brazenly entered.

Dazed, I wandered back to the waiting
room.

“Well?” Jeff asked.

I spotted Dave with his back to us, looking
out the wall of windows at the fountain in the courtyard.

“Damnit, Dave, what the hell? What
happened?” I blurted.

“I told you, she tripped.” Dave watched the
water spout into the air.

“Were you in front of her––to break her
fall?” My fists pounded his back. “Turn around! You tell me now.
How did you let this happen?”

“Lexi, calm down.” Jeff pulled me off Dave.
“What did you find out?”

I repeated what I’d heard the doctors say,
“Traumatic brain injury, possibly severe.”

Dave remained looking out the window.
Elliott and Tom sank back down on to the leather-clad bench. Ron
leaned against the wall; for once he found nothing to joke about.
Jeff pretended to hug me, but he was actually restraining me from
pulverizing Dave.

Jamie moved to stand next to Dave as though
he, too, were watching the fountain. Just loud enough for all of us
to hear, Jamie asked, “What
did
happen?”

“I was in front of her most of the way. But
when we got near the bottom, she pushed in front. Like she was
excited to get onto the sand, into the water. I saw her trip. There
was nothing I could do.”

16

Berkeley, Alta Bates Hospital, March 2008

Steven looked up from his book when his
father entered the room. “Dad, she’s been saying stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Asking for Carol. Asking if she’s going to
be alright.”

Jeff rubbed his forehead. Steven could tell
his father had one of his headaches. He looked like shit: his eyes
red, and his gray face gaunt. Even his freckles were pale. His hair
was a washed out tint of its former strawberry blonde.

“Dad, did you eat?”

Jeff shook his head and stared at his pale
daughter lying in the hospital bed. With her usual lively animation
gone, she was a sleeping beauty. The wisps of blonde hair that had
escaped the emergency room razor trailed below a white crown of
bandages. How he wished she were back to her usual ass-chewing
self, calling him on every imperfection in his behavior.

“Has there been any ransom––” Steven started
to ask.

Jeff shook his head again.

“Dad, it’s been more than ten hours since
any of us talked to Mom. She’s not answering her phone or texts.
It’s not like her to ignore us for that long. I feel like I should
be out looking for Mom, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“The police are on it, and I’ve got an
investigator that Tom’s law firm uses looking for her, also.” Jeff
said.

“Maybe I could talk to people around
Bancroft and Telegraph. I’m sure that’d be where Mom would’ve
dropped Al off. But I hate to leave her here alone.”

“I’d rather you stay here with the policeman
outside this door. I’d like to know that at least you two are safe.
I’ll get an investigator over there,” Jeff said.

17

Golden Gate Park, Summer of Love, 1967

The fog burned off by mid afternoon. I
stripped off layers of sweaters and a jacket, down to my T-shirt
and denim sailor pants, and wadded up my clothing to make a pillow.
The warmth of the sun was worth the popped out freckles on my arms
and nose. The heat awoke the sweet smell of the freshly mown lawn.
From the makeshift stage, Janis Joplin’s voice rasped out, “
Call
on me, darlin', just call on me.”

The glutted streets of San Francisco emptied
pedestrians into the park. Noting the growing audience, I stretched
a blanket full size to mark our territory until my companions
returned from their foray into the Haight in search of maryjane and
liquid refreshments. Smoke from weed and incense drowned the sweet
smells of the lawn and ocean breezes.

“Ciao, Lexi,” I heard Carol say as she stood
over me.

“
If you’re going to San Francisco
,”
Carol’s off key attempt at John Phillip's song preceded something
damp and fragrant landing on the face I had turned to the sun,
“
be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”

I sat up to adjust the wreath of flowers
onto the crown of my head. “Groovy.” I grinned and loosened my
braided hair into waves. “Where are the guys?”

“There are a lot of half-naked women dancing
in the street over at the corner of Haight and Ashbury.” Carol sunk
to the blanket folding her legs Indian fashion. Pastel flowers on
her tunic and in her jet-black hair set off her dramatic coloring.
Oblivious to admiring stares, she lit up, took a toke, and passed
the joint to me.

This had been our summer of liberation.
Prior to this summer, we females depended on the men in our lives
to provide the dope while we provided the food. The stereotypical
roles of the sexes were a long way from broken down, but Carol and
I were beginning to see the possibilities. A couple of the men in
our circle were even starting to cook.

I fought back disappointment that Dave,
Elliott and Ron had ditched us. I wanted Carol to get to know the
guys in my circle of friends.

I handed the joint back to her and used my
now free hands to remove my sandals. A few more hits, and we both
stood to sway to the tunes. Hundreds of raised arms undulated like
the tentacles of a mega sea anemone.

The constant succession of bands eager for
an audience kept us moving to the sounds of Big Brother, the
Grateful Dead, Country Joe and the Fish, the Who, Credence
Clearwater Revival, Iron Butterfly, and Jefferson Airplane until
late into the night when Joan Baez sang us down. Carol and I
finally crashed onto the blanket and snoozed to “
Oh, where have
you been, my darling young one?”

“Lexi, wake up!” Carol’s hand shook my
shoulder. “It’s creepy here.”

I raised my head, opened my eyes. Wisps of
mist drifted through the black moonless night as fog rolled around
us. The cold mist muffled scattered voices. “Shit. What time
is
it?”

“Late.” Carol looked and sounded pissed.
“And we’ve been abandoned.”

“They probably couldn’t find us in the
crowd.” I offered as I gathered clothing, bags, and the
blanket.

“Pul-eeze, stop making excuses for them.”
Carol snapped. She tossed her wilted floral crown onto the ground.
“We shouldn’t’ve come when we found out it was just those three
going.”

I considered what excuse she might buy, but
she wasn’t fond of any of them. I couldn’t offer anything she would
see as a redeeming quality.

“Guess Ron changed his mind.” Carol pulled a
sweater over her head.

“About what?” I shoved an arm into my
jacket, fastened my sandals.

“I heard him say you meet the prettiest
girls at Barry Goldwater rallies.”

“He might have a hard time finding one of
those around here.” I slung my stuffed bag onto my shoulder. “Let’s
us find a bus stop.” I headed for the edge of the park.

Carol grumbled but she followed.

The lawn was damp. The bellbottoms of my
Navy surplus jeans flapped wet and cold against my ankles. I barely
avoided tripping over sleeping bodies in the dark and mist.

Carol was right. The murky place was creepy
in the middle of the night.

Ahead a street lamp almost lit a break in
thick bushes ringing the meadow.

I checked to see if Carol had kept up. “Come
on.”

“You better know where you’re going.” She
pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder.

Even though I could barely make out her
silhouette, I knew she was giving me her pissed off look. “Fulton
Street is right through there.” I motioned.

“Through those bushes? I don’t see any
street. And it’s really black in there.”

I ignored her whining and slugged ahead.
When I reached the edge of the bushes, I waited for her to join me
and we stepped into the dark brush.

Dead center in the gloomy thicket of blurred
shadows of shrubs, a dark figure wielding a knife suddenly blocked
the gap. A voice muffled by a black mask and hood, cackled a
malicious laugh. Without a word, the figure motioned at Carol’s
purse with the knife.

I slipped the strap of my bag off my
shoulder and dropped it on the ground. Knives petrify me.

The dark figure slashed the glinting knife
at both of us in one long swoop and bent to pick up my bag.

Carol swung her heavy leather handbag hard,
hitting him on the side of his head. Before he could recover, she
knocked the knife from his hand.

The black clad figure was barely my height,
but built like a man.

I kicked out hoping to catch him in the
balls. I missed, flew off my feet, and landed on my ass.

Carol picked up the knife and stuck it into
the forearm behind the fist he had aimed at me.

He swung at Carol and the knife flew to the
ground next to my hand.

I picked it up as I scrambled to my feet and
lunged at the black body.

He ducked.

The plunging knife caught him in the neck.
He grabbed my hand, twisting the knife from my grasp.

Then the dark figure, and his knife, lurched
out of the bushes, and ran across the lawn.