Me Again (15 page)

“It’s just so nice to meet one of Jonny’s friends,” my mother said, pouring tea from a pretty glass pitcher I hadn’t seen before.

“Thank you,” said Rebecca when her glass was filled. “Jonathan has been a really good friend to me while I was recovering. We met when we were in physical therapy.”

“Jonny!” my mother said accusingly. “You never mentioned this delightful young lady to me.”

Finding no rocks available for crawling under, I tried to join the conversation. “I mentioned her to Dad, I think.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “You did.” Mercifully he didn’t bother to add that the first time I had done so was little more than an hour ago.

Mom said, “Why were you hospitalized, dear? Were you in an accident?”

Rebecca looked surprised. “No, I was in the same wing of the hospital as Jonathan. I had a stroke, too. And now I have brain damage.”

If you ever want to grind a conversation to a halt, I suggest you try the phrase “I have brain damage.” It will silence the most chipper hostess in the world, I can assure you.

Trying to rescue Rebecca, I said, “Rebecca came back from being paralyzed – she had to learn to walk all over again. And now she doesn’t even need a cane.”

“Really?” my father said, eager to brighten the conversation. “That’s terrific – you must have worked very hard.”

“I did,” Rebecca said. “I’m still working on it. But Jonathan’s doing really well, too. He talks so much better now than when I met him. And he’s a really good writer. My writing stinks. And I say stupid things to people.”

“Stupid things?” my mother repeated, a puzzled look on her face.

God bless my dad. He stood up and said, “Say, Rebecca, would you like to see some pictures of Jonny when he was just a little boy?”

Rebecca got up and followed my father to the wall of photos. With my eyes I shot daggers, javelins, and garden shears at my mother, silently entreating her not to press Rebecca for more details regarding her affliction. Whether or not she picked up the signal, in a moment her hostess instincts took over, and she joined my father in talking Rebecca through the various photos on the wall.

“You were really cute when you were little,” Rebecca said, stopping in front of an old black-and-white shot. I tried not to infer that this meant I was no longer cute.

“And there’s your brother,” Rebecca said, looking at another photo. “Teddy, right?”

“That’s him,” I agreed.

“Everybody looks so nice in this one,” Rebecca said, pointing to a group shot. “You’re all so dressed up.”

Mom beamed. “That was our thirtieth wedding anniversary. It was so nice to have everybody together for that party.”

Rebecca peered at the photo, then turned to me. “See, I told you your brother’s girlfriend was pretty. Look at her – she looks like a movie star or something.”

I was sure I had looked at the picture before, having studied all of the photos in the house, but couldn’t recall any that showed Teddy with a woman.

“Really?” I said. “Let me see.” I got up and eased my walker towards the wall of photographs. As I drew closer I began to realize how utterly silent my parents had become. Puzzled, I looked first at my father, then at my mother. Neither would meet my gaze.

“She really is beautiful,” Rebecca said, still staring at the photo. “Big Bob couldn’t take his eyes off her when she and Teddy came to the hospital.”

I turned my attention to the photo Rebecca was studying. Sure enough, there was a stunning young woman in the photo, standing between Teddy and me.

Victoria.

Chapter 17

“W
HO’S READY FOR MORE ICED TEA?” my mother asked, her voice growing shrill.

Dad said, “I, uh, need to go check on a... a thing. Down in the basement. There’s this thing, and I need to check on it. In the basement.” Turning, he muttered, “I’ll be right back,” and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later the basement door slammed.

My mother busied herself refilling all the glasses on the dining room table.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, “I think we’ve had enough tea. Thanks.”

Mom put down the pitcher, still avoiding my eyes.

“Well, then,” she said, “I’ll just leave you two to visit with each other.”

Offering her hand to my mother, Rebecca said, “It was really nice to meet you.”

Mom gave Rebecca’s hand a quick shake and mumbled something about hoping to see her again soon. Then she bustled off to some other part of the house, leaving Rebecca and me standing in front of the wall of photos.

“She’s really nice,” Rebecca said. “They both are. It’s nice to see how well you all get along. My parents drive me crazy – that’s one thing that hasn’t changed since my stroke.”

Looking at Victoria’s smiling face in the photo from my parents’ anniversary, I said, “Well, the key is to have an honest, open line of communication.”

Rebecca surprised me by touching me on the arm. I turned to see her face furrowed with concern.

“Did I just say something stupid again?” she asked. “Your voice sounded really weird just then. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that tone. Jonathan, whatever I just said, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” I said. “I’m sorry. You didn’t say anything to upset me. It’s just...”

She continued to stare at me. “Jonathan?”

I had promised to be totally honest with her. Now I was finding how hard that could be – or at least how embarrassing.

I forced a weak smile. “Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s sit down in the living room, and I’ll tell you what just happened here. That is, if you don’t need to go yet.”

Rebecca shrugged. “No, I’ve got time.”

She picked up our tea glasses and followed me as I shuffled to the living room, where we situated ourselves on a pair of couches that faced each other.

“It’s kind of funny, really,” I began...

* * * * *

“Oh. My. God.” Rebecca’s eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them.

“Yeah,” I said, pausing to sip my tea. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“So that day I saw her, she was...”

“Coming there to break up with me.”

“But she didn’t tell you she was with Teddy?”

“Not a word. Somehow it didn’t come up.”

“How about Teddy? What did he say?”

“He just kept telling me how great everything was going,” I said. “And how much things had changed for him. I guess he wasn’t kidding.”

“I just can’t believe your own brother could do that to you.”

Thinking about what I’d been learning about my relationship with Teddy, I said, “I can. And in his defense, nobody thought I was going to wake up.” I thought about Victoria’s explanation. “I guess you’ve got to expect people to eventually move on with their lives, you know?”

“I guess,” Rebecca said. “Still, it seems like they could have picked other people to move on with.”

“I don’t know – Victoria seemed pretty happy.”

Rebecca studied me. “You don’t sound very upset when you talk about her.”

I spoke very quietly. “That’s because I don’t remember her.”

“Not at all?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. When she walked into my hospital room, I had no idea who she was. So that makes it hard for me to get too upset about losing her – I don’t remember ever
having
her.”

Rebecca frowned, still looking at me intently. “Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

“What are you so upset about? It’s not Victoria – I can see that. But you’re upset about
something
.”

I thought about this. “It’s the lies,” I said finally. “Nobody would tell me the truth about this. They all tried to hide it from me – even my own parents.”

Rebecca nodded. “It’s like what you said to me a while ago. About how people tell you what they think you want to hear.”

“Instead of what’s really going on,” I said. “Look, I know they do it to try to spare my feelings, but look how it can turn out.” I gestured towards the photo. “I mean, did they think I would never find out?”

“Oh, God,” Rebecca said. “I bet they’re furious with me for saying anything.”

“No, I think they’re mostly just embarrassed. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Now I reached out and touched her arm. “I’m serious. I know you worry about saying the wrong thing, but that is
not
what happened here. Believe me.”

She looked skeptical, but her face was softening. “Okay,” she said. “Still I feel like it got me off on the wrong foot with them.”

“That’s their fault, not yours. But I am curious to see how they try to explain this to me.”

“And I bet your next conversation with your brother is going to be interesting.”

“Interesting,” I said. “That’s a good word. Covers a lot of possibilities.”

We talked a little longer, then Rebecca said she needed to go. I walked her outside and watched her climb up into the massive machine. She started the engine, then rolled down her window.

Seeing the quizzical look on her face, I said, “Did you forget something?”

“No, I just thought about the main thing I remembered about Victoria, you know, from that time I saw her at the hospital. And that picture of her confirmed it.”

“What’s that?” I came closer so I could hear her voice over the purring engine.

Putting the car in gear and beginning to back out of the driveway, Rebecca announced, “Her boobs looked fake.”

* * * * *

Back inside the house, my parents were waiting for me, each wearing sheepish expressions.

My father began. “Listen, Jonathan. We didn’t—"

“No, let me,” said my mother. “We just...” Her voice tapered off, and she looked helplessly at my father.

“Well?” I said.

Finally my father spoke up. “We just never found the right time to tell you.”

“That’s just it,” Mom said. “When you first woke up, it seemed like too much to hit you with.”

Dad said, “Then as time went on, it reached a point where it seemed like it was too
late
to tell you.”

“Plus, you were doing so well,” Mom said. “You were making such progress, we didn’t want to bring you down.” She was clearly flustered. “I mean, this whole thing was all so unexpected.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s been made abundantly clear to me.”

“And Teddy and Victoria seemed so happy together,” she said, a remark that set my father to squirming where he stood.

“Well, they do, George. It took Teddy a long time to find his, well, his place in life.”

I said, “Looks like the place he found was mine.”

It turned out I could stop a conversation every bit as effectively as Rebecca could. We stood there, the three of us silent and unmoving.

Finally my father cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, are you and Teddy going to... well, are you going to be okay?”

I shrugged. “Were we ever?”

This got one corner of my Dad’s mouth to rise, a hint of a sardonic smile.

“To be honest,” he said, “I think maybe Teddy’s a better match for a woman like Victoria.” My mother shot him a look, but he went on, propelled by the momentum of his own candor.

“I don’t mean any offense by this, Jonathan, but you’ve changed a bit since your stroke. And I don’t just mean your memory. You act a little...
different
now.”

“And not in a bad way,” my mother hastily added.

“No,” Dad said, “not at all in a bad way. But enough that I’d think maybe you and Victoria might not be as... compatible as you might have once been.”

My mother started to reply, but I held up a hand, and she stopped herself.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I have changed. And I’ll concede that Victoria may not be my type – if I even have a type, that is.”

“That Rebecca woman was certainly nice,” my mother said.

“
She’s married
.” My father and I spoke in strident unison.

“Oh,” said my mother, holding a hand up to her mouth. “Never mind.”

“Look,” I said, “I understand why you did what you did. I just need you to not do that anymore.”

My gaze moved back and forth between them. At least they were looking me in the eye now.

“I just need to know that there are no more surprises waiting for me. Can you promise me that?”

My parents still looked uneasy. Mom said, “By surprises, you mean...”

“Stuff that happened during my coma.”

They both seemed to relax a little.

“I think you’re all caught up now,” Dad said. “The thing with Teddy and Victoria was the one thing we hadn’t figured out how to broach.”

“I’m serious, Dad,” I said. “I don’t want to find out later that you had a sex change while I was in a coma. Or that Mom ran off with the mailman. No more surprises.”

To my relief, this tactic seemed to lighten their moods.

“Don’t worry,” my dad said. “No more surprises.” He started to walk away, but stopped and said, “Oh, but Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t the mailman. It was the cable guy.”

“George!” My mother chased after him as he hurried out of the room. From the laughter I heard, I suspect she caught him.

Chapter 18

“J
ONATHAN! COME OUT HERE and see who’s come to visit!” My mother’s singsong voice tore my attention away from the novel I was reading.

“Just a minute,” I called, marking my place in the book, a Robert Ludlum thriller about a spy with amnesia. I was on a novels-about-amnesia kick, a self-indulgence that in retrospect seems a little silly. I guess I was looking for people with whom I had something in common, even if they were fictional.

I stood up and checked my appearance in the mirror, dreading the encounter that awaited me. Over the last several weeks my mother had been inviting a steady stream of guests to our house, in an effort to reacquaint me with my life and possibly rekindle some memories. But so far Operation Rekindle was a bust – I had not remembered anybody to whom she introduced me.

Sighing, I flashed a smirk-concealing smile at my reflection in the mirror, then headed down the hallway. I was walking with a cane now, but carried the book with me as a prop. This was an affectation I had recently adopted to hide the way my right arm was never fully extended, a trick I picked up from watching a tape of Bob Dole in an old presidential debate. He carried a pencil in his hand to divert attention from his paralyzed arm. Of course, the damage to Dole’s arm came from a war injury; mine came from lying in bed for six years.

My mother stood with her back to me in the foyer, helping a grey-haired woman off with her coat. As the woman shrugged out of her coat, she turned towards my mother, offering me my first glimpse at her face.

I froze. The book fell out of my hand.

“Mrs. Marigold!”

It was my own voice, but I was unaware of having spoken.

My mother spun around. “Why, Jonny!” she cried with delight. “You remembered!”

But I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking into the sparkling eyes of the small but heavyset woman who was walking towards me.

I was looking at the first truly familiar face I had seen. Ever.

“Mrs. Marigold,” I said again.

The woman chuckled. “I always loved that name,” she said, stopping a few feet away from me. “Now look at how you’ve grown up.”

A wave of memories suddenly surged through my mind, a sensation so powerful it was physically tangible. I staggered back a step, suddenly unsteady on my feet.

I knew her. I remembered her.

And I loved her.

“Mrs. Marigold,” I said again, stupidly.

“Isn’t that just the cutest thing?” my mother said. “We always got such a kick out of that name. Now let’s all sit down and have some coffee. Oh, and Jonny, can you pick up that book?”

My mother shooed us towards the couches in the living room, then bustled off to get the coffee, leaving me and the woman staring across the room at each other.

“You remember me,” the woman said, smiling. “I was hoping you would.”

I nodded, momentarily speechless. Information was flooding into my brain, and I was trying to process it as best I could.

“You’re Mrs.... Mrs. Margolis,” I finally managed. “But I never called you that. I called you...”

“Mrs. Marigold,” she said. “You used to get your words confused. You were always in such a hurry to say whatever was on your mind, sometimes the words came out all jumbled.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I still have problems with that.”

She laughed. “Strokes will do that to a fella.”

I heard the clank of china in the kitchen, and was thankful for a moment alone with this woman.

“I remember you,” I said.

“I know.” She smiled again.

“I don’t remember anybody else.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not
anybody
else?” she asked, nodding her head towards the kitchen.

“Nobody,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I felt comfortable divulging that to this woman, but somehow I sensed I could confide in her.

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s awkward, isn’t it?”

Her understatement made me laugh.

“Yeah,” I said, “just a bit.”

“It’s so good to see you two just chatting away,” said my mother, emerging from the kitchen with a tray laden with the paraphernalia of caffeine. Soon we were sipping coffee from delicate porcelain cups and trying to get a conversation started.

It was harder than you would think. On one hand, I was dying to talk with the one person on the planet I felt I knew. But on the other, I was extremely conscious of my mother’s feelings. At times I suspected she had figured out that I didn’t remember her, so I didn’t want to make too big a fuss over Mrs. Margolis in front of her. But it was difficult to contain my excitement over finally finding a link to my past.

My mother got things started. “My goodness, Claudia – how many years do you suppose it’s been since you saw Jonny?”

The older woman stirred her coffee, performing some mental calculations. “It must be at least twenty years,” she said finally. “How long have you been in this house?”

“Let me think,” my mother said. “I guess it will be twenty-five years this Christmas. Goodness, it doesn’t seem that long.”

Of course, all those numbers didn’t mean much to me. But it was clear they were talking about a long time.

Remembering my predicament, my mother tried to offer me some context. “You would have been about nine or ten when we moved to this house, Jonny. That’s about the same age as Ryan, that nice blonde-haired boy across the street.”

I was barely listening. I was caught up in the foreign feeling of
remembering
.

“You lived...” I said to our guest, “next door. In a yellow house. A big yellow house.”

She laughed. “Well, it hasn’t been yellow in about fifteen years, not since I bought that aluminum siding for the house. But yes, I lived next door. I still live there.”

“I remember... a tree,” I said, as the image of a huge tree materialized in my mind.

“You said it was the best climbing tree in the whole neighborhood,” she said, smiling. “You virtually lived in that tree. I used to say you were part monkey.”

I closed my eyes, trying to get the images that were rushing by me to slow down. I became aware that I had a headache.

“A big yellow house,” I said again, to nobody in particular.

“Jonny, are you all right?” my mother asked. “You look a bit pale.”

I opened my eyes. “Sorry. Just having some childhood memories, I guess. But I am a little tired.” I wasn’t, actually. But I was overwhelmed, and was falling back on one of my defensive tricks. It seemed I still put a lot of energy into self-protection, which was odd considering how completely I relied on others. But it was a strong inclination on my part – instinct, perhaps. Or an old habit from my previous life?

Mrs. Margolis wasn’t saying anything. She sat sipping her coffee, looking at me appraisingly over the rim of her cup.

Ever the gracious hostess, my mother redirected her attention to her guest.

“Claudia, I want to apologize for how little we’ve managed to see each other over the years. You know, since... well, since we moved away and all.”

“Where do you live?” I asked Mrs. Margolis. “Is it far from here?”

“Not that far,” she said. I think I saw my mother squirm at that. “It’s about a ten or fifteen minute drive.”

I looked at my mother, who didn’t miss a beat. “That’s about as long as it takes us to get to that seafood place you like, Jonny.”

Mrs. Margolis frowned.

“I can’t really understand numbers,” I explained. “You know, from the stroke.”

“He can’t understand them
yet
,” my mother added quickly. “But he’s been doing so well in therapy. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll be good as new.”

I cringed, wondering if she was trying to delude Mrs. Margolis or simply herself.

Something in Mrs. Margolis’s expression told me she was thinking the same. “Strokes are funny,” she said. “Howard went colorblind after his. And he couldn’t tie a knot – that frustrated the bejeezus out of him, him being a sailor and all.”

“Howard?” I said. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t picture a face.

“Howard was my husband,” she said. “He died when you were just a baby, so I doubt you’d remember him.”

“You... talked about him,” I said.

“I still do,” she said, with a sad smile.

“I can’t do knots, either,” I volunteered.

“Can you sing?” she asked.

Sing? I could honestly say that was something I had not tried to do since my awakening. “I... don’t know,” I said.

“Howard used to have a lovely singing voice,” Mrs. Margolis said, her eyes getting a little misty. “But after the stroke he was tone-deaf.”

Fully aware of how arbitrary the damage caused by a stroke can be, I simply nodded.

“Who wants more coffee?” my mother asked with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. The woman liked keeping things upbeat – it was one of her defining characteristics.

My headache was getting worse. And Mrs. Margolis kept looking at me in a way I found unsettling. Not in a bad or threatening way, but with a familiarity that I hadn’t seen expressed by anybody else I had met, as if she knew me better than my own family.

I stood up, finding my legs still a bit shaky.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m not feeling very well. So I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit. But I was wondering...”

Mrs. Margolis looked at me expectantly. “Yes?”

“Would it be okay... I mean, would you like...” I stopped to regroup. “What I mean is, do you think I could come by and visit you sometime?”

Mrs. Margolis beamed. “Jonny, nothing would make me happier. Please come by any time.”

“Are you near a bus stop?” I asked. “I can’t drive.”

“There’s one at the end of my block,” she said. “The West Governor line.”

“Jonny’s been doing a great job of getting around town,” my mother said. “He’s so independent.”

Yeah, I thought, that’s why I’m thirty-four and live with my parents.