Me Again (16 page)

Chapter 19

I
HAD A BIG DAY PLANNED. After my late-morning physical therapy appointment, I was going to visit Mrs. Margolis. Dad had helped me figure out an elaborate series of bus transfers that would get me first to the hospital, then to her house, then home again. Although I had been using the bus system to get around, this was my most ambitious itinerary to date. Dad kept protesting while he helped me chart my course, offering repeatedly to be my driver for the day. But I was determined to carve out more autonomy in my life, and the city’s mass transit system seemed as good a place as any to start.

Rebecca was supposed to meet me after physical therapy. She was down to having her PT check-up every other week, and would soon probably stop coming to the hospital at all. While I was glad she was getting better, I was seeing less and less of her and felt she was fading out of my life.

The prospect saddened me. I had no social life to speak of, other than interacting with my own parents. And of course today’s visit with my old neighbor. There was a local support group for stroke victims, and I attended one of their functions. But it only depressed me – I was surrounded by people who were for the most part both older than me and much worse off in terms of the damage done by their strokes. Rebecca didn’t attend, nor did any other young, attractive women. I concluded that the stroke victim demographic was probably not the best singles scene for a guy like me. But what was? Amnesiacs Anonymous?

My bus brought me within walking distance of the hospital, and I used the walk to warm myself up for the torture Leon had in store for me. I was halfway through my session with him when Rebecca walked into the PT room.

I almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was cut very short and was a rich brown, all the blond having been excised by a hairdresser’s shears. The boyish cut framed her face in a way that actually emphasized her beauty – an effect I’ve noticed on some particularly beautiful women. Sometimes the absence of ornament makes true beauty all the more striking.

From the length of my description, I imagine it’s clear that I was stunned.

So was Leon. He let out a slow “
Damn
,” stretching the word into several emphatic syllables. We watched, frozen, as she walked across the room to greet the towering Lucinda. Then Rebecca turned and gave us a shy wave, her gentle smile weakening my knees even more than Leon’s leg-press routine.

Leon and I waved back, idiotic grins pasted on our faces. Then she turned away and began her workout with Lucinda, who shot us a paint-peeling scowl that jolted us back to reality.

I resumed my exercise, while Leon made a show of marking something on his clipboard.

Under his breath, he said, “Is it just me, or is that Rebecca chick taking her fineness up to a whole new level?”

“It’s not just you,” I managed to grunt between reps.

“I mean, normally I don’t go for short hair on a girl, you know what I’m sayin’? But on that Rebecca chick –
damn...”
This time he stretched the word even longer.

Attempting to be suave, I said, “I’ll admit, she is not without a certain appeal.”

Leon gave me a look that would have done Lucinda proud. “When did you start talkin’ like some home decorating channel fag?”

After my workout, I waited for Rebecca at our usual table in the cafeteria, where I passed the time studying my map for the journey I’d planned.

“Going somewhere?”

I looked up across the table to see Rebecca, who had entered the cafeteria without me noticing. She leaned over, peering at the map.

For a moment I was speechless. Up close, she was even more stunning.

“Oh – hi!” I finally stammered. “I’m just, well, I’m going to visit a lady who used to be our next-door neighbor when I was a kid.”

Rebecca sat down across from me and eagerly took the diet cola I’d gotten for her. “Thanks, Jonathan.” After a long sip she nodded towards the map and said, “Is this that lady you told me about, with a name like a flower? Magnolia?”

“Marigold,” I said. “Mrs. Marigold. At least, that’s what I called her when I was a kid. Her real name is Margolis.”

“That’s really cute.” She took another sip of her drink, giving me another moment to just look at her.

“Your hair looks... amazing,” I managed to say.

“Does it?” Rebecca scrunched up her face. “It’s so short.”

“But it’s so... flattering,” I said, struggling to find the word. “Seriously, it really shows off how pretty you are.”

I suddenly felt stupid and inappropriate, gushing like that.

“Wow – thank you,” she said. “I hadn’t planned on this, that’s for sure.”

“What – you mean your hairdresser wasn’t supposed to cut so much off?”

“I hadn’t planned to cut
any
off, at first.” Rebecca ran an exploratory hand through her hair, as if reaffirming the radical decrease in its quantity.

“What do you mean?”

Rebecca took another swallow of soda, then said, “I had originally planned to dye it blonde again. You know, like Big Bob was always asking me to do.”

I tried not to scowl at the mention of his name.

Rebecca went on. “He’s been a lot nicer recently, and I wanted to do something that showed I was, you know, making an effort, too. So I went to my salon, to have Jamie – that’s the girl who does my hair – to have her lighten my hair again.”

“What happened?”

Again Rebecca grimaced. “This is embarrassing.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “This is me. You can’t be embarrassed around me.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you think. Have you forgotten my little visit with your parents?”

Actually, I had given that surprisingly little thought, further indication of how unconnected I’d felt with Victoria. But the funny thing was that I hadn’t heard a word from Teddy. He seemed to be following in the Hooper family tradition of avoiding problems, with the hope that they will eventually just go away.

“That was no big deal,” I said. “So go on – what happened?”

“Well, I got to the salon, and was sitting in the chair with that big apron thingie they drape on you, and suddenly the smells started getting to me.”

“The smells?”

Rebecca leaned forward. “Have you ever been in a women’s hair salon, Jonathan? Where they do permanents, and dyeing, and stuff?”

“Um, no. My dad took me to his barbershop a while back, when I started getting too shaggy. And I honestly don’t remember what I used to do about my hair before my coma. They kept it trimmed short while I was unconscious.”

“Wow, I never thought of that. I guess if they didn’t cut your hair for six years, you’d look like a wild man.”

“Or a rock star,” I offered.

She smiled, no doubt sharing my vision.

“Anyway,” she said, “some of the stuff they use on women’s hair smells really nasty – these weird chemical odors. I sat down and started smelling them, and it just kind of... freaked me out. I don’t know why, because I’ve had my hair treated tons of times. But I started feeling all anxious and weird, and even thought I might throw up.”

“Any idea what caused that?”

“I don’t know, but it
really
freaked me out. I nearly sprinted out of there. But it didn’t end there.”

“What happened?”

“I got home, and I was still all worked up. I started looking at old pictures of myself, at all the blond hair I had, and started thinking
I don’t want to have to look like that
.”

Rebecca’s voice had been growing uncharacteristically strident, and I guess she realized it. She stopped, took a breath, and continued in a lower voice.

“Jonathan, it was weird. But I just didn’t want to have to be blonde to please somebody. So I grabbed a pair of scissors, and started hacking all my blonde hair off.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You cut your own hair? And it came out looking like that?”

“God, no,” she said with a grimace. “It came out looking awful. Like I was an escaped mental patient or something.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I put a baseball hat on – that was the first thing.” Rebecca rolled her eyes at the memory. “Then I went out and found a barbershop. Not a beauty salon where I’d smell all those smells. Just a regular barbershop with regular guys who just cut hair. I got some old guy who looked like an ex-Marine, and he did...
this.
” Rebecca pointed at her hair.

“I love it,” I blurted. But to my surprise, she smiled.

“I kind of do, too,” she said. “It’s just so different – I’m not used to it.”

“It really does look good. Really good.” Hey, at least I was using words other than
great
for a change.

I had to ask. “So what does Big Bob think?”

Her smile went away, and I mentally kicked myself for asking.

“I’m pretty sure he hates it,” she said. “His only comment was, W
ell, it’ll grow back, right?
”

“What a guy,” I said before I could stop myself.

“He’s not a bad guy,” she said. “He’s just really... what’s the word...
fixated
on me looking a certain way.”

I didn’t want to slam him, but I had to at least say, “Well, he’s missing out if he doesn’t see how great you look.”

Again the smile – but just for a moment. “Thanks, Jonathan.” Turning her attention to the map spread in front of me, she said, “So, where does your friend live?”

I showed her where I was heading, and she said, “Oh that’s not far. Would you like me to drive you?”

At least this time I had directions. Plus it would be a little more time I could spend with her. After a moment, I said, “That would be great.”

* * * * *

We chatted easily in the car on the way to Mrs. Margolis’s, our conversation interrupted occasionally as Rebecca paused to refer to the directions I had written down.

After one such lull, Rebecca surprised me by saying, “I promise not to say anything stupid.”

She glanced over at me, and I smiled. “I’m not worried about that,” I said.

“Then what are you worried about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem a little weird when you talk about her. Do you not want me to meet her?”

“No, no – it’s not like that at all. I’m totally fine with you meeting her – she’s a sweet old lady. She’s just...”

“She’s just what?”

I swiveled in my seat. “Rebecca, we said we’d always be honest with each other, right?”

“Of course,” she said, her expression showing she took my concerns seriously.

“Well, other than this lady, nobody else knows this – and I mean nobody. So I need you not to tell anybody.”

“Tell anybody what?”

I cleared my throat. “Rebecca, Mrs. Marigold – I mean, Mrs. Margolis – is the
only
person I remember at all from my previous life.”

This elicited a sidelong glance from Rebecca. “Wow. Really?”

“Really,” I said. “The only one.”

Rebecca pondered this as she drove. “Why do you think that is? I mean, you didn’t remember your own brother. Or that girl with the fake boobs.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “No, it’s different with Mrs. Margolis. I remembered her. And I remembered liking her. Loving her, really. That’s something I haven’t felt for anybody from my past. Well, except for Rufus.”

“Rufus?”

“He was a dog I had when I was little. I ran across a photo of him one day, and it was like somebody punched me in the stomach – suddenly I remembered this dog that I had loved.”

We had come to a stoplight, and Rebecca was looking at me very intently now. “Do you think it could be something where you only remember people you love?”

I considered this. “But what about my parents? I would think I loved them.” Allowing myself a smile, I added, “I mean, I can see not remembering Teddy – what little I’ve seen of him hasn’t been too lovable. But my parents are really great.”

I paused. “And I would
assume
that I loved Victoria – apparently I was with her for a long time.”

Rebecca stepped on the accelerator as the light changed to green. “I can think of a pair of things you might have loved about her.”

I laughed. “If you’re implying what I think you are, that was something she did during my coma.”

“How did you figure that out?” Rebecca asked. “From looking at pictures?”

“Actually, she told me herself. That day she came to visit.”

The traffic was fairly heavy on this street, so Rebecca kept her eyes on the road, but that didn’t stop her from shaking her head. “So while she’s breaking up with you, she finds a way to talk about her boob job?”

“It was a pretty surreal conversation,” I allowed.

“Must have been.” She checked her mirror, then changed lanes. “But you
do
think you loved her?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sinking back into my seat. “I guess so. We were together a long time, apparently.”

“And you don’t remember her at all?”

“Not at all,” I said, mentally playing back the only encounter with the woman that I could remember. “You want to know something funny? Well, not funny, but kind of strange?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know – it’s probably not proper for me to say this...” I began.