Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac (11 page)

I looked at her and wondered what I hadn’t liked about her before. I decided to ask. “My dad says we don’t get along,” I said.

Rosa Rivera smiled at me conspiratorially. “Possibly. But I am an optimist, and I always believed you would come round.”

She was wrong. I hadn’t yet, and I didn’t like her telling me that I had. I didn’t want optimism; I wanted honesty. I unlooped the scarf from around my neck.

“Naomi,” Rosa said, “I know this all must be very frightening for you.” She put her hand on my arm, but I shook her off.

“What the hell would you know about it?” I asked.

I didn’t wait for her reply. I just left her standing in her Technicolor living room, still reaching out her hands to me.

In the car on the way back, Dad was unusually quiet, and I suspected that Rosa had probably told him about my walking out on her before dinner.

He didn’t say anything until we were back on our street. “Why didn’t you let Rosa Rivera give you that scarf?” he asked.

I told him how it wasn’t my style.

“Thought it looked nice on you, kid.”

“Honestly, Dad,” I said, “it’s hard enough figuring out anything about myself without other people dictating my taste to me.”

“I’m sure it is. But in any case, that wasn’t what I was saying. I think I was talking courtesy, if you know what I mean?” All this was said casually.

He turned into our driveway. “Because sometimes, when someone wants to give you a gift, the best thing to do is accept it. Just an infinitesimal something I’ve learned that I thought I’d pass on to you.”

I remembered how Dad, when he was still married to Mom, was always returning the presents she’d get him. Even if it was small, like a sweater. I used to think, just keep the stupid sweater, Dad. She obviously wanted you to have it. But my dad had been raised without much money, so he could be kind of strange around presents. Obviously, Mom knew his history, but even as a little kid, I could tell all his returning hurt her feelings.

I wondered if Rosa had felt that way when I tore that scarf off.

The worst of it was, what did I really know about my taste anyway? It had been a nice scarf and I had been cold, and if I was honest, maybe I had only been using that taste excuse as a way to hurt her feelings.

“Rosa wanted me to apologize to you,” Dad said before we got out of the car.

“For what?”

“Something about your amnesia. Something about her saying she knew how you felt.”

I nodded.

“But Sonny, her husband who died? He had Alzheimer’s disease. Do you know what that is?”

I nodded again.

“So Rosa Rivera has had some experiences with memory loss. I think that’s all she was trying to say. It probably came out wrong. It’s sometimes hard to talk to—It’s sometimes hard to talk. She didn’t ask me to tell you any of this. I just thought you should know.”

For a second, I felt like a jerk. Then I exploded at Dad. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with me! Not to mention, you lied to me. Not to mention I obviously didn’t like Rosa Rivera before, so why are you expecting me to like her any better now?”

“Well, Naomi, you were being ignorant then, so I had rather hoped you’d prefer to be enlightened now.”

“I’ll stick with ignorant, thanks.” I tried to say this as dryly as possible.

Dad turned off the ignition, but he didn’t move to get out of the car. “I banged my head. That doesn’t make me a different person. And it doesn’t mean I’m going to like your goddamn fiancée either.”

Dad shook his head and he looked as sad as I’d ever seen him. “You’re just like me, kid, and it worries the crap out of me right now. Because with the current state of things, it’s not necessarily a good thing to be like us. You’re going to need to let people in.”

I didn’t say anything.

Dad got out of the car. “Don’t forget to lock the door when you come in.”

That night in my bedroom, I took out my sophomore yearbook for the first time since I’d been back to school. I had originally been intending to look through it for inspiration for my photography project proposal, which was due the next day. Instead, I found myself turning to my class picture.

There she was with her light gray hair and her dark gray lips upturned into an impenetrable grin. I wished that she could talk and tell me everything she had ever felt or thought or seen.

“What were you like?” I asked her. “Were you happy? Or were you smiling because they told you to?”

I looked at myself in my closet mirror and tried to arrange my features like the girl in the yearbook. I didn’t quite have the trick of it yet.

I brushed some strands of hair in front of my face, the way the girl in the yearbook had worn hers. It looked wrong, though I couldn’t say exactly why at first. I studied myself some more before deciding that the pieces of hair in the front had gotten too long.

I took a pair of scissors from my desk drawer and cut a few pieces on each side of my head. The easy swish of the blades against my hair was satisfying.

I looked in the mirror to check my work. I hadn’t cut it evenly, so I took a little more off on each side.

Then, a little more.

As I cut, it occurred to me that it might be pointless to even try to look like the girl in the yearbook. It might be easier to be somebody completely different instead.

I cut pieces from the back and the front, until all that survived was a choppy short mane. With each piece, I felt like I was getting rid of someone’s expectations of me: goodbye, Mom, Dad, Will, Ace, those kids at lunch, my teachers, everyone. I felt giddy and light, like I might even start to float away. It was the end of normal.

The girl in the yearbook would never have had short hair.

I set the scissors on my desk, gathered up the strewn clippings as best I could, and then I fell quickly, peacefully asleep. I didn’t even take off my clothes or turn off the light.

When my alarm went off the next morning, I jumped out of bed without even looking in the mirror. I had actually forgotten all about my hair until I was in the shower. Little pieces slipped through my fingers like sand before they washed down the drain.

When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I felt sort of elated. It seems strange to say even now, but I finally recognized the person in the mirror as the person inside my head.

“Your hair!” Dad said when I came into the kitchen for breakfast. “What happened?”

I told him that nothing had happened. I had simply decided to cut it. I didn’t ask him what he thought either.

“If I’d known you wanted to cut it, I could have taken you somewhere to get it done.”

When I sat down at the table, Dad stood so that he could better appraise my mane from an overhead angle.

“It’s not bad. It’s cool actually. Kind of punk rock,” Dad said finally, gently tousling my hair. “I barely recognize you, kiddo.”

That hadn’t been the point, of course. Maybe just an amazing perk. If no one recognized me, they wouldn’t be upset when I didn’t recognize them either.

THE REVIEWS WERE MIXED
.

Ace walked right past me in the hallway. I had to call his name, and when he saw me he looked confused and betrayed, like Bambi when his mother bites it in the movie. “I liked it long,” he said finally. Then he kissed me. “It’s going to take some getting used to.” When we stopped kissing, I noticed that Will was staring at us from across the corridor.

I waved at him.

“Jesus, I thought Zuckerman was cheating on you, Chief,” Will called.

“He’d love that,” Ace muttered under his breath.

Will walked up to me and tousled my hair. “You look like you just got out of prison.”

“How’d you know? That’s exactly what I was going for,” I said.

Will looked at me and nodded. “I like it,” he declared after a moment’s consideration. The first bell rang, so we all scattered to our lockers and classes.

“I just want you to know that I think your hair is complete genius,” Alice Leeds, the girl who had helped me open my locker, said to me as I was fishing out my precalculus book.

“Thanks.”

As her locker was only two to the left of mine, I usually saw her several times a day. After third period, Alice brought up my hair again. “It’s weird, but I can’t stop thinking about your hair. It intrigues me. It’s like you have nothing to hide behind anymore.”

“Um, okay.”

At lunch, Alice came up to my table in the cafeteria and handed me a flyer. “I know you’re big into yearbook, but I’m directing this play. Come audition, if you want.”

I looked at the paper, which announced auditions for the Thomas Purdue Country Day School’s production of
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.
“Oh, that’s not really my type of thing,” I demurred.

“Have you ever been in a play before?” she asked.

“Not since second grade. I played the dual roles of Corn and Plymouth Rock in the school’s Thanksgiving pageant. I was pretty awesome.”

“Well, if you’ve really never been in a play, how do you know for sure that it’s not your thing?”

By now, Alice was starting to attract the attention of the other people at Ace’s table.

“Yeah, Nomi, how do you know?” asked that awful Brianna-girl. Since that first day, she hadn’t spoken to me at all unless it was to say something nasty. She really let loose when Ace wasn’t there, which he hadn’t been that day on account of making up a Spanish test.

“You’re right. I don’t know. I’ll see you there, Alice.” I wasn’t really going to go. I only said I would because Brianna was being such a jerk.

Alice smiled at me and nodded.

“Nice gloves,” Brianna called to Alice as she walked away. Alice was wearing black lace gloves with the fingers cut off. “You better watch out. I heard she’s a total lezzie,” Brianna whispered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your hair,” she said, sweet as vomit. “It might give some people the wrong idea.”

“Your comments might give some people the wrong idea, too,” I said even sweeter. I picked up my tray and left. I decided to tell Ace I wasn’t ever going to eat with those people again.

Somehow, that day managed to become the best one of school so far. It made me cheerful not to be recognized. I went through my classes in a sort of happy fog and by the time eighth period rolled around, I had completely forgotten about my Advanced Photography Workshop project proposal. Mr. Weir had already given me two other extensions, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t come up with an idea. I was probably going to have to drop the class after all.

“So what’s it gonna be, Naomi?” Mr. Weir asked.

“Well, it’s still in progress,” I said, looking around the classroom desperately. Student and professional artwork covered almost every space. In the uppermost corner of the room was a picture from an ultrasound machine. “Maybe something to do with pregnancy?” I suggested.

“Good, but how is that a personal story?” Mr. Weir asked.

“Well…” I tried to improvise. “I’m adopted…and my sister isn’t…Is there anything there?”

Mr. Weir thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Maybe. I’d need to hear a bit more first.”

I wouldn’t have gone to the audition except that I ran into Alice Leeds at our lockers. “Want to walk down with me?” she asked.

And I would have probably said no to that, too, except that idiotic Brianna was watching us from across the hallway. “Sure,” I said loudly enough for her to hear. “Let’s go.”

Alice appraised me over her glasses. “You definitely shouldn’t audition for Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. Not with yearbook. Those roles rehearse every day.”

“Um, okay.”

“I think you might make a good Hamlet…I like the idea of a girl Hamlet, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I watched her make a note on a legal pad and wondered when I could slip out of the theater without her seeing.

At that point, we were inside the theater, and Alice turned her attention to organizing the auditions. I probably could have left, but something kept me there. With its dingy red velvet seats and its scuffed wooden stage, the theater reminded me of a foreign country. It was like all of a sudden discovering that Prague or Berlin was in the middle of my high school. The room was overflowing with nervous energy and excitement, and I guess I wanted to see how it would all turn out.

Before the auditions, Alice made a speech, a few words about the play and her “vision” for it. I liked how passionate she was about things, and somehow she made me forget that I had intended to leave.

As I was at the top of Alice’s list, I was the first to read. I guess because I didn’t much care whether I was cast or not, it was pretty painless. I even got a few laughs. Whether they were a result of my incompetence or my comedic skills, I couldn’t have told you.

I rushed up to the yearbook room. By that time, I was about twenty-five minutes late, and yearbook was in full swing. Without even talking to Will or anyone else, I set down my bag and went immediately to work going through the foreign language clubs’ group photos.

“I like that one,” Will said, pointing to a picture of the Spanish Honor Society in sombreros. “Better than just a bunch of kids standing around.”

I nodded. I had already selected that one myself.

“Maybe all the foreign language club group photos could have themes? Like French in berets?”

“
Oui
. Eating French toast.”

“And French fries. Very culturally sensitive and subtle.”

“Or how about the sign-language club dressed up like Helen Keller?” I joked.

“Or the Latin club in a graveyard. You know, ’cause it’s a dead language?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, that last one’s too gimmicky. I like Helen Keller, though. Why don’t you get on that, Chief? How exactly does one dress up like Helen Keller anyway?”

“Blindfolds? Ear muffs?” I shrugged and went back to going over the pictures.

“Why were you late?” Will asked.

I was about to tell him the story, pass it off like a big joke, but at the last second I didn’t. Even though he hadn’t been anything but nice, I wanted it to be my own secret, something Will didn’t know about me. I doubted I would even get cast in the play anyway, but I wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet either. “Mr. Weir kept me after class,” I lied.

“Still haven’t come up with your project?”

I shook my head.

Sunday night around nine, a girl called me on my cell. Her voice was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Cookie,” she said, “what’s the story? Are you in or are you out?”

“In, I guess?” In my opinion, it is always better to be in if someone gives you the choice. But actually I had no idea what the girl was talking about.

“Cookie, do you even know who this is?”

“No,” I admitted, but that had been happening to me pretty much all the time. I was learning to go with whatever.

“It’s Alice Leeds, the director of
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
, and I need to know if you’re my pretty girl Hamlet,” she said.

“But, Alice, I don’t really know the first thing about acting.”

Alice didn’t care. “These drama kids have so many bad habits, which I need to break them of anyway. You’re a virgin, and that’s what I like about you. So come be in the play, dolly, it’ll be divine, I swear.”

Even though I knew Will would probably murder me, I found myself saying yes.

Play rehearsals started the following Monday, which gave me many opportunities to confess to Will. I didn’t. Instead, I told him that Dad was now making me see a therapist every Monday and Wednesday after school (I was already wasting my time with that every other Tuesday night), and that he shouldn’t expect me until around five on either of those days.

Rehearsals began with everyone in the cast saying their name and the part they would be playing. Next, Alice introduced the crew, which included her assistant, a wardrobe girl (Yvette Schumacher, Estragon from English), the lighting and scenic designers, and others. The very last person Alice introduced was James Larkin, who was designing the video installation to accompany the play and who took no notice of me at all. I wasn’t completely sure what “designing the video installation” meant, but I had no intention of asking him either. James had made it perfectly clear that whatever had happened between us in the hospital was just about him being a Good Samaritan, nothing more.

We read through the play. I had more lines than I had been expecting.

After that, Yvette measured me for my costume. While she worked, I watched Alice and James having a discussion across the theater. “That new guy is scorching,” Yvette said. “Totally Alice’s type. I should be jealous.”

“Jealous of James?” I asked.

“No, silly, Alice,” she said. “She’s my”—she lowered her voice—“girlfriend, but she likes boys, too. I don’t know why I’m whispering. It’s not exactly a secret.”

Of course, everything was a secret to me.

“How long have you and Alice been together?” I asked.

“Just since the beginning of last summer. She’s been my best friend since third grade, but it was extremely tortured for a while. It took us forever to admit anything to each other.”

Rehearsal was over just before six. As I was walking out, Alice called me over. “Naomi, cookie, come and meet James!”

James said, “We’ve met before.” He studied me. “Her hair was different then.”

At his mention of my hair, I felt self-conscious and reached up to play with it.

“Don’t listen to him. It’s brilliant,” Alice said. “I never would have thought of you for the part if you hadn’t done it. She looks just like that actress from the French movie, I can’t remember her name.”

“Jean Seberg,” James said. “
A bout de souffle.
In English,
Breathless
. Directed by Jean-Luc Godard. 1960. The film that started the nouvelle vague. My second favorite Godard film. It’d probably be my favorite Godard except that it’s everyone’s favorite, so my first is
2 or 3 Things I Know About Her.
”

“James is a movie buff,” Alice reported, despite it being perfectly evident.

“And Jean wasn’t French, she was American,” James said. “Not to mention, your hair is darker than hers. Incidentally, I didn’t say it was different in a bad way.” He cocked his head lazily and squinted at me. “I like it better now.”

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Alice said, clapping her hands. “You’ll be working together.” She explained that it was her intention that Hamlet’s story be an important part of the video projections. “You both should get started as soon as possible,” Alice said.

James asked me if I needed a ride. He suggested we sort out our schedules on the way home. His car was out of the shop.

Even though I’d been planning to go upstairs to
The Phoenix
to work, I found myself saying yes.

During the short ride to my house, we figured out that Saturday afternoon was the best time for both of us (he worked Saturday and Sunday nights), and before I knew it, he was pulling into my driveway.

“Hey,” I said, “how did you know where I lived?”

“
That
is a good question,” he said.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, so I asked him
why
it was a good question.

“The thing is, I looked it up. I thought I might stop by your house to see how you were doing.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Guess not.”

I considered saying how I wished he had, but then Ace’s face popped into my head. For better or worse, Ace was still my boyfriend, so it didn’t seem right for me to be flirting with some other guy, particularly one who ran as hot and cold as James.

Instead, I told James that I would see him on Saturday and got out of the car.

Later that night, I was on the phone with Ace. “But what about homecoming?” he asked. The dance was also that Saturday, and we had planned to go with Brianna and her boyfriend, Alex. Alex had been one of Ace’s best tennis team buddies before he graduated and went to NYU.

I assured him that it was fine. “I’ll be done with play stuff around five.” I decided not to mention James.

“Is that gonna give you enough time?” Ace asked.

“What do you know about it?” I countered.

“I do have a sister, Naomi. All that girl stuff takes serious prep.”

“How long does it take to put on a dress?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know. What about your makeup? Your nails?”

“You worried I’m gonna be ugly, Ace?” I teased him.

“Guess you won’t be needing much time for your hair.”

“Ha,” I said.

James picked me up on Saturday at noon. When I got outside, I could see that Yvette was sitting in the front seat of his mom’s station wagon, and in the backseat was a suitcase full of period costumes. I hadn’t known she was coming.

Once I was in the car, Yvette turned around to look at me. “James and Alice thought it would be cool if you played Ophelia and Hamlet in the projections, so I’ve got costumes for both. And a wig for the Ophelia part.”

We drove to a park a couple of towns over in Rye. And James videoed me standing on a rock in a Hamlet costume, and then lying soaked in a river as Ophelia, and the day pretty much went like that until a ranger came to kick us out of the park because we didn’t have the proper permits for shooting video. James reasoned with the guy and said since we were students we didn’t need permits, and the ranger said we could stay fifteen minutes longer. This was fine with me; I was completely freezing and had been all day. Even though I hadn’t complained, James remembered about my being cold and made sure that Yvette covered me up with a coat whenever we weren’t shooting. James was really professional that way. I’d seen my mom at work, and he reminded me a little of her.