Remembered (2 page)

“That’s exactly what I think,” Mr. Newburg agreed. “If you
look underneath, it says,
‘The daisy blooms on an island of glass’
,
which is strange because there’s no sign of an island.”

“Weird,” Emily murmured.

Mr. Newburg handed her an envelope and escorted her back to
the front door, wishing her a lovely day.

‘It already has been,’
she thought,
‘the best day
in a very long time.’

Emily pulled opened the door to Aldo’s restaurant—the place
she and Cappy met every Friday evening for dinner—eager to share her good news.

Cappy sat with her back to the door at their usual table.

 Emily slid into the seat facing her, beaming.

“You look happy,” Cappy said. “What’s up?

Emily told her all about her upcoming trip abroad.

Cappy joined in her enthusiasm. “I’m so excited for you,”
she squealed, “but also extremely jealous. I wish I was going with you.”

“I wish you were too. Imagine how much fun we would have
together,” Emily answered, looking over the menu.

“Flirting with all those British guys,” Cappy sighed
longingly.

“Do you ever think of anything besides men?” Emily scolded,
peeking over the top of her menu.

“No, and that reminds me, I want to know all about the dream
you had last night,” Cappy answered. Her perfectly-manicured hand held a glass
of cabernet three inches from her lips.

“There’s really nothing to tell as I’ve explained before,”
Emily answered, casually shrugging her shoulders, “just a beautiful guy…nothing
else.”

“But these dreams have you all hot and bothered.”

“So?” Emily replied defensively.

“So? You don’t get hot and bothered, remember?” Cappy arched
her eyebrows, waiting for her friend to divulge more information.

“I don’t really know what to tell you,” Emily said. “I was
standing on a strange set of stone steps, and that same gorgeous guy was
looking at me like he adores me…again. What’s your big interest in these
dreams, anyway?”

“The big interest is that you, like I said, never get hot
and bothered over men. Now here you are drooling over a figment of your
imagination. I find it fascinating.”

“I’d hardly call it fascinating,” Emily argued. “Women dream
about hot men all the time, or so I’m told.”

“Yes, but you are not any woman,” Cappy answered. “You are
the twenty-two-year-old virgin, the ultimate Ice Queen. I’ve know you forever,
and I’ve never seen you go soft over a man. Besides, most women dream of men
they know, not ones that don’t exist.”

“Maybe he does exist,” Emily countered. “I really don’t
think my imagination is that good.”

“Ems, I think I would remember if you’d met this guy. We
have been glued to one another’s hips for over ten years. If, by chance, you
met him without me, you would’ve told me all about him. And unlike you, I have
a wonderful memory when it comes to people.”

“I suppose,” Emily murmured.

“I’m just curious,” Cappy said, smirking, “but if this guy
did exist, do you think you would
do it
with him?” She grinned
childishly.

“What kind of immature question is that? Are we suddenly
back in the tenth grade?” Emily replied sternly, but despite herself, she felt
a smile creep over her face.

“Oh my god, you would. Look at that smile. You’re thinking
about it, aren’t you?” Cappy accused.

“This is so far beyond childish,” Emily answered, rolling
her eyes.

“I’m your best friend,” Cappy stated, “and you know all about
my sordid affairs. Tell me, would you or would you not, get down and dirty with
the dream guy?” She leaned forward in anticipation.

“Without a doubt,” Emily replied in defeat.

“Slut,” Cappy teased. “So does this mean that you do have a
libido after all? Dare I suggest that perhaps you’re not a freak of nature?”

“I wouldn’t jump to those conclusions just yet. Remember,
this guy doesn’t exist,” Emily responded.

“So, what makes him so different from every other man on
planet earth?” Cappy pushed.

“I don’t know exactly…something in his face or his eyes…”
she trailed off.

“Or is it that there really is no chance of it happening, so
you don’t have to feel intimidated by the prospect?”

“I have never been intimidated by the prospect,” Emily
answered, feeling slightly agitated by the accusation. “It isn’t some deep
routed fear that keeps me from dating anyone. I’ve just never met anyone that
makes me feel special.”

“Ems…you’ve never even kissed a guy,” Cappy replied flatly.

“Yes, I have,” Emily argued.

“Spin The Bottle in seventh grade doesn’t really count,”
Cappy answered. “My point is you’ve never had a passionate kiss.”

“I have so.”

“No, you haven’t. Seven Minutes in Heaven doesn’t count
either, Ems. Besides, I know that you didn’t even do it. Bobby Kebler told half
the eighth grade that you refused to kiss him, so you both just pretended that
you did,” Cappy said smugly.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Emily conceded, “but Bobby Kebler
was really gross back then, remember?”

“Lets order,” Cappy chuckled.

They slowly walked home after dinner, enjoying the less
humid evening air.

 It was only after eight o’clock, but Emily went straight to
bed. Whether, from the wine or the week of work, she was exhausted. She slipped
into unconsciousness effortlessly.

She laid on soft, lush grass, staring into his beautiful
face, her arms around his perfect shoulders.

“I love you so much, Annie,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” she replied.

“Never leave me,” he breathed into her mouth.

“No, never,” she vowed, “I couldn’t endure a life without
you.”

He pulled his head back and gazed into her face, his eyes
darting around her features. “So beautiful,” he sighed, pressing his lips to
hers.

Emily’s arms were suddenly empty. She lurched up into sitting
position.  “KELLUS!” She screamed into the darkness.

“Kellus?” Cappy jeered the following morning. “He has a name
now?”

“Yep,” Emily replied.

 “A very strange name at that,” Cappy said, shaking her
head.

“Yeah, it is strange, isn’t it?” Emily responded.

They spent almost every Saturday morning in the local Laundromat,
getting their work clothes ready for the coming week.

“So what do you make of this?” Cappy asked while shoving
quarters into a metal coin slot. “It sounds like you’re weaving quite the
fantasy in your sleep. I’ve never known you to be so creative.”

“I don’t know what to make of it, Cap,” Emily answered,
pouring detergent in both machines. It’s getting out of control. That’s two
nights in a row.”

“Yeah, these dreams are getting bizarre, even for you, and
you are the most bizarre person I know,” Cappy teased.

Emily sat down on a plastic chair, watching the contents of
a washing machine spin around, lulling her into a trance.

“Maybe there’s more to these dreams than meets the eye,”
Cappy said, suddenly taking on a serious tone. She sat down in the chair next
to Emily. “Maybe this has something to do with the pain of your childhood. I
have never been able to fully appreciate what it was like for you, the feeling
of never having someone love you.” Very rarely did they discuss Emily’s
childhood. It was a subject that both she and Cappy avoided as much as
possible.

“You’ve always loved me,” Emily replied quietly, avoiding
eye contact.

“True,” Cappy answered, placing her hand on Emily’s shoulder
supportively, “but we both know that’s not the same as having a family.”

“But it isn’t that much different from your situation. You
may have had a family, but technically, you don’t anymore,” Emily said, staring
straight ahead.

“It is different,” Cappy argued. “I may not speak to my parents
anymore, but at least I have a history with them. And I still keep in touch
with my aunts and cousins.”

“I suppose,” Emily murmured, watching an elderly lady empty
the contents of a laundry bag into a machine. “Cap, I think I’d like to go to
therapy,” she added after a long moment of silence.

“Seriously?” Cappy responded. “What kind of therapy?”

“I think that I should see a psychologist, a shrink,
whatever you prefer to call it,” Emily answered. “I thought that would be
obvious as my physical self is in perfect working order, to the best of my
knowledge.”

“Why?” Cappy questioned.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought recently, even before
these dreams started. Obviously you’re right that I must be harboring some
mental defects because of my childhood. With all I’ve been through, I probably
should have been forced into therapy years ago. But now these dreams…they’re really
starting to freak me out.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cappy replied offhandedly. “There’s
nothing wrong with you. You are one of the most emotionally well-adjusted
people I know. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just meant that maybe
subconsciously you’re inventing an ideal lover to fill a void. We both know
there are quite a few voids, but I don’t see that as a problem.”

“So you don’t think I should do it?” Emily asked.

“No, I don’t,” Cappy responded. “But if you really want to
talk to a professional, I can arrange an appointment with one of my coworkers.
I work with a great lady called Liz Lewis. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind spending
an hour or two talking to you if I asked her to. But to sit with a therapist
every week for months or years, I just don’t think you need that.”

“Okay,” Emily agreed.

 “I’ll talk to her first thing Monday morning,” Cappy
promised. “She can probably see you during the week.”

“Thanks,” Emily mumbled. “Let’s just hope it helps.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dr. Lewis said cheerfully,
offering her hand to Emily.

She was just in time for the six-thirty appointment that
Cappy had arranged earlier in the week.

“The pleasure’s mine, Doctor,” Emily replied.

Dr. Lewis—a very professional and serious looking woman of
around forty—put a friendly hand on Emily’s back and gestured towards a chair.
“Catherine tells me you two have been friends since childhood,” she said,
sitting down at her desk facing her guest. “She’s a nice person. I really enjoy
working with her. And I’ve heard her mention you in passing a couple of times.”

“Cappy is the best person I’ve ever met,” Emily answered. “I
can’t begin to imagine what a horror my life would have been without a friend
like her.”

“Cappy?” Dr. Lewis questioned.

“Catherine Paula,” Emily explained. “When she was around
two, she used to refer to herself as Capa because she couldn’t pronounce her
name, and then it morphed into Cappy. She’s been Cappy to her family ever since.
Well … what’s left of her family.”

“I see,” Dr. Lewis muttered. “Well, let’s get started.” She
opened a folder that sat on top of her desk and scanned a piece of paper. “So,
let me see if I have your information straight so far. I asked Catherine a few
questions about you to save time, and to give me a general feel for your
situation. I hope you don’t mind that she divulged some of your personal
business.”

“Not at all. I trust Cappy with my life,” Emily answered.

“That’s good,” Dr. Lewis stated, “because she told me quite
a bit.”

“I thought this would be a lot less formal,” Emily admitted.
“I was under the impression that I was only here to talk to you for a while.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Lewis replied. “Don’t let the file
intimidate you. This will be very informal, but I’m doing this as a favor to
Catherine and I want to do it right, to see if I can help you sort out some
stuff.”

“Okay,” Emily said, smiling awkwardly.

“So let me see,” Dr. Lewis began. “You grew up in the Child
Social Service system. There is no known information regarding your parents,
and you remember nothing about your life before the age of six-years-old, before
you turned up at a police station in Queens.” She looked up questioningly.

“That’s correct,” Emily replied.

“You had a few rough experiences with certain foster homes
at a very young age. Do you want to talk about that?”

“Not really,” Emily answered. “It wasn’t anything that
traumatic.”

“Was there one in particular that stands out in your
memory?” Dr. Lewis pushed. “I’m just trying to get an idea of how hard your
childhood was.”

“I remember living with a lady named Celina,” Emily began.
“I was not the only foster child there; she had four others. Celine lived in a
tiny, dull, two bedroom apartment. I don’t know where it was, but I remember
the neighborhood was considered dangerous. I remember that the place was
filthy. There were two sets of bunk beds crammed up against the walls. Paint
peeled off those walls so badly that it wasn’t uncommon to find small white
specks of paint, like dandruff, on top of the blankets. And the cold …the room
was so cold that the beds felt almost wet when we climbed into them at night.
We were taken off her when she beat a pretty dark skinned girl to a pulp for
eating her secret stash of cookies. Looking back now, I’m sure someone heard
the child screaming and called the police.”

“Wow,” Dr. Lewis said sympathetically, “And then things got
better?”

“Not better exactly, but never that bad again,” Emily
answered.

“You’re a high school and college graduate, and now you work
for an interior decorator, correct?”

“That’s right,” Emily replied.

“You seem very well adjusted for someone who grew up in the
system. Catherine tells me you’re quite intelligent and sensible,” Dr. Lewis
remarked

Emily shrugged. Intelligent and sensible maybe, but also
miserably alone, desperate to feel love, emotionally lost; she kept that to
herself.