The Lost Days (14 page)

“So, this bedframe, we bought you at Gooding’s last March, to
replace the last one that got nicked by your riding boots.”

“And this jewelry box, we gave you that for your thirteenth birthday, and it came from Bick’s, and so did your charm bracelet, but we gave you that when you were nine.”

“And THIS sweater came from Four Daughters, and so did this dress and these pants, and most of your underwear.”

…AND SO ON until I actually put my head down on the pillow and pretended to go to sleep. If tomorrow is anything like today, it may destroy me.

Later

Went and hung out with my ponies.

George told me their names were Tuffy and Tweety. When he saw the look on my face, he said, “Well, you named them when you were about five, if that makes you feel any better.” It sure didn’t.

Ponies are beautiful, intelligent creatures, you know, so it was all the more disappointing when they put their ears back and bared their teeth at me. George said they were probably just upset that I’d been gone. He got me saddled up for a ride on Tweety, and I felt like a dumb muppet up there, without a clue what to do. So I got a long and awkward riding lesson (because of which, by the way, I now have to put a pillow down before I sit!). “I thought horseback riding was one of those things, like riding a bike,” I said to George. “You know,
once you learn it, you never forget?”

He scratched his head. “Well, do you still know how to ride a bike?”

Turns out I do. Very well. SIGH. I will keep working on the ponies.

Later

Pretty boring day. I have a feeling that boring is normal here.

I do not understand my bedroom at all. Why is it so painfully tidy? It needs major reorganizing. Don’t really feel like it at the moment, but maybe tomorrow. First thing, I think I’ll hide away the trophies.

Later

I have serious concerns about how bad all of my music is. Have spent some time skimming through my collection of cardiofunk, yacht rock, arena boogaloo, heartland country, and frat rap. I can safely say that I now find all of this COMPLETELY UNLISTENABLE and will need an all-new music collection as soon as possible.

Wednesday

Met the housekeeper. I don’t recognize him even one tiny little bit. Asked Sharon when I would be
seeing the specialist and she said tomorrow. Worked on my riding skills even though my bum feels like it’s made of fire and broken glass. Ponies are no longer baring their teeth at me, thanks to lots of apples and sugar cubes, but they also aren’t galloping majestically toward me with their manes billowing out behind them when I go out to their corral. Instead, they look depressed and disappointed. Am doing what I can to cheer them up. Renamed them Bratwurst and Toulouse. Since I cannot work myself up to actually saying their former names out loud.

Sharon was full of hugs and sugary snack treats today. She also spent a lot of time staring at me with her forehead all wrinkled when she thought I wasn’t looking. She sort of half-tried to persuade me to start wearing the clothes in my large, unfamiliar closet instead of this black dress I’ve been wearing since Blackrock. I did let her launder it, but I took a long bath while I waited. I don’t know, I just feel funny putting on anything else. Will tell the shrink about that if he seems to be of any use.

I also spent some time with the top-of-the-line entertainment system in my room. I immediately saw the need for some minor improvements, and got it rewired within a few minutes. I know I could really get it sounding good if we just had a soldering iron, but apparently we DON’T. Which I really don’t understand. I also don’t understand why I haven’t already customized the spit out of this stereo. It looks as clean and perfect as the day George and Sharon paid a huge heap of money for it. Ended up tuning the
radio to static, which was better than nothing, and WAY better than Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Who, I’m mortified to say, used to be my favorite band.

That’s not the only thing in my room that I have issues with. Here’s another good example: On my dresser there’s this large framed photo of me with a big group of fun-looking people my age. Probably, like, twenty-three of my closest friends. My hair’s in a different style and I’m wearing the most perky grin you ever did see. Obviously, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. With that Big. Group. Of Fun-Looking. People.

Please tell me the camera was LYING!!!

Later

Have had some quality alone time with the photo albums, the home movies, and the crates of keepsakes and other documentation of my life history. I don’t know if I feel like writing any of it down. I mean, what it adds up to is: I was born. I grew some teeth, lost them, grew some more. I’ve spent time in school. I have relatives, friends—lots of friends—and ponies. I’ve been to Disneyland. Etc. Etc. Etc. I think the most informative…uh, information about myself came from my school yearbooks. Each one must have been signed by the entire student body and most of the faculty. I read through all the messages people wrote to me over the years and here are a few representative entries:

It appears as though I was am a rich, popular, well-dressed girl who keeps a neat bedroom and wins trophies at everything she does. But I can’t say that any of this seems familiar to me. Let alone flattering.

Thursday