The Lost Wife

Chapter 3

ANA:

                By the time I finish eating my food my eyelids are heavy. I fight to keep them open as I continue to gaze out the window. The time soon comes when I cannot hold them open any longer and I allow them close, pulling me into a much-needed sleep.

                I am in a giant ball room. There is a huge glass chandelier in the center of the room with an ornate crystal pattern and tiny bulbs that reflect and scatter the light. The whole room reminds me of the dance scene from Beauty and the Beast, one of my favorite movies of all time. I am in the center and there are people all around me clapping, but I cannot make out any faces. A man approaches me and extends his hand. His face, too, is shrouded in a haze. I take his hand and he spins me around and around. I laugh. I am wearing a tea length white dress with a sweetheart neckline, the bodice is covered in white gems and crystals, and I am wearing silver sparkly heels. I catch a glimpse of myself in the shine of the floor and my hear is up in a 50s pinup style with a fascinator hat and a small veil that just covers my eyes. The man pulls me in, and I spin into his arms, he holds me tight to his body and we begin to dance. You can hear a song from a string quartet fill the air around us and the crowd begins to cheer and clap again louder. I feel at ease in the moment, I am the princess of the ball and every eye in the room is on me. Slowly the man holding me lifts my left hand to his lips and kisses it, before pulling our hands into his chest, and we sway to the music, my dress moving back and forth like a bell dinging from my hips. It is perfect…

                The sun caresses my face pulling me from my dream and I look out the window to greet the rising sun. The sky is a glowing painting of pink, light blue and a hint of silver gray as the sun comes up and banishes the darkness of the night before. It is the birth of a new day, the end of a chapter and an opportunity for the new to begin. I hear clicking to the left of me and turn to see my nurse standing at the computer just beyond the curtain typing and looking at my chart. She looks serene. I love moments when you are able to see people without them knowing you are watching; it is as though you can see their true selves breaking through the mask they wear in everyday life. I am happy to feel that her true self gives me the same comforted feeling that her social mask does. Still the calm, radiant soul I have come to enjoy and look to for emotional support in this short time.

                “Good morning Cidya.” I say with a smile, my throat feeling better and enjoying hearing my voice, not a croak. She looks up at me and smiles her infectious smile, “Good morning Ms. Anna. And how are we feeling this early morning?” “Better actually,” I say, feeling confident in my words. “Wonderful, I have a surprise for you a bit later, but for now rest. Breakfast will be delivered soon.” That is welcomed news as for some reason I am starving. I never eat in the mornings, so it is strange to be hungry this early, but the word breakfast has never sounded so good, even if it is hospital food. “Where in Jamaica are you from?” I ask, hoping to fill the silence that always makes me feel uncomfortable. Her smile grows, “How do you know I am from Jamaica? Most people here assume I am from the Bahamas.”

I crumple my brow making a face at her. “Bahamians and Jamaicans sound nothing alike,” I spit out almost laughing. She nods her head, “That’s right. But you’d be surprised how many people try to ask me where in the Bahamas I am from. It must be a comfort zone. What is the closes island, oh, the Bahamas, she must be Bahamian,” she shakes her head and giggles, “I am from Malvern in St. Elizabeth. I attended St. Mary’s all age school, then moved here to the states to go to nursing school. Do you know where St. Elizabeth is?” I nod.

“My mother’s best friend and roommate from collage, Samantha, was from Spanish Town in St. Catherine. We would go to Jamaica with her on vacation every summer when I was young. My mother died from breast cancer when I was 9, and Samantha became my surrogate mother. She really got my father and I through it and was there whenever we needed her. She took me shopping for my first bra, she talked to me about the birds and bees, helped me get ready for my first period… She pretty much put her personal life on hold to be there for us. When I first started college, she moved further from our home to finally started teaching at a university, something she had always wanted to do but had put off. I asked her why she had waited, why she had spent so much time with us instead of focusing on herself… I felt like I had deprived her from having a husband and child of her own… She hugged me and said family don’t abandon each other in their time of need, and she never felt the need to get married and birth children because she already had the best daughter anyone could ask for… That was when I started calling her mom. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Maybe that is why you make me feel so calm and that everything is going to be okay. Your accent, your infectious smile, your engaging eyes… They all remind me of her.” I say shrugging. It has been so long since I spoke about Samantha to anyone or thought of my mother’s passing. It was nice to feel comfortable enough with someone to speak freely to them.

I looked up at Cidya and for a moment she looked as though she might cry. “Well my darling, if I have even a tenth of the impact on someone’s life as Samantha has had on your then I will count my life as worthy. Now, rest, it is going to be a busy day.” With those words she gives me a wink and walks out of the room, chart in hand.

I lay back on the bed feeling like a giant weight has been lifted from my chest, I close my eyes and enjoy the increasing warmth of the sun as it slowly climbs higher and higher and in the sky. I drift in and out of sleep for a while. People come in and take blood, someone checks my vitals. A tech comes and tells me they will be taking me for an MRI or CT Scan sometime after lunch, another person comes in and says they need me to sign this or that for the neurologist to get my records and be approved to attend to me. At each person’s exit I close my eyes and drift, but it is always short lived as someone new comes in needing something. Before I know it, someone comes in with a tray of breakfast. There are pancakes, sausage, eggs, what looks like maybe grits, and a large glass of orange juice. I devour every morsel as if I have not eaten in years, the food is gone so fast that I can’t even remember what anything tasted like, I was simply a vacuum pulling in the food down the pipe into my stomach, skipping my mouth and taste buds. With the reputation hospital food has, maybe it is for the best.  A knock at the door pulls my attention from the sad sight of the empty tray in front of me. “Anna?” a voice calls from the door. The voice is familiar, but for a moment I can’t seem to place it. “Anna?” the voice calls again after a minuet. Then it hits me, the voice, I know the voice. Tears burst from my eyes and I yell out, “Daddy?”

The door creaks open and my dad walks in. I have never been so happy to see a familiar face, even if I can barely make him out through the walls of tears. “Daddy!” I call and he walks up and takes me in his arms squeezing me tightly while I sob and snot all over his coat. I can smell the familiar scent of old spice and a hint of cigarette. I knew his quitting would be short lived like always, though I would have never told him that. Each time he goes to quit I tell him he can do it; I believe in him and this will be the time he finally does it for good.

“Enough of that blubbering,” I hear another voice behind him say and in an instant, I know that voice, that accent. “Mom!” I call out, my voice muffled as my mouth is still burred in my dad’s shoulder. Then I feel another embrace from the other side of my bed, and I cry and cry and cry. They hold me, squeezing and rubbing my hair and back. I never want them to release me and they seem obliged to stay there forever. We hold on to each other, protected from the world as long as we are together in our family bubble. It is a force field that repels the dangers and evil of the world. At long last I stop crying, I have no more tears left within me, I have purged myself of every ounce of extra moister in my body. They both let me go, my dad walks around to the right side of my bed and pulls the ottoman from in front of the chair, pushing it against the window to make himself a seat and Samantha sits in the chair next to them. I look at them, my heart overflowing with joy, the two people that mean the most to me in the world are now here with me… but the more I look, the more they look strange.

My dad’s hair is so thin on top, he is practically bald. I knew his hair was thinning, but it was almost gone now, it was not that bad when I saw him a few months again. My dad was a tall man, six foot three inches tall and he was thin, he had always been thin. He was in the navy for a long time but had retired when I was 8, now he worked for a construction company running their warehouse. Even though he went from doing physical activity all day to sitting in an office he had never really gained weight. His hair was completely silver, and he always had stubble on his face. He would say, “I spent twenty years shaving every day while I was in the service, I am never using a razor again.” And he didn’t. He used an electric trimmer to keep his facial hair short, but never shaved with a razor again. His skin is fair with a light speckling of freckles, and his hands had been covered in calluses and scabs from hard work for as long as I could remember. His facial hair was more silver now, the hints of red that once was present scattered across his cheeks were almost gone.

Samantha had always had such dark hair, but now looking at her there is so much gray along her temples and crown of her head. She wore her hair in her natural curl, she would just tie it back into a hair tie, a short pom at the back of her head. And then I realize she is carrying a cane. Her engaging warm eyes showed more signs of wrinkles and her hands looked more aged. She is still tall and thin; she was five foot eight inches and always a thin muscular woman. She loved the gym, especially cycling and weightlifting, and she took pride in her body. She would say a health body leads to a long life. Mostly she would say it when she knew I was neglecting the gym or eating like garbage. A mother always knows. They both looked the same, but also looked older and weaker somehow.

“I am so happy you guys are here. I know we just saw each other a few months ago but it feels like forever.” At my words they both look at each other and then look at me with sympathetic eyes. “My love,” Samantha breaks the silence, “we haven’t seen you in two years. I talked to you on the phone two weeks ago to wish you happy anniversary, but we haven’t been able to visit each other in person for some time.” What was she saying? I just saw them a few months ago for my dad’s birthday. I just saw them.

“No, I saw both of you at dad’s birthday party, we bought him that new grill and the neighbor’s dog knocked the cake off the table. We all ended up eating twinkies for dessert and we even put a candle in one for dad to blow out. Mom, that was just a few months ago. I was only out a few days, there is no way that was two years ago!” I yell, unable to stop the anger and frustration boiling up from within.

“Honey, you are right, that day was not two years ago. My birthday where the dog knocked over the cake and you girls bought me the grill I loved was almost ten years ago. The last time we saw you was a two years ago when we moved Fredo and you into your new house.” my dad’s words leave his mouth sounding more like an apology than a statement. I start to breathe harder, what are they saying, this all cannot be true. My heart starts to pound again, ringing in my ears drowning out everything around me. I grab for the sheet beneath me and try to remember the breathing Cidya had me do before, but it is no use, the darkness closes in on me and I pass out.

“There she is, she is coming to. Welcome back darling, I think we had another panic attack.” I am looking into Cidya’s face while she looks into my eyes with her light. My whole body again aches. She smiles her encouraging smile and squeezes my hand. “These must be the parents I have heard so much about,” she smiles glancing at my parents sitting to the right of me by the window.

“Oh, yes.” I say trying to come back to the here and now. “This is my dad Mark and my mom Samantha.” They both rise and come over to meet my nurse, my dad shakes her hand before coming to rub my hair and look at me, concerned with the episode he just witnessed. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, then he kisses my forehead and returns to his seat. I see Samantha hobble with her cane and reach out and grab Cidya on the shoulders. They chat quietly for a moment before they take each other into a hug, almost like old friends. Samantha was always good at that, making friends with anyone immediately and she loves hugging. They release and talk for another second and then Cidya laughs. Samantha hobbles with her cane back to her chair and Cidya comes to my side. Grasping my hand again, “Ms. Anna, I am sorry to say that my shift is over. Another nurse will be coming in to take care of you. She is a wonderful nurse and you will be in good healing hands. Unfortunately, she isn’t Jamaican, but she is okay.” She smiles. “I will be back on in a few days and I will make sure to check on you first thing when I return.” She squeezes my hand and gives me her reassuring nod once again, then turns to my parents. “Take care of our girl.” She winks at them and turns to leave. My dad calls out to her, “We will, thank you!”

“Honey, what just happened. Are you okay? You have never been one to have panic attacks.” The worry in my dad’s voice is evident.

“I just don’t understand anything that is going on. How could that party have been ten years ago, it was just a few months ago. And Mom, why do you have a cane? What happened, are you okay?” As the words leave my mouth, I still struggle to understand what I am even saying. Ten years ago? How?

“My love, please stay calm. We do not want you to get worked up again. We met with your doctors and they want to run some more tests and do some scans, but the neurologist thinks you suffered a substantial head injury in your car accident and as a result you are experiencing memory loss. From what I can tell, I think you lost the last ten years. Love… you are lost in time.”