My life was a series of treatments and hypnosis. It slowly began to clear my head and I realized everything I’d insisted was real had only been fantasy. I continued to write what I knew about the place called Riona in the notebooks Paula kept me supplied with, but I had begun to see it for what it was; make-believe.
At first, I fought it. I held on to the elusive thread that slowly unraveled what I thought was reality. It didn’t take long for the treatment to leave me questioning everything I believed was real. I was confused, I was lost and I didn’t know if I could trust myself. When the doctor finally decided I was ready to move onto the next step of treatment, I was prescribed an anti-psychotic. They stopped hypnotizing me and I didn’t have to endure ECT any longer. All I had to do was take one little pill, and continue to participate in group therapy sessions.
The medication I took kept me focused on the here and now and allowed me to rationalize the thoughts and apparent memories that jumbled my brain. The group therapy sessions helped me see that I wasn’t the only person struggling to come to grips with the world around me. I felt like a child learning about the world, one mistake at a time.
From what I understand now, my treatment cycle lasted three months, then I began the medication and therapy. It was another four months before I felt like I could consider myself normal, aside from my living situation and, well, everything else. The important thing was, I felt normal. I felt like me, and the doctors no longer looked at me like I had three eyes. There was a light at the end of the tunnel for me.
The doctors were pleased with my progress and had begun allowing me to go on field trips when I turned seventeen. They thought it was best for me to be exposed to the outside world as much as possible before I was released from their care. At first, it was terrifying. The idea of stepping foot outside of the hospital was debilitating. I faked illnesses, I hid, I did everything I could to remain in the safety of the psych ward.
It didn’t work. Paula caught on to my tricks. She told me she would drag me from the building kicking and screaming if she had to. Despite wanting nothing more than to throw a fit like a sullen child, I relented. I can remember my first foray into the outside world like it was yesterday. I was introduced to ice cream.
“Why is it so bright?” I asked with a scrunched-up face and tightly closed eyes.
“Because it’s sunny.” Paula replied patiently, as always.
I had only seen the sun through the tinted windows of the hospital; I’d thought it was bright before, but now I realized I didn’t know the half of it. I couldn’t look up at the sky without burnt orange, black, and yellow spots appearing in my vision and remaining there even when I looked away. It didn’t seem right that I would forget something as big as the sun. How had my mind removed something so bothersome from my memories and replaced it with the colorful sky of Riona? I couldn’t focus on what I’d forgotten, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t remember the sun, or anything else.
“Why is it so hot?” I asked, more to myself than to Paula.
“Remember, the sun?” She pointed up to the sky and shook her head at me.
I stuck out my tongue as I’d seen some of the younger kids do. I was rewarded with a hoot of laughter from my nurse.
“Come on, kiddo. We’ve got a date at an ice cream shop.”
I glanced nervously at the vehicles sitting in the parking lot. I knew what cars were, but I couldn’t remember ever riding in one. It seemed silly to tell Paula about my concerns. Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything. We walked right past the cars and strolled through the grass. I couldn’t help myself, I stooped down and caressed the pokey green spikes with my palm. It wasn’t as soft as I thought it would be.
Paula waited patiently for me to move on, she didn’t say a word, just smiled at my impulse. Our walk was filled with smells and sounds I hadn’t imagined I’d encounter. Not all of them were pleasant; in fact, most weren’t. The streets were busy, people slept between buildings, and yellow cars wove in and out of the others on the road. We approached the edge of the sidewalk and waited for the light to give us permission to cross.
On the other side of the road there were more buildings, closer together than I thought possible. I longed to retreat, to escape to the hospital I’d been kept in for the past few years. There were too many people, there was too much noise. Paula must have sensed my discomfort because she looped an arm through mine and gently pulled me along the white lines that marked the gray pavement.
We walked a few blocks until we arrived at our destination. A glorious smell wafted from the door Paula held open for me. I inhaled deeply through my nose and smiled.
“Waffle cones,” Paula whispered.
She must have noticed my confusion because she pointed to the counter at the front of the store. A colorful sign hung by two chains proclaimed our arrival at Scoops. On top of a glass enclosed monstrosity stood a display of cones, one of which was labeled a waffle cone. We approached the young man waiting to take our order.
“What can I get for you today?”
“Well, you may not believe this, but this young woman has never had ice cream before,” Paula explained.
He was unimpressed. “You’re right, I don’t believe it.”
I was quickly learning that people were rude. I tried to smile at the kid who couldn’t have been too much older than my seventeen years.
“What do you suggest I try?” I asked brightly.
“Cookie dough is pretty popular.”
I nodded in appreciation when he pointed to the tub in the glass container. It looked good. “I’ll take that, in a waffle cone.”
Ice cream was glorious. I have since discovered there are hundreds of flavors I enjoy and would probably survive solely on the frozen goodness if it were a viable option. The waffle cone was like crunchy magic; the trick was to eat it before it got soggy, but after it had started to absorb some of the melted ice cream.
After that, Scoops became a regular outing for us. But, our excursions covered more geographical area with each passing week. Paula took great pleasure in hauling me around to show me the things I couldn’t remember from my life before. She took me to Central Park, to the exact location where I’d been found before I was brought to the hospital. We went to a play on Broadway, to the top of the Empire State Building and to see the lights in Time’s Square. I think she secretly hoped something would spark a long-forgotten memory, but nothing ever did.
“Your birthday is coming up,” Paula reminded me, not that they knew for sure when my birthday truly was.
“I know. What’s so special about my birthday?”
I was turning eighteen in a few weeks. All my birthday meant to me was that I would have to leave the only home I remembered. My childhood memories were hazy, I had no idea who my parents were, or where I’d come from. All I had were the recurring dreams that vividly depicted a fantasy world beyond imagination. My dreams were filled with an impossible landscape, a pink sky, and oversized orc-like creatures lumbering around. I’d been writing about my dreams for a few years. It not only occupied my time, but also provided a creative outlet for the thoughts that kept rolling around in my brain.
Because my past was a mystery, there was no way to know exactly when I was born or exactly how old I was. According to various tests and physicals, the doctors believed I was nearly eighteen. Paula told me my birthday was the day I was found by a stranger in Central Park. I hadn’t been reported missing by anyone, I hadn’t had any visitors during my time in the psych ward, and I wasn’t looking forward to leaving.
“I have a surprise for you!” Paula said as she pulled something from her pocket.
It was an envelope that had already been opened. The letterhead on the top left corner read, “Petrano Publishing.” I was at a loss as to who the sender was or why they would be writing me. I cautiously peeked inside as though afraid I would be attacked by the contents. I pulled out a letter and began to read.
Dear Ms. Spencer,
We are very interested in working with you on your fantasy series. The examples you sent to our office were impressive. Please call our query department and set up a time to come in and talk about the contract.
Thank you,
Lisa Petrano
“Who’s this letter for?” I asked Paula in confusion. “What is this letter about?”
“You! Delia, don’t be upset, but I sent them a query letter as you and told them about your stories. This is one of the top publishing companies in New York City.”
“Where did the name Spencer come from? I don’t have a last name.”
Paula looked a little embarrassed as she lowered her eyes and spoke from the side of her mouth. “Well, that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
She sat on the edge of my bed and took both of my hands in hers. “Honey, I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years. I think we know each other fairly well. Did you know that I don’t have any children of my own? I know I’m not too old to have children, but I’ve never met the right man. Spencer is my last name. I know you’re almost a woman, but you’re going to need a name when you leave this place and I would be honored if you’d use mine.”
I blinked back the stinging tears that began to form in my eyes. Paula was the only person I confided in. She was there for me through all my treatments and always comforted me when I was feeling lost.
“Oh, also, I know you’ll need a place to live when you leave here. I have a bedroom all set-up for you if you want it,” she added quickly.
I nodded and threw my arms around her. “I would love to live with you. And, I think Delia Spencer has a nice ring to it.”
I’d nearly forgotten about the letter that lay discarded on the bed. My heart rate quickened when I thought about what it really meant. I hadn’t considered publishing my stories, but if a publishing company was interested in them, it seemed like an obvious decision.
“So, what do I say when I call Petrano Publishing? Do I tell them I can’t meet with them because I’m locked up in the crazy house?”
Paula laughed and shook her head. “Tell them you have some prior engagements over the next few weeks and schedule it for the first week you’re out.”
I had over fifty notebooks filled with things I remembered from my dreams. They didn’t exactly adhere to a specific timeline, but there was enough information to write more than one book. Within a few minutes I went from dreading my impending birthday to being more excited than I had ever been for anything.
I would have a home, a parent, and if everything went well with Lisa Petrano, I’d have a job.
“What do you think?” Paula asked, concern etched into her voice.
I stood in a room, just a room, but it was so much more than that to me. It was what the room represented. I had never seen anything so wonderful; the bed was enormous and covered in a fluffy blanket and oversized pillows. There were bookshelves against the wall, two of them were full, one was mostly empty aside from the notebooks that lined the top two shelves. My notebooks.
“I know you like scribbling in your notebooks, but now that you’re going to be meeting with a big-time publisher, you need to use something a bit less ‘old school’.” Paula walked me to the desk in the corner.
I hadn’t noticed the sleek white laptop with the bright red ribbon tied around it. With one shocked look at Paula, I sank to into the desk chair. It was all too much. Paula was giving me everything I should have had as a child, but couldn’t remember. Strong arms wrapped around me and tender lips kissed the top of my head.
“You deserve it, honey. I’m going to go order pizza. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
Paula left me alone in my room. I sighed, letting the stress and fear flow from my body in a forceful whoosh. A grin spread across my face as I carefully removed the ribbon from my new computer and opened the lid.
My appointment with Petrano Publishing was in just two days. The word processor blinked at me, waiting for me to type my story. It was time to start crafting a book from the notebooks I’d filled with snippets of dreams.