Don’t Forget about Me

 

 

I SAT ON the little patio after Brandt left. I couldn't put all my thoughts together in a sensible order, so I just watched as the waves broke on the beach. Nichole was sweet and brought me a cup of coffee and returned with a laptop, placing it onto the little bistro table.

"I think this would be a good time to start searching for the girl behind the name Freckles." She smiled.

"Thanks, Nichole. Sorry about all that."

"Yeah, that was something. Are you sure you guys just met? That was pretty intense."

“It was, which is why I had to leave. I just woke up from a coma and found out I'm suicidal. I'm not equipped to deal with an epic love story right now. I don't even think I'm capable of dealing with the truth."

"I know. Look, I'm not here to judge you, but I think you made the right decision, from a wanna-be psychiatrist's point of view. Your brain is on overload. I think tackling one thing at a time is the best thing. I can see it in your eyes. You're scared to lose him, but I promise you, with the way he handled you and the way he looked at you, he's not going anywhere. He's being selfless right now and giving you the space you need. He must care about you a lot."

I sniffed back at a tear. "I'm supposed to start seeing a psychiatrist."

"I think that's a good idea.”

"Will you go with me? I know it's a lot to ask because you don't know me, but I'm scared to go alone."

She put her hand on mine. "I like you, Freckles. You remind me of my little sister. If you want me to be there, I'll go. I've been struggling on a thesis topic. Would you mind if I killed two birds with one stone?"

"Not at all. It's the least I can do to repay you."

"I won't use names, but I think this is fascinating. I mean, it sucks for you, but from a psychiatrist's standpoint, this is a pretty rare opportunity. And if I can help you in the process, even better."

I smiled in agreement.

"Now, where do we begin with this search? Do you remember anything? Any names, high school, jobs?"

"No, the only memory I have had is kissing a man, but I couldn't see his face."

"Well, that's a pleasant memory, at least."

"Yeah, but it complicated my feelings with Brandt a bit."

"Right. I can see how that would.”

“Oh, and I did have this weird nightmare, but I couldn’t decipher too much from it. Just a blinding light and a loud horn.”

“An accident, maybe?” Nichole added.

“Maybe.” I shrugged, unsure.

“Okay, at what hospital were you treated?" she asked.

"Scripps in Encinitas," I replied.

"Oh, nice. Great hospital. They have one of the best brain injury programs."

"I guess I was at the right place then."

"More importantly, it means you are probably from here. What day were you admitted?"

"June fourth." She started typing. "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing a Google search to see if anyone reported someone missing after that."

I watched her face contort as she opened tabs and closed them, clearly frustrated. I eventually turned back to the ocean. My confidence was depleting with every minute that passed and every cuss word she spat out.

"Dammit! Nothing. I swear I have searched every database I can think of. Nothing in the papers, either."

"It's okay." I tried to reassure her, but it wasn't okay. It was confirming how alone I really was.

"You know what? We are going about this the wrong way. Give me a sec." She stood up and went into the house. Less than a minute later, I heard her chattering on the phone. When she hung up, she came back to report.

"I just spoke with my thesis mentor. She's one of the best psychiatrists in the area, and I'm not just saying that. I told her about you, and she said she would love to meet you if you were willing. Her name is Dr. Paige Caldwell."

"Wait." I brushed past her and searched through the pants in my bag. I pulled out the paper Dr. Surai gave me. Printed on it was Dr. Caldwell's name. I handed it to Nichole. "That's who my doctor wanted me to see."

"Great, then I'll set it up for today. We are going to get to the bottom of all of this, and even if in the end you find out you have no one, you will always have me. And don't write off the Reilly boys just yet." She winked.

She managed to muster a smile from me. I was looking at potentially a new best friend, and it made me feel that much less afraid of what was embedded in the hidden caves of my mind.

"Is that all you have?" She gestured to my pathetic bag.

"Yeah, Grady bought it for me. I don't have any money." I shrugged.

"Okay, well, that's not going to be enough. We're the same size, so you can borrow whatever you want. We'll have to get you your own wardrobe at some point."

"Maybe I need to get a job?"

"Yeah, maybe, but let's give you some time before you do that."

We had a few hours before my appointment with Dr. Caldwell, and Nichole had a sudden burst of inspiration to start researching her thesis, so I went for a walk. She lived on a charming little street lined with bungalows. It was so quiet I could even hear the ocean.

A low layer of coastal fog was still hanging around, keeping the air crisp and fresh. I loved this weather. One day, warm winds, and the next, the threat of rain. It was like the way my mind worked—all over the place—but the mood swings of the weather were definitely more pleasant than my own.

As I walked down the sidewalk, I came across a bush of forget-me-not flowers. The brilliance of the blues contrasted magnificently with the yellow centers of the blooms. I bent down and took a small bundle in my hand as the words Brandt spoke haunted me again.

Don't forget about me.

What was it about that phrase that gave me the heebie-jeebies? I mean, aside from the obvious memory loss, there was something about it, but I couldn't place it. And then, suddenly, I had a vision where I was holding a bouquet of forget-me-not flowers standing in a cemetery full of gravestones, the sun beating down on my shoulders. I stood next to a fresh grave holding the flowers as the words repeated in my head.

Don't forget me.

I was alone.

I was scared.

I was dead inside.

"Are you okay, dear?"

The owner of the house where my memory emerged stood on the other side of a white picket fence. She could have been my grandmother, with her red cheeks, fair skin, grey hair and compassionate face.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't going to take them. They just reminded me of something," I said, letting go of the bush and standing up.

"Me, too, honey. Before my husband died, he planted them. He said they would ensure I was never without him. So I would never forget him."

"That's so sweet. They're beautiful. What a great way to remember someone."

"He was a wonderful man. Do you live nearby?"

"Oh, no. I'm just staying with a friend down the road for a little bit."

She opened the gate and stepped outside. She was wearing an apron and pulled out a pair of pruning shears. She cut the bundle I was holding and gave it to me. "So you can remember, dear."

She had no idea how profound her gesture was. "Thank you."

I took the bundle from her and continued my walk back to Nichole's house. I walked straight to the kitchen, filled up a glass with water, and placed the flowers in it.

"Hey. Almost ready to go?" Nichole asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Pretty flowers," she said as she picked up her car keys from the table.

"Yeah, they are," I said, more to myself than her.

Nichole drove with the windows down and the music blaring. I think she could tell I wasn't in the mood to talk. As we passed the little old lady's house, she waved. She was still pruning in the garden. Something she probably spent most of her days doing, now that the love of her life was gone. I smiled back.

It took us a good twenty minutes to get to UCSD Thorton Hospital. We were on the coast, and it was inland, more in La Jolla. The building was massive and intimidating. Until now, I had been free of the hustle and bustle of crowds.

"It's huge."

"Beautiful, huh? It's my dream to work here one day. Preferably, under Dr. Caldwell."

The familiar tightness in my stomach reared its ugly head. I tried to concentrate on my breathing so I didn't have another episode. It was one thing for Brandt to see me like that, but I didn't want to put that on Nichole.

She definitely knew where she was going. The building we headed toward was just opposite the main entrance to the hospital, which was a huge relief. I didn't want to walk through the hallways of a hospital so soon after leaving one.

"Her office is on the top floor. She has a killer view."

I wasn't sure if she was telling me to make small talk, but my intuition told me it was because she truly admired Dr. Caldwell, which made me feel more at ease.

"You've been really quiet. In fact, you haven't said a word since we left the house,” Nichole observed as we took the elevator up.

"I'm just anxious."

The doors opened, and I followed her to the far corner of the building. She opened the solid dark double doors and ushered me inside. There were different nooks for people to hide until it was their appointment time. The waiting area was pleasing and comfortable, not at all what I was expecting. I expected a row of chairs in a narrow hallway crowded with people concealing their ashamed faces behind a hat or a phone, waiting for their doctor to come out and turn off the infamous light switch next to seven others when it was finally their turn. I had no idea how I knew that, but I guess if I tried to kill myself, I probably had some experience with therapists.

I sat next to Nichole who had picked up a magazine already. "How will she know we're here?"

"She has a camera." Nichole pointed to the far corner of the room where a camera was placed.

I twirled my hair nervously until the door opened. Dr. Paige Caldwell was not what I expected. I didn't really know what I expected, but she was stunning. Her blue eyes pierced me immediately. She was tall and voluptuous with thick blonde hair that dropped to her waist, and her smile dared you to not smile back.

"You must be Freckles," she said cordially.

"Yes, I guess so." I stood up.

"Well, let's see if we can't fix that. Come on in. Will Nichole be joining us?"

"It's fine with me." I bit at my lip.

"Sit wherever you would like." Dr. Caldwell motioned inside the office.

Nichole followed and Dr. Caldwell closed the door behind us, heading to the desk hidden in the corner and picked up a notebook.

She was going to take notes. This was really happening. My nerves were getting the best of me as my eyes darted around the room looking for the safest place to sit.

Nichole sat in one of the chairs by the desk, out of sight, and I chose to sit on the end of the couch with my back to Nichole. Dr. Caldwell sat on the chaise across from me.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

I shook my head. "I'm okay, thanks." I sat forward, nervously.

"Nichole tells me you were diagnosed with dissociative amnesia by your treating doctor at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"So, why don't we start from the beginning?"

I told her everything from the moment I woke up. I told her about the Reilly brothers and the three memories I remembered.

"That's great. The last one you remembered today?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't much. Just the cemetery and the flowers."

"And how you felt," she added.

"Yes."

"There's no rhyme or reason to memory loss, and there's no magic pill to cure it. Most doctors will tell you it just takes time. I agree and disagree. Stress is a big factor in trauma, so much so that enough stress alone could cause someone to forget. The reason Dr. Surai and Nichole referred you to me is because I'm in the middle of a research grant involving amnesia patients. Your particular case is rare because most amnesiacs lose a chunk of time surrounding the trauma. In your case, you have forgotten everything with emotional attachment, which leads me to believe the event isn't the catalyst to your amnesia, especially knowing it was a suicide attempt. Something happened to you. Something painful and unimaginable that led you to believe death was the only option. The mind is a beautiful and mysterious thing. It's protecting you from whatever happened by erasing it, but with that you lost everything."

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing then?"

"Sure, only you wouldn't want to live without an identity, would you? Without some history?"

"True." I twisted my fingers around each other.

"Here's my suggestion for treatment. Let's work on things that don't have an intense emotional attachment, like your name. I want our first goal to be remembering your name, even if it's only your first name or a nickname. Just something to help restore your identity. Your mind is releasing bits of you, which means things are happening already. I believe things I give you to do will help move that along."

She sounded so confident that I would get my memories back, but I had no insurance. "I can't pay you right now, but if I get my—”

She waved her hand in the air. "Stop. You are covered under the grant. This is part of my research. No money involved, so let that go.” She leaned over. “What kinds of things have you done recently that have relieved some of your stress?”

I thought about the cliff at Grady’s house with the breaking waves echoing around me and the walk down Nichole’s street. “The beach and being alone.”

She jotted down something in her notebook. “Okay. Great. Let’s start there. Just take some solo walks on the beach at different times of the day and try not to think about remembering. Just walk and focus on the sounds of the water, the sand beneath your feet, and the air on your skin.”

“That’s it?” I asked, disbelieving.

“For now, yes.” She smiled and closed her notebook. "I think that's enough for today."

“Okay." I stood up. "When should we come back?"

"How about the day after tomorrow? Does that work for both of you?"

"Works for me," Nichole said.

"Me, too."

"Great.” She walked us to the door. "Nichole, can you stay back for a minute?"

"Sure." She handed me the car keys. "Do you want to just wait in the car?"

"Yeah. Thanks again. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Caldwell."

"You, too."

I left the waiting area and shuffled down the hallway. Instead of taking the elevator, I took the stairs. The sound from the tamping of my feet on the metal stairs became familiar, and another flash overtook me. I was running hard. My heart was racing, but not because I was tired from running, but because I was scared. No, not scared, but petrified, and I was crying. I gripped the metal railing for stability as the feelings overwhelmed me. I sat down on the stairs to get my bearings. The memory was like the others, quick yet profound. I was still trying to catch my breath when the bottom floor door opened, and a doctor in scrubs entered the stairwell.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." I stood up and walked out onto the first floor. I was so sick of people asking me if I was okay. It just reminded me that I wasn't. When I got to the car, Nichole was already there.

"What happened to you? I've been here for like five minutes."

"I took the stairs." I tossed her the keys and didn't say another word.