Music in the Night (18 page)

10
My Name Is. . .
.
I fell asleep again in the car and didn't wake

until the car hit a bump and jarred me from my trancelike slumber. It was very dark outside because an overcast sky kept the moon and the stars hidden. When I gazed out the window, I saw only my own reflected face in the glass, the face of someone so lost and confused, her eyes were filled with question marks and her lips frozen in a vain struggle to find some word, some thought to voice.

I turned and looked at the woman in the nurse's uniform dozing beside me. Her eyelids fluttered as the automobile jerked and turned, but they didn't open. I gazed at the back of the driver's head and I wondered who these people were and where I was going. Should I know? Had I been told?

I struggled with the questions, but it was as if I had fallen into an echo chamber because all I could hear were the questions coming back at me. The answers were like schools of fish swimming in the opposite direction, far, far out of reach and
uninterested in turning back. I could only watch them disappear, their scales glimmering for a moment and then gone, perhaps forever.

My body was sore, yet I couldn't remember why that was either. It hurt to straighten out my arms and legs and the back of my neck felt as if someone with powerful fingers had grabbed it and squeezed for hours. My eyes ached even when I kept them closed. I groaned and twisted to make myself more comfortable and the woman beside me woke with a quick jerk of her shoulders. She looked about, seemingly confused herself for a moment, and then turned to me and smiled.

"How are you, dear?" she asked. The driver turned a little but didn't look back at us.
"I'm sore," I said. "Why am I so sore?"
"Don't you remember anything about what happened to you, why you are in pain?"
I thought and thought, but it was like opening a book and finding it had only blank pages. I turned one after another and saw nothing written on any of them.
I shook my head, my lips trembling, my tears feeling more like smoldering ashes under my eyelids.
"Don't worry," she said. "It will all come back to you someday."
"It would be better for her if it don't," the driver muttered.
"We'll be needing none of your comments," she snapped at the back of his head. "You're here to drive and nothing else," she added sternly. He cringed as if her words were actually slaps and then he grunted and drove on silently.
Suddenly, there were lights ahead cloaked in what looked like banks of fog. As we drew closer, I strained to make out the shape of what appeared to be an entryway to an estate. It was a very tall iron gate with a wide, red brick column on each side. The light came from a large ball lamp atop each column. The driver slowed to a stop at the gate.
"One moment, dear," the nurse said, patting me softly on the knee. She got out of the car.
The fog twirled about us like smoke. I leaned forward to watch her poke numbers on a pad built into the side of the column on the right. The iron bars groaned loudly as the nurse returned to the car.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Just relax, dear," she said in reply.
When the gate was completely opened, we drove through and began a climb up a winding hill, climbing up out of the sea of fog.
After the second turn, a five-story, gray brick and wood structure loomed above us, rising out of the darkness like the bow of a great ship. As we drew closer, it looked like a medieval castle because there was a large cupola at the center of the roof. On both ends there were dormers with windows that caught the reflection of the light below cast by tall pole lamps illuminating the parking lot. Most of the windows in the building were dark, but there were some dimly lit rooms on the first floor.
When we turned into a parking space, I saw there was a cement stairway up to the front entrance. It was really too dark to see much of the grounds, but I could make out some large weeping willow trees to the right. They looked like giants with their heads bowed.
"What is this place?" I asked. The sight of it had stirred no memory, recent or otherwise.
"It's sort of a hospital," the nurse replied with a small, but quick smile. The driver snorted. She glared at him a moment and then turned back to me. "You'll be well looked after here," she said.
"Is this where I live?" I asked.
"For now," she said.
She got out and came around the car to open my door and help me out. The driver remained behind, slouching down and lowering his chin to his chest. The nurse knocked on the window and he lowered it.
"I'm not going to be that long," she told him, but he didn't act as if he heard her or cared. She turned back to me. "Come along, dear."
She led me toward the stairs. There was an iron railing on the right. I held on to it as we climbed the steps because I felt a little dizzy. When we reached the front entrance, she pressed the buzzer and then looked at me and flashed another snapshot of a smile.
The doors looked heavy and thick. They were tall and wide and had no windows. I leaned back and looked up at the roof. I thought I saw a bat fly from one end to the other. It was so quiet and the air was very moist and enveloping. I could practically see the droplets of moisture dancing like small fairies around us. Off to the right, a streak of lightning sliced through the blackness, and then instantly disappeared. My stomach felt as if it were filled with broken glass. I felt so lost, so detached, floating in space, longing for the pull of gravity to bring me back to earth, back home, back to my name.
We waited and waited. Finally, the door opened and a tall, lean man with hair that looked like it couldn't decide whether to be red or blond stood before us. He, too, wore a white uniform. He looked very sleepy, his eyelids drooping. He seemed to be in his twenties and had freckles all over his cheeks and forehead, even on his lips.
"Weren't you expecting us, Billy?" the nurse asked him gruffly.
"What? Yeah. Sorry, Clara," he said. "I fell asleep waiting," he added dryly.
"Well now that we're here, we'd like to come in," she said sharply. He stepped back quickly and we entered.
Nothing looked familiar inside either. It was a large room with gray-and-blue cotton--covered sofas and chairs. There were about a half dozen light maple wood tables. Only three of the small lamps in the large room were turned on, but I could see that there wasn't much on the walls, just some paintings of ocean scenes with sailboats and fishing boats and a few paintings just of colors in rectangular shapes. The floor was a dark wood with oval area rugs here and there. At the far end, there was a large fireplace made of fieldstone.
The freckle-faced man she called Billy looked at me for the first time, his gaze sweeping up from my feet to my face as if he were measuring me for something to wear. His eyes widened with a little more interest and alertness when I gave him a friendly smile.
"This is her?" he asked, his voice filled with surprise. "Of course it is. Who did you think it was, the new Miss America?" Clara quipped. He smirked.
"She looks pretty good. I just thought . Mrs. Miller said we should just show her to her room and get her to bed," he concluded once he saw the expression of impatience on Clara's face.
"So let's do it," she said. "I don't have all night to dillydally with you."
He turned and started toward the stairway, pausing at the bottom step.
"She's going to be on the second floor. She can take care of her own basic needs, right? She looks like she can," he added, gazing back at me.
"Why don't you leave the diagnosis and treatment to the doctors and just take us to her quarters. It's late and I'm tired, too, Billy," Clara replied with more fatigue in her voice than anger this time.
"I'm just agoing," he whined and started up the stairs. The nurse guided me up. We turned at the landing and went down a long hallway. The lights above were very bright, creating a glare off the gray tile floor. Occasionally, the clean white walls were smudged. Here and there I saw what looked like squiggly lines made with dark crayons. Suddenly, I heard someone wailing. Moments later I saw a woman and a man in white hurry through the corridor.
"That's Sara Richards having another whopper of a nightmare, I bet," the young man said. "The last time that happened, she scratched her face so badly they had to cut her nails back to her knuckles. She's headed for upstairs, for sure," he predicted.
"Thanks for the cheerful news," Clara said.
What was upstairs? I wondered.
Billy paused at a doorway and reached for a set of keys hanging on his belt. He rifled through them, chose one, and opened the door. He switched on the light and we entered.
The first thing I noticed were the bars on the windows. How odd, I thought, for a hospital. Other than that, the room looked very pleasant. There were pretty blue and white curtains around the windows and a pretty blue flowered wallpaper on the walls. The bed was twin size and looked comfortable. It had a light blue comforter and two plush pillows with a thick, dark mahogany headboard. Beside it were two matching nightstands, on the right one of which was a lamp shaped like a ship lantern in brass. Across from the bed was a small dresser and to the right of that was a desk and a chair. There was a cushioned, blueand-white patterned chair between the two windows. On the wall across from the bed was a painting of a garden with lawn furniture. The word Impressionist came to mind, shooting out of some dark closet, followed by the face of someone I should be able to remember. Was it a teacher? A friend? Family? It was gone too quickly for me to come to any conclusion.
"Isn't this nice?" Clara said.
"Yeah, you know the facilities here are quite good when you consider," Billy said before I could respond. "Consider what?" Clara asked. He shrugged.
"That most of them don't know where the hell they are anyway," he said.
"You've got a great attitude, Billy. Mr. Sensitivity himself"
He laughed.
"I just call it like it is," he said.
"Spare me," Clara told him and he laughed again.
Clara crossed the room and opened the closet. There was what looked like a hospital worker's powder blue uniform dangling on a hanger and a pair of white terry cloth slippers beneath it. Other than that, the closet was empty.
"All right," she said to Billy, "I'll settle her in."
"What about the paperwork?" he asked.
"I'll be down in a little while to take care of it. Just have it ready for me."
"Aye, aye, Captain," he said with a mock salute. He gazed at me and then nodded at her. "Good," he said as if I had done something difficult by merely walking in and up the stairs. He turned to me again before leaving. "What's her name?"
She hesitated a moment as if she had forgotten and then said, "Lauren."
Lauren? I thought. That didn't sound right.
"No, that's not my name," I said.
Her eyes widened and her eyebrows curled up.
"Oh? You remember your name?"
I thought and then shook my head.
"So how do you know it's not Lauren?" she asked.
I stared at her and then at him. He was wearing a wide, silly grin.
"I . . just . . . know," I faltered.
"Until you remember your name, that's your name," she replied dryly. "Now, Lauren," she said, pronouncing it emphatically so I would not contradict her again, "come over here and get into this." She took the shirt and pants off their hangers and handed them to me. "You should get settled in and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day for you."
"Yeah, the first day is always the hardest," Billy commented.
Clara turned to Billy, shooting him an angry look. He flashed another smile at me and then left quickly.
I got into the shirt and pants while she turned down my bed. The sheets smelled freshly starched and the blanket felt brand new.
"Comfortable?" she asked me as she tucked me in and arranged my pillow under my head.
"Yes, but I still ache all over. Why can't I remember what happened to me? Was I in some sort of accident? A car accident? Did I fall?"
"Tomorrow, the doctor will see you and then we'll see what can be done to help make you more comfortable," she said instead of answering my question. "In the morning,
another nurse, the head nurse, Mrs. Kleckner, will show you around and take you to breakfast. You're going to be fine," she added.
"How long will I be here?" I asked.
She stared at me a moment.
"I don't think you'll be here as long as your grandmother thinks," she said.
"My grandmother?" I thought about the small elderly lady back at the house. "That woman was my grandmother? Why was she so angry and mean to me?"
"Never mind now," she said quickly, as if she had already told me too much. "There's plenty of time to work on your return."
"Return? From where?"
She thought a moment.
"From . . oblivion, I guess," she said. She paused and looked at me, a small smile on her lips. "Can't you remember anything about yourself? How old you are? Any member of your family? Anything?"
I closed my eyes, tried to remember and then shook my head.
"Everything is so muddled. I hear voices and see quick flashing pictures, but it's like my mind is full of bubbles that keep bursting when I try to seize one," I replied.
She laughed.
"You'll be fine," she said and patted me on the hand. "Get some sleep."
"Will I see you again?" I asked quickly as she turned and started for the door.
"No. I don't work here. I work for a doctor who has patients here," she replied from the doorway.
"My doctor?" I asked.
"No, not exactly," she said. "Don't worry about all those details. Just do what they tell you to do and you'll get better sooner than you think," she said. "For now, what you need the most is some rest."
"I know I want to go home," I said, "but I just can't remember where that is."
She smiled warmly.
"You will. Someday," she said. Then she looked sad. "Good-bye, Lauren." She switched off the lights, and as she closed the door behind her, I heard the distinctive click of a lock.
Trying to forget that I had just been locked into my room, I lay there in the darkness, listening. Through the walls I could hear someone crying softly. Above me there were footsteps moving rapidly and then a deep, long silence that was soon filled with the sounds of creaking walls and floors, the slam of a door and more footsteps.
Why was I here? Why did Clara call that old lady my grandmother? She didn't act like a
grandmother, I thought. Why wouldn't Clara tell me more? Who told her to call me Lauren? Maybe that was my name.
I closed my eyes. All these questions and thoughts were giving me a headache. A myriad of faces flashed against the insides of my eyelids, some smiling, some laughing, a young man looking serious and then someone began to whisper. I struggled to hear what he was saying, but his voice drifted back until there was only silence and blackness.
I was so tired. Clara was right. I needed rest. Maybe in the morning, I would remember who I was. All my questions would be answered and this would all be over.
For now, that was my only prayer.
I woke when the door to my room was thrust open with such force and abruptness, it sent waves through the air. A much older nurse than Clara stepped in carrying a package under her arm. Her hair was the dirty gray color of old silver coins and the strands cut just below her earlobes looked thin and harsh as
wire.
Her forehead had rows of deep wrinkles that exploded at her temples to produce spidery webs extending to her cheeks. Her cheeks were a bit puffy, making her small, wide nose look like it was sinking into her face and would soon be swallowed up by those cheeks. She had a thin, uneven mouth, the right corner of her lower lip dipping just enough to reveal some teeth. The roundness in her face fit her chunky, short body, yet she had long arms with wide hands and thick fingers.
She paused, breathing in and lifting her hefty bosom as she contemplated me for a moment. I thought she looked like a pigeon with her chest out as she strutted to the bed. She placed the package at my feet.
Her appearance had startled me so that my heart thumped. As soon as I regained my senses, I sat up and gazed about in confusion, trying to remember how and when I had been brought here. The soreness in my body had gone deeply into my muscles. My arms felt heavier and just the thought of standing was exhausting.