Strange Awakening by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 3
The next thing I knew it was light, the sun timidly making its first presence known in the smallest of three room windows, a distinct improvement over yesterday’s belligerent assault. I still didn’t remember a damn thing and that was no pleasant thought. On the other hand being able to not remember many past events can indeed be a blessing. The best thing that could happen to me was to get back only the good memories. Fat chance of that. I went to the bathroom and while there I took a good look at myself in the mirror. I noticed that the left side of my face seemed much more animated than the right. I was sadly perplexed and started making all sorts of stupid faces at the mirror to gauge the movement or lack thereof. To my dismay, it was obvious that the right side was almost frozen, further diminishing an already plain condition. But more importantly, I wondered if this was the result of some type of brain injury.
To me, that’s a very scary thought, because if the brain is not acting soundly, how can I be sure of the accuracy of any of my thoughts. Never mind, that’s a no brainer. How could I be sure of the accuracy of anyone’s stated thoughts, even those professing to have brains in excellent working condition? While I made coffee, I remembered, or thought that I remembered some
of the pictures from yesterday’s book of erotica. I decided to call Diane.
When I went to the phone I remembered that the house phone had a 908 prefix, while Diane’s number carried 206. Where was she? I dialed the number. She picked up the phone.
“Diane Jensen.”
“Hi, Diane Jensen, this is Edward Jensen, I think.”
Laughing; “Yes, you’re that miserable bastard.”
“I have a million questions to ask you, so it’s probably better if you do a soliloquy. Let me just ask one; You are my wife, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m glad you’re not my sister. Some people my age live with their mother or sister. I hoped I wasn’t one of those.”
“No, you’re not. You are 40 year old. We’ve been married close to 20 years. I’m thirty-seven. You got to be a Vice President of some New York City bank. Then a little over a year ago, you had a seizure and were diagnosed as having a benign brain tumor.”
“Shit,” I interjected. “That’s the worst possible thing and that occurred to me as a possibility, just before I called you. When I was a kid I heard that some old time baseball player got a brain tumor and it seemed like the scariest thing in the world.”
“You handled it fine. After an initial fear lasting about a week, you settled into it. I think that when you started taking the anti-seizure medication and saw that it worked, that allayed your fears about driving a car, being near water and being near fire. They sent you home three days after they performed the operation and you were a mess. You remembered some things and were blank on others. You were told by the doctor to go back to work in a month. You weren’t able to handle it and you got fired, filed for disability and got it.
We were told that some semblance of amnesia was a possibility, but not a likely one. More likely, if amnesia occurred, it would most affect short term memory and to a lesser extent long term. Of course in the wisdom book of the doctors, short and long term, are not defined. The more we asked about it, the more we started to hear graying techniques, like; ‘Of course, there may also be a selective process the patient goes through, choosing to remember short term stimuli, as defined and discussed elsewhere, or choosing to forget long term stimuli, as defined and discussed elsewhere, that will have measurable significance on the very general concept of memory itself.’ We decided to stop asking questions at that point. I was afraid that the next answer would start with something like; ‘Insofar as the cerebellum is believed to have modest impact upon.....’
Brain stuff is weird.”
“So, should I be taking some kind of medication?”
“Yeah, stupid. I told you that already. Make sure you do.
I think the pills are in your bathroom middle drawer. You should also pay a visit to the neurologist and tell her what happened.”
“My selective short term memory, no doubt biased, must have chosen not to remember that. Who is my neurologist?”
“I don’t remember her name. It’s probably on the medicine labels. She’s in Bridgewater, about half an hour’s ride.”
“Sounds good. Who lives next door to us in the yellow house?”
“That belongs to the Mason family. They have three houses on the eighty acres to our right. The one closest to us is not occupied by them, but is often rented to hunters.”
“Well, I guess there’s some there now and they didn’t seem to know me, which now makes sense. Do the Masons know me?”
“Very little. They keep to themselves. I know Joe a little. They say I’m the only person he likes in the world.
That’s because when we first moved here, I found the love of his life’s dog, named Rocky, injured on the side of the road, probably hit by a car. I took him to the emergency vet and he was repairable. I then found out it was Joe’s dog and he loves me. You’ve only met him cursorily once or twice.”
“Now that I can reach you, it doesn’t matter all that much.
Hey, why aren’t you here and why do you have a 206 area code?”
“When you got fired, so did I. So, I found a job in Seattle and moved there.”
“Why didn’t I come with you?”
“Somebody has to stay there until the house is sold. It’s a shitty market.”
“I’ve been walking around here. I didn’t see any ‘For Sale’ sign.”
“You didn’t want one. It’s for sale, for whatever that’s worth.”
“I’ve just got a few more questions........”
Diane cut me off: “You’ve got a lot to absorb already.
Save the next questions for another time. You’ll be fine. I’ve got to go, because I’m working, even though today is Saturday.
Frankly, this job is a bit over my head and I need some training.”
“You sound great. I think I love you.”
“Sometimes, I think I love you too.” She hung up.
That’s a nice feeling. I noticed that it was sunny out and I decided to go for a walk. I considered walking in the other direction this time, but that yellow house and its occupants still intrigued me. Every instinct in me tells me that something is very strange there and that I should stay away.
So, I walked toward it and saw no people, but two cars were again in the driveway, including one red Toyota hatchback. I slowed down a little, frankly being nosy. I wouldn’t mind seeing that girl dressed in black again. Unfortunately, there was no activity, except that for a few seconds a bit of a wind kicked up and I felt a chill while passing the house. I picked up a bit of speed and the wind stopped when the house was no longer visible. I continued down the road not seeing anything different from yesterday. At the corner with the stone house and the horses I turned around and walked back. I couldn’t help but think about the degree of stillness I must have liked; or maybe it was Diane’s taste. I didn’t currently dislike it. I was just now getting cognizant of it. No people and no cars, just the gentle sound of water flowing and birds singing. It was enjoyable, reminding me of a childhood dream, wherein the bombs were set off and I was the only one left. When I was a kid we were perennially advised by teachers and other authorities that the Russians, Cubans or both were going to get us and I participated at least weekly in air raid drills. The class would line up and the teacher would lead us down to the basement where we would stand facing a wall, with one hand across our foreheads and one behind our head. I suppose some expert on the subject said that this would be of some help against an atom bomb. I wondered if kids went through similar
procedures today, as the Russians, at least; still have bombs, probably more. My pleasant reverie was interrupted when I again got within sight of the yellow house.
A naked young female, maybe fifteen, bolted out of the house. She was either hysterical or laughing, so it was not possible to tell if she was trying to escape or if she was just being playful. It was a nice summer day, but a little early in the morning and a little cold to enjoy being outside without a stitch. The woman dressed in black and a tall middle aged man following behind her, were trying to grab her and lead her back to the house. When each had one of the young girl’s arms, they noticed me standing on the street gawking. The woman in black took full control of the young girl, who was now either laughing or crying. She gave no noticed resistance, however and sloppily walked twenty five feet back to the house and the two entered.
The man remained outside, standing still and stared in my direction. I stupidly stared back, more in shock than trying to be intimidating. He started to walk in my direction with his head to the ground. I didn’t know what to think and remained still. For some reason I didn’t think this was a hunting party.
As he got closer to me I could see that he was probably about six feet tall and weighed in the vicinity of 230 pounds. His clothes were suburban mall variety and not worth making any more
note of. When he got twenty feet away he agitatedly said; “Are you looking for something?”
Trying to make the words sound like some sort of joke, I said; “No, but I did see something I didn’t expect.”
He didn’t share my sense of humor and strongly said; “You didn’t see anything jackass. And it’s better for you if you don’t.”
Wanting to sound explanatory and somewhat deferential, I said; “Look, I live right next door. I take walks. When I see a naked girl run from a house it gets my attention. It’s not something I see every day.”
However, he was adamant, when he said; “You don’t get the point, stupid. You didn’t see anything that’s any of your business.”
I wasn’t fond of the tone utilized when he said the word
“stupid,” but didn’t address that because I was clearly sensing danger. “You may have a point there. I’ve recently had brain surgery and sometimes I have no idea of what’s really happening.”
He just blankly stared at me for a few seconds, probably still annoyed, but digesting what I had just said. He made some sound something like a snort and said; “You made a mistake.
Don’t worry about it. I have guns inside that are there to take care of any animals I run into. It would be unfortunate if you
got in the middle.” His agitation had changed to cold stillness and he stared right into my eyes.
I felt uncomfortable and broke the gaze. I didn’t know what to say or do next. So, I started to walk back toward my house. He stood still watching me. After I had taken a few steps, he used a matter of fact, monotone to advise me; “Be careful where you walk. I hear there are a lot of hunting accidents around here.”
Without looking back I continued the thousand feet to my house and was relieved to get there. I finally turned around to see that I had not been followed. I decided to quickly take another inventory of the house, this time to see if I had any guns. I frantically looked through everything big enough to hold a gun to no avail. What do I do if the guy comes to my door with a gun? I won’t let him in and I’ll call 911. An armed intruder should get their attention, but he could break in the door before I could get my message across. I didn’t have any good solutions in mind, so I decided to call Diane again.
“Diane Jensen.”
“Hi, it’s brain damage again. I don’t want to waste all your time, but I think I’m in serious trouble.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I took a walk and saw a naked girl....”
Diane cut me off laughing; “You wish.”
“No, that’s not the troublesome part. She looked very young and was taken quickly back into the yellow house and then some guy walked over and was threatening me.”
“What did he say? ‘Find your own’?”
“No. He told me I didn’t see what I saw and that I should be careful. There are a lot of hunting accidents around here.”
“Maybe you didn’t see what you thought.”
“It’s possible, but it was also so real. Why would this guy want to talk to me if everything was okay?”
“Good question. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly.”
“He wasn’t friendly; He was trying to be ominous.”
“If you’re really worried, make a police report.”
“I like that idea. But won’t they come out and investigate?”
“Maybe, so what?”
“So nothing, I think I’ll do it. Thanks.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”