Imposter at Heart

How lovely the nightmare seems when you awake to an even more horrific reality. 

I jolted up in bed and tried to catch my breath. In the darkness I realized my eyes were covered in silk fabric. I have never owned a sleep mask and yet here I am peeling one off my head. Terror took over as I scanned the room. Where am I? 

I immediately squeezed my eyes shut thinking my sight had deceived me. Peeking with one eye after a moment and a few breaths, I realized that the large windows with long flowing white curtains and the mahogany bed posts towering over me were not just figments of my imagination. 

My face flushed, ears burned as I frantically took in what was before me. Was I kidnapped from my uncle’s cabin in the middle of the night? Who could have taken me without waking me? Where was Uncle John? I had to reach him, I thought as I looked around for my phone. Or maybe I should call 911? Yes, better idea. Uncle John was probably face down in his own filth after how much he drank last night. 

I looked around and found a phone charging on the side table to my left, conveniently within reach was also a tall glass of water and chapstick. Whoever took me started to seem highly considerate which made the situation somehow more eerie. This wasn’t a scene from those horror movies I liked to watch, this was a valley-girl princess dream room, complete with a bone-white vanity and huge flat screen TV mounted across the room.

Why would someone dump a country bumpkin like me here? My mind started to swerve over into the worst case scenario lane. My heart picked up speed and I could hear my pulse within my head which started to feel like a helium balloon. My vision was spotting a bit as I reached for the phone. The screen lit up revealing the lock screen photo of a beautiful couple. Not my phone I realized, but I had to try for help. I held the lock button until SOS populated the screen. As I swiped my finger right to initiate the emergency call, I glanced into the mirror that hung on the wall straight ahead. 

It wasn’t my normal reflection that stared back. She was holding a phone to her ear with her brows scrunched up in worry. Big amber eyes framed with long, chestnut, sleep-tousled hair. She matched every move I made. 

I dropped the phone and stepped out of the bed to get a closer look, suddenly hyper-aware of how different my body felt. Taller, lighter, I glanced down at myself in pink satin, white painted toes poking out of the PJ pants and my hands outstretched that were no longer calloused but recently manicured. What is going on?!

Hyperventilation started as my spotty vision grew worse. My chest heaved, everything was new, no one thing was familiar in this seemingly beautiful room and this stunning body that now responded to my building anxiety. 

I looked back up into that gold framed mirror at the smooth, sun kissed, heart shaped face that held my glare. Her hands moved as I moved my own to trace my full lips. 

“What…” Oxygen wouldn’t enter my lungs even though I heaved and heaved, “the fuck?!” 

Salty tears had now filled both of my eyes so everything was now a blurry ocean. A shriek escaped from my own soul but echoed from a stranger’s mouth. The world went fuzzy as I heard the door open. The outline of an older woman started toward me from the hall as I fell over. 

“Mom?” I gasped. This must be Heaven if she’s here. My sobs became distant as I took to slumber again, hoping for a different outcome the next time I opened my eyes.

* * *

I wish I could tell you that I woke up in my old rickety bed at Uncle John’s Cabin in East Texas. But I didn’t. In fact, it’s been 5 days since I woke up in someone else’s body. That older woman who came running after me was not my mother, therefore I was not in Heaven. 

That same woman stayed with me though. She had been sitting with me now for an hour on the thin white sheets of the hospital bed, legs clad in creamy linen pants half dangling off the edge. Her strappy sandals revealed her pink pedicured toes. She spoke quietly to me as she sifted through a new stack of photos, her large wedding ring glimmered in the artificial light that beamed down harshly on us. 

“I brought a bunch more to show you today, sweetie. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see some of these,” she said, “nothing like digging into the past. We have so many great memories, don’t we.” She spoke to herself mostly when she visited, which was for most hours of the many days and nights that I have occupied this room. Maybe it was to convince herself that her daughter is still with her, maybe it was because she is lonely in her 20-year old marriage, but I knew it was mostly because I have not spoken one word since I woke up five days ago. I could tell my silence was threatening to break her.

Her mood was high today although I noticed her grin was a little more forced than it was in the days before, frantic even, and her hands were a bit hasty as they shuffled through the photos. Her hope dwindled as she placed her favorites side by side in front of me with again, no heartfelt reaction. 

Memories, I realize, are most important to this woman, and to most other people too. ‘Nostalgia’ is the word they would use when reminiscing on moments captured in time such as smiling faces, important life events, serene landscapes and funny candids. But these photos scattered across my lap do not bring any sort of emotion into my heart, no tilt of a smile to my mouth or a twinkle of fondness in my eyes.

What the doctors who diagnosed me with amnesia don’t know is that I don’t have amnesia at all. What the woman sitting a foot away from me doesn’t know is that I'm not the person she thinks I am.

She smiled at me with her motherly grin and placed 5 more photos in front of me, giving a synopsis of each trying to jog my memory of who I once was. With bland eyes, I glanced over the new set of memories spread across the egg-shell white quilt gently tucked around my outstretched legs. 

If she weren’t such a sweet woman with such a kind heart, I would shake her by her shoulders and cry ‘You are NOT my mother! I know my mother!’ But it wouldn’t change what had happened and it wouldn’t bring my mother back.

A silent tear welled up in the corner of my eye at the thought of my real mom. It’s been so long since I felt her touch. I wish she could comfort me now. Why do I sit here with a stranger who doesn’t know I'm a stranger? I will figure this out as soon as they release me from the hospital. I have to go back to Texas and hope for a miracle to turn back into myself again. For now, I stare at the still photos before me, practically fueling my desire to get back to that dim-lit cabin in that one-horse town.

Her name was Mallory, the girl that I somehow found myself occupying within her body. I sighed softly while taking in the photos. She really had a great life. I glanced at the little girl in the curly brown pigtails and a gummy smile with chocolate smeared all over her round face with Mickey Mouse ears atop her head. 

The leathery hands of her grandparents held her so lovingly as a newborn in a pink swaddle. I started to realize, this girl grew up with a family I never had. She was adventurous and beautiful. 

Looking at the photos, I grew envious. I've never been to New York on Christmas Eve and stood in front of the tallest Christmas tree I’d ever seen. I've never hiked in Colorado Springs. 

I’ve never stood in an emerald gown beside a staircase, holding hands with a man as handsome as the one in the photo I held. Frozen in time, he beautifully and wistfully smiled at her as he secured the flower around her wrist. These two were young and in love and I drew the photo toward my face to take a closer look. I had never been in love either. 

The older woman still sitting near me sucked in a hopeful breath as she watched me take in the scene with the guy who has the girl. She had it wrong though and it made me sad for her at the realization that her hope was a terrible lie. I'm not who she wants me to be. That girl is not in this room. She may even be lost forever, meaning I surely would be lost too. Misplaced. An imposter. I glanced deeper into the photograph.

These photos bear no weight on my heart, no, that is not the reason for my sudden interest in this particular one. It’s the dimples dug into a tanned, clean shaven face. I noticed the one on his left cheek is slightly deeper than the other as he beamed down at me… her I mean… in the photo. 

I shook my head trying to center myself again, or maybe just to free myself of those stunning green eyes. Slowly, I put the photo down and the woman’s smile drifted off as a castaway would after giving survival one last shot and failing. She succumbed to the idea that reminiscing won’t make things better and nostalgia wouldn’t stir the memories inside me. 

“Nancy,” I spoke my first word as I touched her aging hand. I had learned her name when she introduced herself as my mother on that weird Thursday morning after I woke up in the hospital. The shock still lingered around me, the confusion definitely still engulfed my whole world. But this woman needed to know. 

“I need you to listen to me,” I said a little more sternly than intended, “This person, in these photos… The young woman you call Mallory… She doesn’t live here any more.” I placed a hand on my chest, emphasizing what here meant. “I'm not your daughter. I'm not Mallory.” Nancy’s expression changed from shock to horror. Her face twisted and she suddenly looked older, worn even, like what I just said had weathered through her freshly botox-ed skin. Tears left her gold-flecked eyes lined with thick mascara. Black streaked her cheek with each new tear and her crimson-lined bottom lip started to quiver. 

“Don’t speak like that hunny. You will remember…”

“No,” I interrupted, “I won’t. They aren’t my memories. My name is not Mallory. It’s Amelia. Amelia Mason. I was not born in California. I’m from Texas. I don’t remember growing up in Huntington Beach because my memories are already filled with growing up near the Piney Woods. I went to Lufkin High School, I helped raise livestock, I was never prom queen and I never traveled the world. I’m a nobody.” The last point hit me hard. The realization that I had nothing to show for, no grand life to get back to, made me want to curl into a ball of shame and sadness. 

“Mallory, what are you talking about?” Her voice raised with frustration, “I know who you are, I am your mother!” 

“My mother’s dead!” I yelled back without thinking, heavy tears welled up in my own eyes. The gruesome past of Amelia was a stark difference compared to the one of Mallory. I regretted blurting out what I had to her mother. She really was a sweet lady. A mother I could learn to love and let care for me. 

Silence. Mallory’s mother covered her mouth with a trembling hand as she lifted herself off the bed, the metal squeak cut through the quiet, sterile room. She backed away until she felt the door behind her. After a moment with denial lingering on her lips, she opened the door and left. 

Exhaustion overtook me as I cried myself to sleep. I drifted away in slumber on a raft in the middle of a vast ocean, completely alone, even my sense of self fading to the trenches below. 

* * *

Awaking to those green eyes was like a cotton candy dream compared to the recent events. I sucked in a gentle gasp of shock which made me suddenly very aware of my cracked lips, dry as the Sahara desert. 

“You’re awake,” the man said with a crooked smile. A real life prince with a sharp-edged jawline and thick black eyebrows framing those jade jewels I just couldn’t look away from. 

He leaned in to embrace me, his hands careful and soothing as they rubbed my back and his head nested in the crook of my neck. He breathed in deep, then pulled away slightly to look into my eyes before he kissed me. His lips were full and thick and moisturized against my own. Woah.

Sparks had always been something I wondered about. If I would feel them when I found the one. Here they are, exploding with colorful bursts inside me. Then an abrupt stop as he backed away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sure you don’t know who I am. The doctors, they warned me,” He looked away, “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he paused for more than a few seconds catching his breath. He found my eyes again saying, “I just missed you, so much.”

A teary film layered over those eyes I already love. Familiarity is what I found in them. Tenderness and clarity: two things I had never known in my life as Amelia. 

In that moment, I let my eyes wander down his body, back up to those lips that I wanted more of and to those eyes I could look at for the rest of my life. I had decided. There is no way I am going back to Texas. 

“I remember,” I rasped, tears threatening to fall. He lunged forward and I was engulfed in a tight hug, his firm body against mine. Shame only filled my heart for a moment as I realized I’m not only taking someone else’s life, but I am letting go of my own. A permanent goodbye to myself. Amelia was as good as six feet under and Mallory has been reborn.

* * * 

It’s been five years since I made that life-changing wish, I thought as I sat at a local coffee shop in Huntington Beach. Texas is hot, but the sun here… I let it soak my skin as I tilted back my head, eyes closed beneath my black sunglasses. I do miss this. 

I’m not sure I'll find what I’m looking for and even if I find it, I’m frightened that I won’t like what I see. I know she opened her own Baja Smoothie shop across the street. It really is cute now that I'm seeing it in real life. I plan on sitting here until I see her walk through those doors. 

She must be here all the time because it didn’t take long before I saw her. She parked her shiny escalade in front of the shop, smiling and talking to someone on the phone. Her light brown hair is still long and wavy, just the way I had liked to wear it. I have aged really great, I thought to myself with a bit of pride as I peeked over my glasses to get a better look. 

She suddenly pivoted on her heel and looked right at me. I snapped my glasses back over my blue eyes and adjusted my bucket hat over my short dirty blonde hair as I pretended to take a sip of coffee. Horrified she had seen me, my heart rate picked up and I debated sprinting away, my eyes darted to my nearest exit. 

“Amelia!” She yelled waving toward me. Oh God… This is not supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to see me. Of course she would recognize herself! Right before I was about to get up and get the hell out of dodge, a man strides by on the sidewalk, carrying a young toddler. Matt? The tall, dark-haired man I was once in love with was now a few feet away and I realized that girl who I used to be was not waving at me. She was waving at her family. 

They got married, I knew this from my online stalking. But they never revealed what they had named their daughter. Amelia… Ironic that she had named her child with my genes after herself which was now me. I giggled at the thought. 

After crossing the street, they all embraced in a family hug. A tender moment that tugged at my heart. She’s happy. I let out a sigh of relief. All these years I was scared that my wish had ruined someone else. Of course I didn’t know it would come true, but I'm so glad it did. 

After they went inside, I left to walk on the beach. Letting my toes dig into the sand, I listened to the waves once more. This is nice, but I like my simple life in Texas much more. Time to head back, I thought with a smile across my face. My homestead misses me.