Amnesic Love

Introduction

They say I don’t remember much. I presume they would be correct in this analysis since I’ve been amnesic for all the time I’ve known myself. Rarely anything triggers my memory of the past. I must say, it’s been quite a dull existence, but on my 28^th birthday, as the autumn leaves seemed to flock the trees; and the thump of those victorian male boots – the ones decored in buttons - greeted my ears a familiar sound; one could propose that I remember everything! Familiarity kissed my world and colour appeared, breaking down my 1900s mirage. I remember why the mirage became my life; I remembered the person I was; and most significantly, I remembered my love.

Jane Austen

You see I’m not sure if I’ve ever read Jane Austen, but I always hoped my life could be a romanticized tale of courage and growth, ushered in by the grandiose atmosphere of my very own Avonlea! As a heroine, I would lead my small town into the modern world with peculiar flair and invulnerable strength. The only difference would be that my “Avonlea” was set in the 1900s, amid blackening wars, and uproars of protest. There, my life would have a purpose, and I would be a wonder woman dressed in a 1960’s yellow mod dress, face-painted with dark eyeshadow, nude lips and the ever so famous bottom lash extensions! My feet would be clothed in a matching checkered knee-high sock and white pumps. I can see myself when I close my eyes – as beautiful as twiggy - except with black curly hair fit for a mulatto, and golden skin that reminded you of the sun. I was meant to be a bright star. I just know it.

In any case, the truth of the matter stands. I am not a character from the Anne of Green Gables series; my name does not end in “e”, and I was never as brave as Anne, nor could I have hoped to be. I was a coward, and my cowardness compounded the events that resulted in my memory loss.

Reality

“Rose? are you paying attention?” entombed in thoughts, I completely forgot I’d been in Rhonda’s office this entire time. This will be our last session before my doctors deem me fit for society. Whether I ever was is debatable. “Rose? tell me the feelings that arose when you saw Jake again”, my therapist asks, disrupting me from my inner monologue. When my memory was restored to me, running back like a lost child that’d just found their mother; the doctors recommended I start seeing Rhonda. I was sceptical, but my mother pushed, and I was humbled in the fact that it was free. “Verily verily I say to you”, that’s a line from Jesus, Rhonda isn’t that bad. She listens; and she doesn’t ask me every few minutes if I remember something, especially not 2 hours after we’ve left the doctors appointment where it was confirmed that my problems were solved. I can tell she has a kind heart, and I appreciate it. Laying on my back, feeling the beige fluffy rug beneath me, I look up at the line painting that contrasts with the slate-coloured walls of her office. “why line art?”, I ask “photographed pictures are much more eye-cat…”

“let's not do that today Rose; you know you must address the scenario surrounding the return of your memory”, Rhonda interrupts, her voice reminding me of ice cream due to the flow of her words. Did I mention she was British?

“unfortunately”, I whisper under my breath in response. My lips sagging and eyes becoming downcast, she asks me, “Where shall we start?”

Taking a deep breath, I look at her, “Fine! If we're gonna do this, I have to start at the beginning of the day”

Birthday Parties

If I’m being transparent, I didn’t even remember it was my birthday. Ironic, since it had nothing to do with my amnesia. Exactly 4 months ago today, on the morning of October 1^st, I woke up out of bed to the same alarm I do every morning. The sound of “Pink Shoelaces” by The Chordettes provoked me out of bed and I distinctly remember looking out the window opposite the long side of my bed and seeing pumpkins lined on a dirt road, orange leaves coating what was left of the grass; and the chilling feeling of an autumn breeze brushing against my cheek. Blinking and rubbing my eyes, I was brought back to my messy studio apartment, unopened boxes from my recent move resting where my couch would soon be, and what sounded like people laughing outside my window. I had moved to the buzzing city of Toronto just 2 weeks prior. I’d been having what seemed like visions of the past and there was a doctor in the city who was recommended to me. “It was 5 am,” I told Rhonda, “and I had a busy day ahead. My mother was coming to visit me; she would take a 3hr long flight to meet me for a dinner I tried to convince her not to bother with. After seeing her text I continued with my morning routine. Hygiene, exercise, breakfast. The rest of the day was merely spent pampering my apartment. There was nothing special about October the 1st, except the vision I’d had earlier that morning.

Nothing special yet.

That night, I accompanied my mother to “Le Table Blanc”. We cruised by the restaurant’s stone-walled exterior, elbows locked, laughing at a corny joke. As we entered the main floor, I glanced up at the waitress at the front desk; she was looking at her co-worker who would be taking her place at the counter. As the co-worker advanced closer towards the counter, I felt my grip tighten on my mother’s arm. Our arms were so close together they could've been mistaken for one abnormally large arm. The sound of what seemed like heels approaching permeated my ears, growing in its intensity with each step. The sound had paralyzed me mid-step. With my strength growing faint and my vision blurring, I could only see my mother’s silhouette reaching out to me. Her extended hand was like a saving grace snatching me up from an uprising vision. The approaching co-worker saw this and reacted, hurrying to help. That moment was movie-like; I felt his hands hold on to me, awakening my senses. I recognized his shoes! They were genuine, old, but in impeccable shape. They looked just like the ones I’d bought for Jake all those years ago. My eyes followed the body of the man standing in front of me and met his face; my childhood friend turned teenage love. “ Jake!” my mother exclaimed. Staring intently in his eyes, I felt myself search for the last 28 years of my life in the face of one person. In an instant, I was no longer in the ambient atmosphere of one of the city’s most bubbling French restaurants; I was on the dirt road I’d seen earlier, and It was my 5^th birthday.

That was the day I met Jake

Small Towns

Looking up at Rhonda as I told her this, she seemed to be very invested in what I had to say. Waiting on me to resume talking, she smiled, meeting my gaze as reassurance that her office was a safe space.

“My subconscious had teleported 23 years back in time, to the moment my life seemed to begin.”, I continued. The road I’d seen in a vision that day was the driveway of my family’s ranch. Our home was a family legacy filled with goats, cows, sheep, and chickens. We farmed and sold meat, sheep fur, goat cheese, and eggs. The remaining farmland was dedicated to my grandmom’s vegetable garden. It was the year 2005; my father had died from a stroke that summer leaving the farm to my mother and I. Life became increasingly harder after daddy’s death; the farm needed to be maintained, but no one would work for a black widowed mother and her half-bred daughter. Our town was old-fashioned and discriminative, so we fought most of our battles alone. Without my father to back us, my mother had her parents come to Canada, all the way from Coari, Brazil. Our family was seen as vagabonds to all of Pouch Cove, a town situated in the north of Newfoundland and Labrador. By the time October had rolled around, mom thought to make friends with the other townies for my sake. For my fifth birthday, she invited all the young children and their parents to the ranch. That morning, I woke to our beautifully decorated ranch, fit for an October themed party. Grandma had cooked up a buffet, and my mother and grandfather had set up an area for all the guests. We had music, food, space, and an open heart; what we received, however, was the reality of our wasted efforts. No one had shown up, proving that we were shunned by our community. I remember how we all held back our tears whilst grandpa took down the décor. My heart was the only one left open, and as the sky grew dark, so did my hope. That night as we ate the party favours, there was a knock at the door. A middle-aged woman named Tracy, joined by her 5-year-old son Jake had come to extend their support. Also being shunned by the community, Tracy was afraid to attend the party but was convicted to make her presence known. We were all stunned to have guests, nevertheless, my grandmother invited them in for dinner and party favours. That night as the adults talked and laughed; jake and became acquainted, and destined to each other. The very next day he came over to gift me a handcrafted sign that read “Neighbours & Friends Forever”, and with that our friendship was established.

Since becoming friends, Jake and I were inseparable. Together, we were our own club of outsiders. Jake was a child born out of wedlock, his mother a source of gossip as a supposed homewrecker, and his father, absent. I was another race, and the daughter of a woman rumoured of tricking her husband into leaving her with his inheritance. We were ill-treated by children and adults alike; eventually, we learned to embrace our peculiar natures and found safe haven in the early to mid-1900s. In our minds we formed this make-believe world where we were appreciated, and important. In that era, Jake was a polished 1940s stud, with sleeked back black hair, a curled moustache; dressed in green pantaloons, black boots salvaged from the Victorian era, suspenders, and a fedora - no shirt. The tattoos on his chest projected an ora of rebellion that fit his mobster businessman persona. I, as you know, was dressed like Twiggy, the Wonder Woman of our fantasy paradise. In reality, we set up pathways that would lead us out of Pouch Cove. I was a literary genius who loved the works of Jane Austen; I related greatly to the life of her character Anne from the Anne of Green Gables series. Both Anne and I were outsiders – unique and disdained amongst the people of our towns. It was through Anne’s life, thanks to Jane Austen, that I had desires for my future. Jake was an engineering scholar; he would be a top construction manager wherever he went. Together we’d planned to get scholarships to study in Toronto and make a name for ourselves outside of our retched town of delinquents. We never had cushes; never had any other friends, and when we weren't daydreaming about what it'd be like to live in the 1900s, we helped out on the ranch. We lived sheltered lives, and only had each other as our foothold.

Thirteen years had passed since we were five; we were both about to turn 18.

Our Birthdays were 2 weeks apart with Jake’s on September 17th. It had become customary that we celebrate both days on the 24^th, just one week in between. On that day we’d planned to go to the river for a swim; it was to be a celebratory day. We both had received full scholarships to attend The University of Toronto, and with our 18^th birthdays being around the corner, the feeling of independence was like a sun kiss on a cool autumn day. Jake had arrived at the ranch at noon; he was driving the car we’d bought together. Nothing rare, just an old Suzuki Swift.

“ won’t you let me drive Jakey?”,I teased as I ran up to the car.

“I’m afraid not Rosey. Can’t a man drive his lady?”, he replied back.

“haha, you know I'm just teasing Jake; plus, you drive so much better than me anyway”

“That’s why I keep the car”

“ok, enough chatter, hurry and drive so we can have our picnic before 3 O’clock”

“Whatever you say, boss!”

While Jake drove I played 20s jazz, something we both enjoyed. We would dance to it all the time. However, twenty minutes into our drive Jake turned the music off and slowed the car down. Reacting with a puzzled look on my face, I shrugged my shoulders at him.

“ what's up? You never turn off jazz”

“There’s something I think we should talk about before we start packing for Toronto”, he replied

“Does it have to do with our living arrangements, cause I was thinking it would be cheaper if we rented a room together; we could decorate our own sides and..”

“Rose!?”

“Right, sorry”

“Hey, we’re a 5-minute walk away from the river. Why don’t we talk about t on the way?”

“Oooooh, must be serious then”

He turned the car’s engine off and loaded our stuff into the portable wagon we kept in the trunk. Immediately after, he opened my door, escorting me out the car. On the walk to the river, Jake poured his heart out to me, got down on one knee and proposed we promise ourselves to each other as lovers this time. He presented me with a hand-carved wooden ring he’d made, engraved with the letters N&FF (Neighbours & Friends Forever). As he was on his knee, I stood there I in shock, angry.

“ How could you Jake?; you're going to ruin everything we worked for! We have to remain focused! How could you do this when we just earned our freedom?”

“ Rose don’t pretend like you haven’t felt the same; are you saying you don’t reciprocate my feelings?”

“That’s not the point”

“Its everything Rose! What is the perfect life if you have no-one to share it with? I want to share mine with you!”

Tears had started to drip from my face as if to be a leak in a roof.

“ I can't accept your ring Jake; it goes against the plan. I'm sorry”

Shaking his head in disbelief Jake replied, “Right, the plan. It's going to keep you from happiness Rose, away from the people who love you”

“I cant Jakey”, I sobbed

Taking a deep manly breath and approaching me; Jake put his hands on my shoulders pleading with me. His voice clouded my thoughts until I could no longer concentrate. I should’ve seen this coming; we were basically dating anyway, just never officially. Even our parents believed we would eventually marry. We never kissed or had any sexual contact, but the tension was always there. We loved each other, even when we were 5; we never had crushes because we only saw each other; no friends because we only liked each other, and that was fine with us.

“Rose! Are you listening to me?! Stop thinking about what should be an innate feeling!”

“Stop it, Jake! I'm scared okay! I don’t want to lose you to some fantasy of us being together. It's not a chance I’m willing to take. You are my life, Jake! I’m no-one without you!”

“Rose?......”

Before Jake could finish I had already started running towards the car. My life was about to implode on me, and I had no control. When I arrived at the car I hopped in the driver's seat and started the engine. I was 2 minutes down the road going 120km/h when I saw Ms Murray’s herd of sheep crossing the roadway. It was a moment of clarity where I realized I wouldn't be able to stop in time. Panicking, I slammed the brakes; however, I didn’t use the clutch and stalled the engine. My next conscious moment was in a hospital bed in St.Johns with no memory of the man who stood by my bedside. The police report said the car flipped three times, breaking all the glass, and sending me – who wasn’t wearing a seatbelt – flying about 20 meters ahead. Jake was the one who ran to get me and called the ambulance which arrived an hour later. He had saved my life and I didn’t know who he was.

So that brings us back to the restaurant on my 28^th birthday. I could hear my mother say, “This is Jake Rose, you knew him once” in the background whilst my memories came flooding back. But even though I remembered him; even though I loved him; I was still afraid, and the only thing I was able to say was “nice to meet you”, and he returned my introduction.

With that, Rhonda started speaking, congratulating me on retelling the story of my memories, but I didn’t hear her. All I could think about was that Jake was right. It was time to let the plan go and turn off the 1900s façade I’d been living in. I was no Wonder Woman, and I never looked like Twiggy. It was time for me to move on, but first, I had to go back to that restaurant and tell jake that I remember him.