paige5

    "I had one of those dreams again," she said as she shifted uncomfortably on the black, leather couch in the psychiatrist's office. "You know, like the dream was somehow having me."

     "Would you like to tell me about it, Alyssa?" the blonde-headed woman doctor questioned staring form the top rim of her Gucci glasses at the young girl sitting across from her. Alyssa hated these sessions. It never solves anything about my amnesia, she thought. Like one day, somehow, after a session of question after endless question a light blulb is going to flash on at the top of my head and I'm going to say, "Hey! I remember who I am! I'm cured! Thanks for helping me find myself!"

     "Alyssa?" Dr. Stevenson asked as she sat on a large, overstuffed armchair. Her expensive, royal blue fountain pen was poised above a yellow, lined note pad. Sometimes I wonder if these sessions are for her or for me, Alyssa thought.

     "There's this reoccuring dream I keep having," Alyssa said. "And in it I'm walking in this field of flowers and everywhere I turn I see mirrors." She paused and glanced at the gloomy, gray sky out of the 14th story office window. "I'm all alone. At least that's what I think," she said and looked down at Dr. Stevenson's fountain pen scribbling across the pages of the note pad. Alyssa licked her dry lips, swallowed hard and went on. "In the dream I feel like someone's behind me and watching me all the time. Every time I turn around that person, that watchful person, moves away just in time to get out of my range of sight."

     She reached for the glass of water on the coffee table to the side of her, put it to her lips and felt the coolness run down the inside of her body until it warmed in her belly. She set the glass down, folded her arms, and continued. "The weird thing is that I don't feel that this person is a threat to me. This person doesn't want to hurt me," she told the doctor. "I feel comfortable around that person. It's like this person knows me."

     Dr. Stevenson shifted in her chair and put her pen and pad onto a nearby table. My dreams are on that pad, Alyssa thought to herself, written in blue ink. "Dreams are said to be a window to the subconscious," said the doctor interrupting Alyssa's train of thought. "What do you think it means?"

     Alyssa groaned in her head and rolled her eyes secretly. Here come the questions, she thought. It's always "what do you think it means? What do you want to talk about? Or, tell me what you think you think." Sometimes I don't know who's brain is shrinking, mine or the shrink's. "I don't know," Alyssa said shrugging. "Why don't you tell me? You're the doc, Doc."

     Dr. Stevenson's eyes met Alyssa's for a moment then shifted to her watch. "Well, time's up. Let's save this for next time, shall we?" Alyssa watched her get up from her seat and walk towards her neat, organized desk. That's it? she thought. This is the kind of help my mom is paying for?

     "Here," Dr Stevenson said passing Alyssa an appointment reminder card. "I want to see you bright and early Monday morning." The doctor moved to the front of her desk and sat down at its edge. "In the meantime, if you have anymore of these dreams or even flashbacks of any kind feel free to write them down so you don't forget them."
     Alyssa took the card, thrust it into her jeans pocket and smiled a fake smile. Yeah, that explains it, Alyssa thought as she walked out of the office door. I must have forgotten to write down the past nineteen years of my life.

                                                                                  ****************

     "So what happens next?" Mom asked passing my journal back to me with a curious grin. "Does Alyssa find out who she is?" Mom's the kind of person who reads the end of a book before she even gets there.
     "Can't tell ya." I snatched the journal away from her. "It's a secret," I said smiling.
     "Well," she said reaching over and hugging me tightly. "You have a talent in writing. I know you love to write. And I love it when you do."

     "Aha!" I said and attempted to wriggle out from her grip. "No matter how much you suck up to me, you can't make me tell you what's going to happen." Then mom laughed and began to tickle me. I laughed and laughed and we laughed until our voices became just an echo of a faded-blue memory.

                                                                                 *****************

     I was only fourteen when she passed away. To this very day I can still feel the warmth of her arms wrapped tightly around me. Sometimes her scent haunts me. That wonderful, indescribably scent that mothers have when you hug them and breathe them in.

      I miss her. Nothing's the same. Nothing matters to me anymore. She was my whole life and much more. When she was alive, I treasured things as simple as standing in the doorway of her room. I look away and I still see her. I cover my ears and I still hear her. I look straight at her and she's not even there. I thought to myself, "Am I standing in the doorway talking to a ghost? An angel? Talking to myself?" She as so alive, so real that I wondered if she was truly there or just a figment of my imagination. Today, everyday, and every yesterday by saying nothing she tells me she loves me. By doing nothing she shows me she loves me. That's what real love is. And now real love is gone.

The last thing she wanted from me was to tell her the end of my story. This was the only secret I ever kept from Mom. The truth is that I never finished the story of Alyssa at the time when Mom was alive. Alyssa still doesn't know who she is because I haven't written it yet....