by Sarah Davis
George pauses here, shifts his feet. “I mentioned your thoroughness before, and here again is where it comes to play. The video footage from the camera attached to your headlamp. Without it, we would seriously have questioned your friend’s mental health or motives.” He laughs, as if mental health was something that could be funny. “Anyway, the video matched his description of how you escaped from the water.”
“I remember holding onto the ice, the current pulling me away from where I went in.”
“Yes, your friend lost visual of you and was unsure how to get you back on the ice. He was speculating with the dispatcher about going in after you himself. Luckily, he did not or neither of you would be here. A…ah…polar bear jumped in and pulled you out. Truly, quite amazing. And after your friend administered CPR and attempted to warm you, your dog sled team and the bear, too…yes…amazing…well, dog-piled on you and him to provide added warmth and protection until the helicopter arrived. Many cold-water immersion victims survive unspeakable odds, but it seems as if you are blessed with a huge and very hairy guardian angel watching out for you.”
He tells me that I will stay a few more days for further assessment and to start physical therapy. An officer will most likely wish to speak to me to conclude the official report. And they would like me to speak with a counselor.
Mother has not let go of my hand for hours. It is cramped and sweaty, but I softly squeeze it.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She huffs. Smiles. “Yes,” she says.
“How’s Noah?”
“He is fine. He is keeping track of Fjord. I know that was going to be your next question.”
Fjord. “So, Fjord is okay? He didn’t run off?”
“No, honey. Well, he did run away when the chopper showed up. But that was because Noah told him to go. He didn’t want anyone mistaking Fjord for some hungry bear taking advantage of the situation, even though Rose was on the emergency chopper. Noah told her Fjord would be there. Anyway, after the chopper took off, Noah took the team out and found Fjord not too far away. Then he brought everyone home.”
I leaned back after I realized I had shifted forward to listen to her words.
“Fjord really went in to get me?”
“Yes, the way Noah tells it, it was like Fjord knew you went under. Noah said he thought he heard you scream but couldn’t see you. He found the hole right before Fjord came charging up and dove into it. I will let Noah tell you the rest, but without Fjord, I don’t think you would be here right now.”
The silence that falls is comfortable at first, but as it lengthens, my chest tightens.
“Mother,” I whisper. “Where’s Lucy? She’s no longer in my head.”
My mother rises, walks away from me and stands for several heartbeats. The air flows around her as she returns. She grabs my shoulders, as if to brace me. Or herself.
“Penny, can you please explain what you mean by no longer in your head?”
“Lucy has been in my head for as long as I can remember. And I could see her. I gave her presents every Christmas, birthday. She’s always here.” I rub my temples, an ache beginning. “Showing me pictures, listening to my thoughts. Our telepathy. You said you knew. You knew, right?”
“Shhh, Penny. Shhh, it’s alright. Yes, I knew you two could read each other’s thoughts. Shhh.” She pulls me close and gently rocks me, while I compose myself.
“Can you think back to when you last saw Lucy?” she asks.
“I saw her the morning Noah and I went out on the ice. The morning I fell into the water.”
Mother stopped rocking.
“Penny, honey, can you remember the last time you saw Lucy and me together?”
“Many times,” I say, but I falter.
“When was the last time you saw me or anyone else talk directly to Lucy?” she continues.
Several moments pass before I go limp in my mother’s arms. Quiet sobs hit me, my tears moistening Mother’s blouse.
“Penny, Lucy died the summer before your senior year. Two years after she was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. You held her hand when she passed away. Do you remember?”
I nod and find that the memories are there. I hate as well as cherish every second of them.
“I could hear her. Every day I talked to her, saw her in my room,” I say through a moan.
“Baby, I told you after she died that she would always be in your heart. And that you could always talk to her, even if she didn’t talk back. Perhaps your mind chose to continue hearing her to protect you.”
We take our time in the silence, my heart monitor beeping its quiet chorus.
“After your father died…” She faltered, then took a deep breath. “After your father died, I believe I said the same thing. That he would always be close to us, that we can always talk to him, even if it was a one-sided conversation. Do you hear him inside your head?”
Thinking about it, I shake my head. “I mean, I remember things he said to me, memories. But he doesn’t respond to my thoughts. Not his voice. It has always been Lucy.”
“Your father was taken from us so suddenly leaving behind this gaping hole that still hurts.” My mother holds a fist over her breast. “With Lucy, we were granted time. We said our goodbyes. I didn’t get a chance to talk to your father that morning.” She shakes her head, blows out a quick breath. “You and your sister had a very special bond. One many of us probably wish we had and one that is difficult to prove at this point. I think it best though if we keep that part to ourselves. There is nothing that can be done about the past. And I doubt it will make your mental health look any better than it does.” She leans back, peering into my face. Her fingertips slide across my cheek. “I think it may unnecessarily delay you being in this hospital. You will do better home with your friends and family.”
I nod.
“All these years, those gifts to Lucy. I thought that was the way you chose to honor your sister’s memory. They would show up in your room later. I never thought to ask you about them. Never thought to ask why you kept to yourself so much. You really didn’t ever feel alone, did you?”
I shake my head.
“I am truly sorry, baby. Do you, I mean, do you feel alone now? Because you aren’t.”
I look at my mother wondering if my words would hurt her. “I know I am not alone, but my head feels…empty.”
The thoughts and emotions swirl around, but are sluggish, weighted as if struggling though a vast, barren wasteland. The bright light that was my sister’s voice is gone.
A new, young doctor sits down beside the hospital bed. I am surprised at how many doctors are in this small town. I hope none of them flew in on my account. Falling into the ice isn’t an unprecedented ordeal here on the North Slope. Perhaps getting rescued by a man-eating bear is.
He takes his time arranging his larger backside on the small, uncomfortable looking metal stool. He then promptly rises and leaves the room, only to roll back a few short moments later with a larger padded chair. He plops down with a huff, taking several more moments to arrange his recording device on the table near my bed. I knew he introduced himself the day before, but I completely forgot his name.
“Please, tell me your full name.”
Apparently, he has forgotten mine. My resentment wells up. Then, I sigh. No, not his fault. One more test. Here we go again.
After visiting with multiple doctors over the past few days, the repetitive questions reached tedious status. I bite back my bitterness and strike as even a tone as I can muster while trying not to let the crumbs littering his tie distract me.
“Penelope Diana Osborn.”
“Where were you born?”
“In a hospital.”
The doctor didn’t even look up from his lap. “In what city and state?’
“Madison, WI.”
“What is your age?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Are you aware of where you are and why?”
“Yes. I am in th
e hospital in Utqiaġvik after waking up from a two-week coma.”
“What is your first memory?”
“Of the accident? Or ever?” I look at the doctor, unsure of his direction. Not the usual line of questioning.
“Yes, the first memory of your life.” He glances up quickly.
I focus inside my head for a few moments before responding, “Digging for bears.”
After the doctor leaves, my mother enters the room. Warm cinnamon and vanilla trail her.
“So, honey, how are you doing?” she asks.
“The doctor says I suffer from psychological repression. My brain unconsciously blocked memories of Lucy when she died. He was more than happy to coax them out of hiding.” I wipe my nose, hating the raw pain I hold inside.
Noah did not come to visit while I was awake in the hospital those days, though I did speak with him every night on the phone. His updates on Fjord dishearten me as the bear refused to eat during my absence. And Noah was concerned about another bear in the area that stayed close. The proximity seemed to agitate Fjord. Noah assures me it isn’t the scarred bear. After the incident with Sam, the bear wandered off and away from town. It was like he was no longer needed. There are so many things to try to wrap my head around, this is one that I let go. He hasn’t visited me via a vision while confined to the hospital. Perhaps he has gone off, leaving me in peace.
Army and Mother take me home.
I think back to what Army told me.
“There are voices in my head, too. Sometimes they are mine. Sometimes my parents’. I even heard you a time or two,” he said as he gave me a hug.
The emerald leather-bound journal sits on top of my dresser where I last laid it. I sit down on the chair in the room to open the cover. The title page stares back. “The Queen.”
How could I have imagined her for so long?
I take a deep breath and turn the page.
I bite into my fist to fight back the emotional pain. It is my handwriting that crawls across the pages.
A shadow falls onto the book. I close it. What could I say? Hey look, here is a book that I thought my sister wrote but it turns out I wrote it. Crazy, right?
Mother broke the silence. “That’s a lovely book. The one you set out for your sister at Christmas?”
I nod. I should be embarrassed, but I feel drained. Like my only emotions are worn-out.
“It holds a story I thought she was writing. How could I think that if I was the one writing it?” I place the journal back on the dresser and put my head in my hands. “Oh, Mother. I am so messed up. I feel so lost.”
“Well, you are in your bedroom in Utqiaġvik. Not lost.” She attempts a small smile as she walks closer. “We will find a way to get through this. You are stronger than you think.” She reaches for the book. “May I?”
I offer up the book and shake my head to clear the fog settling in. Stupid medication.
“Don’t try to overthink it. You are not crazy, no more than the rest of us anyway.”
I want to return to the station as soon as possible, but I need to shower first.
Noah arrived as I finish, a cup of hot chocolate warming my hands. The warm cocoa soothes my worries for the moment. His strong hug soothes me more yet. He kisses me gently.
“Hey, Momma Bear. Need a ride anywhere?”
I smile. I missed him so much and cannot wait to leave with him. Have time alone with him. I grab my things and give my mother a hug. Before I leave, she asks if I will be okay.
Of course.
She hugs Noah and picks up the discarded notebook.
After we get in the toasty warm vehicle, he asks me what my mother is doing.
“She is reading stories that I wrote.” Did I reveal the craziness?
He looks at me skeptically. “You wrote?” He begins driving. “Huh. I didn’t know you wrote stories. I mean, you said you wanted to write, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You did talk about journaling and showed me a notebook packed with your doodles. Just another form of release, right?”
The truck bounces along the frozen ground. Very little snow covers the area, instead it blows around in front of the headlights.
“So, you didn’t come to visit me in the hospital…” I begin, trying not to let any disappointment shine through my words. Before he can comment, I continue. “It’s okay, by the way. You did me a great favor, taking care of my baby.”
“I did visit you. Every morning I took your mom’s place, so she could do what she needed to do.” A blush creeps up his neck. “I just…Fjord started acting out. He destroyed parts of his housing. And once you woke, your mom…well, I didn’t keep you safe like I promised.”
An ache forms in my chest.
“No one blames you. I certainly don’t blame you, Noah. You rescued me,” I say, hunching beneath the weight of all that has happened.
“No, Fjord rescued you. Your emergency beacon rescued you. I just warmed you up.” He reaches over and grabs my hand.
“You always warm me up. Getting me back out was one thing. Someone took very good care of me between almost drowning and the chopper ride.”
Pulling over, he parked alongside the road through town. His hair falls back as he tilts his head against the headrest and his knuckles whiten on the wheel.
“I would like to hear about how I was rescued,” I say softly.
He nods and begins. I know the general story, thanks to my mother.
As I absorb the details, my insides bubble, and I feel slightly nauseous. Even though I was taking some medications to help me sleep before the trip, I still don’t understand why I didn’t dream about drowning before we left. Then again, I didn’t drown.
“Wait, did you say you and I lay naked together? While I was unconscious?” I say, trying to find humor through my shock.
He grins his one-sided grin, almost rueful, and sighs. “Yes. You know that is the quickest way to warm a hypothermic person. I was on my best behavior, almost losing appendages to the cold. Fjord and the dogs warmed us up efficiently. It was one hell of a dog pile.”
“Thank you, Noah. For everything.” I choke on my words as the grief tears out of me. He pulls me close, trying to comfort me in an uncomfortable position across the truck seats.
I change the subject to an even more painful one.
“My sister was Lucy. Lucille. She was born four minutes after me, after midnight on the next day. Identical twins with different birthdays. We could hear each other’s thoughts. Telepathy, twin-tuition, whatever. She was diagnosed with brain cancer days before our fifteenth birthdays and died two years later. The summer before our senior year. We were identical twins, but I didn’t get brain cancer. Why didn’t I get the same thing?”
He is quiet and strokes my hair and my neck as I cry. His body shifts and the contents on the center cubby rattle as he fumbles for some tissues hidden in its depths. It’s truly unbelievable how frequent my tears have become. My breath shudders as I take a deep breath, wipe my face and continue.
“We could hear each other’s thoughts. When we were young, Lucy hardly ever talked. I did it all for her. A friend of my dad’s did some testing on us when we were five. Nothing official or recorded, but his conclusion mirrored what my parents knew was happening. Since we could only communicate with each other and no one else, my parents accepted it and moved on. I don’t remember hearing her after she died. I mean, I continued to think to her. But then when I lost my father, I think that was when I started to sense her again. The shock of losing him, of the school massacre…maybe I just couldn’t deal with it all and so I let myself hear her. That’s what the shrink said. My mind was full of my thoughts and her thoughts these past few years. She was just there, mentally talking to me. She was there in the water, encouraging me not to give up—that help was coming. But when I woke from the accident, she…she was gone. I went through losing her again.” I find it hard to continue but push on. “You asked what my mother was reading. Those notebooks were filled with stories th
at I thought Lucy wrote. But I wrote them.” I pause and catch my breath. “I worry that I am too crazy. I worry about what you will think. Of how to move forward.”
“You are not crazy. You are doing the best you can in this life. The voice in your head…I have one too…I believe some people call it a conscience. Or, maybe she was there all this time. Your guardian angel. What matters most is that You. Are. Here.”
My tears wash away the weight the world threw upon me.
Many quite moments pass, measured only by the slow, steady rise and fall of Noah’s chest. When I’m ready, he starts driving.
“We missed you very much,” Noah says as he shifts the truck into park. He blushes as he brushes my hair from my face. “Yeah, we. I don’t think we should hold a contest on who missed you the most, though. Fjord might just sit on the rest of us so that he would win.”
The headlights illuminate the small stretch of fence in front of us where Fjord paces behind. As soon as I step out of the vehicle and call to him, he stands on his hind legs and looks at me. Silent and still as a leafless white tree trunk. I can sense his scrutiny, his thoughts reach out to mine, and I respond, Hello, baby.
Fjord calls out to me with his voice and his mind, hopping his large body several times on his front legs before disappearing inside the facility. Heart racing, I run inside to find him waiting in his sleeping area. His head hangs over the railing. I run up to him and throw my arms around his neck. He sucks on my collar and emits a low, bone-rattling purr.