Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

  There was a knock on his door.

  "Yeah?"

  His sister Carrie opened the door a crack and poked her face through. "The last time you tried to get on the internet, did it take like a month and a day to dial-up?"

  "Yeah. Sometimes it's ridiculously slow."

  Carrie's eyes shifted to the window. "Who are they?" She asked, stepping all the way into his room.

  "I guess more additions to their family."

  "No way." Carrie took a seat next to her brother on his bed. "There's more of them?"

  "That's what it looks like."

  "And the plot thickens. God, I wonder what they're going to be like."

  "If they're anything like the first two…"

  "This neighborhood might just implode," Carrie finished for him, making an exploding noise while expanding her hands out before grinning at her brother.

  4

  Dora - February 2020

  * * *

  "Tell me what you're thinking, Dora."

  What was she thinking?

  She unfolded her legs and sat up straighter on the sofa, leaning her right arm on the armrest. It was the same corner Dora always sat in during these daily sessions with her psychotherapist, Claudia Lipstein. Poised and chic Claudia. Today, Claudia wore black wide-leg dress pants with a white crisp collar button-down top and a black blazer that looked like it came from Ann Taylor. These sorts of details that popped into Dora's head always surprised her. Where did all this information about clothing and makeup brands come from? Unconsciously, her hand floated up to her left ear, where she'd received plastic surgery from the dog attack. What was she thinking? She was thinking that she wasn't ready to be discharged from The Source. She wasn't ready to go home to a place where she'd been a kid the last time she remembered walking out the door.

  "Dora?" Claudia smiled gently.

  Dora cleared her throat. "I'm not sure I can do this."

  Claudia nodded. "We're always here for you. If life at home becomes too much, too overwhelming, you can come back. But the next step is to return to the life you've made for yourself and slowly get to know this other part of you. I think we'll learn a lot more about Dora and how she came to be." Claudia smiled again. “The first step is always the hardest.”

  Dora felt woefully dependent on Claudia Lipstein. She'd become attached to her patience, the way Claudia listened like she had all the time in the world. The calm way she explained things without judgment and helped Dora sort through the mess in her head. The utter and stark terror of her condition––a rare condition.

  "You are experiencing something called dissociative fugue, a form of amnesia," Claudia had explained to her four weeks ago. The fact that she did not remember changing her name to Dora, or anything about Dora's life, suggested that there might be something more going on––a possible identity alteration. The Source had been a refuge while Dora worked on piecing together the mystery of her existence.

  That first time she removed her hospital gown to shower, she'd stared at the stranger's body in the mirror. Deflated shrunken breasts, flat hard abs with matching parallel lines of muscle running down each side, a shorn vagina, the lips a bit droopy, and long tight muscular legs. Her face, chiseled and mature, a slight puffiness under the eyes. The big dark eyes were the same, and the aquiline nose, but the soft roundness of her cheeks was gone. She'd run her hand over her hair, the foreign sleekness of it. And then she'd cried, gripping the rim of the sink, arms shaking.

  At first it was all too much, learning about Dora. Dora had a wife, Erica, who was away in Paris, and three children: two girls and a boy. Apparently, Dora's son Jesse liked to wear dresses. “He's gender fluid,” the woman called Cuppa explained to her when she was still at Cedars. In her panic to help, Cuppa had vomited out Dora's life in a torrent of information that Serene could not process. Serene had finally interrupted the frantic woman, who gripped her hand, talking without seeming to take a breath, and asked her to call Aarav. She had needed to talk to someone she knew. Someone levelheaded.

  Serene’s request stopped Cuppa mid-sentence. “Aarav?” She'd echoed. “Oh, my poor dear, Aarav is gone. Passed away from cancer over twenty years ago. Shall I call Ramani?”

  Tears stung her eyes at the shock of Cuppa's news and then the wailing came as if from a distance. It took Serene some moments to realize that the noise was coming from her.

  There were nurses.

  A needle inserted into her arm.

  Cuppa told to leave.

  Cuppa arguing that she was family.

  The Valium had carried Serene away into a dreamless sleep.

  For quite a while, Serene insisted that she didn't want to see any of the people who were part of Dora's life. Not middle-aged frantic Cuppa. Not Dora's two daughters or the son going through a phase, and especially not the lesbian wife.

  Three weeks ago, she'd agreed to a visit with the wife.

  Erica was an athletic-looking woman with a lean, muscular build, hair clipped to just a shadow of itself. She'd worn a black tracksuit and moved with quiet composure. When she sat next to Serene and tried to take her hand, Serene leaned away, drawing her hand toward her lap and clasping it with the other. Erica had taken the cue and kept herself to herself the rest of their time together. She'd answered Serene's questions patiently, her voice soft and melodic, showing none of the signs of panic that Cuppa displayed. But her dark eyes were not able to hide the hurt that Serene remembered nothing of their marriage, nothing of Erica as her wife. That first visit wasn't long. It hadn't even been an hour. On Erica's second visit, she'd told Serene that her children missed her. Jesse, her son, was a bit of mama's boy and asked about her every day, if she was feeling better, when she might come home. Erica had paused, waiting to see what she might say to this small confession. Serene had only shrugged.

  Some days after Erica's second visit, she asked her therapist if she ought to be called Dora after all.

  Claudia had crossed her legs in that poised way of hers, leveling her gaze at Serene.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because. Well, because no one knows me as Serene anymore. Everyone says I go by Dora now."

  "Dora has really built a life for herself, hasn't she?"

  "Yes. These kids––Dora's kids––they might think it's kinda strange if I tell them to call me Serene."

  "It would be an adjustment. But all of it is going to be an adjustment, and Dora's children will have their own issues and challenges to face. When you return to the home Dora has made, I'd like to continue to see you, Dora's children, and her wife." Claudia always made sure to speak of Dora as a separate person from Serene because Serene insisted she was separate from Dora.

  "Would you like to be called Dora?" Claudia had asked.

  "Yes."

  5

  Claudia Lipstein’s Notes - February 2020

  * * *

  Counselor: Claudia Lipstein, Session Date: February 5, 2020

  Time: 2:00 PM, Session #23

  Client Name: Dora Jones/Serene Hokulani

  * * *

  (D) Overall, client appeared less agitated and more accepting of the life she has created as Dora Jones. She expressed some trepidation about returning home and sought validation for choosing to be called Dora rather than Serene. When I asked the client if she knew why she wanted to be called Dora, she expressed a concern that returning home as Serene might cause some confusion and issues for her family members. Her wish to be called Dora did not seem as if it came from a place of connecting with the identity of Dora. The client, by my observation, is still purely Serene. When the client brought up her children and her concern around confusing them, she did not mention any of their names, calling them instead, “these kids” and “Dora’s kids.” The client is still deeply dissociated from her previous self and the family related to the self known as Dora.

  * * *

  (A) In previous sessions, however, Dora has expressed a willingness to go home and try to assimilate back into her lif
e. Today there was some apprehension around that decision, which we discussed. I think, though, that the client’s desire to move along with the next step of her healing is stronger than her fear of moving forward.

  * * *

  Dora presents an interesting case in that the more I see her, the more convinced I feel that she may have dissociative identity disorder. In my very first assessment of Dora, she presented some of the classic symptoms of having dissociative fugue, the autobiographical memory loss and complete disinterest in anything or anyone from her life before the amnesia. However, I found it unusual that she remembered her birth name and life up until the age of sixteen. This left me with the thought that possibly, when the client was still using the name Serene, she experienced another fugue state, starting a new life as Dora, although after speaking with Dora’s wife Erica, I learned that Serene changed her name to Dora six years ago with full awareness of her life as Serene. The other problem with the dissociative fugue prognosis is that typically individuals who go into a fugue state remember nothing of their life or their name and often go on to build a new life in a different town or city. Dora, on the other hand, does recall her life as Serene up until the age of sixteen.

  * * *

  The amnesia has wiped out all of her memory after the age of sixteen: memories of her years as an adult and, of course, of the last six years when she went by Dora. Possibly the client has hysterical amnesia. However, the two different names and the marked distinction of sexual preference that the client has as Serene versus Dora suggests distinct personality states. People do change their names and have fluidity in sexuality, but the revulsion that the client displays as Serene over Dora’s choice to marry a woman, and the fact that Serene was in a heterosexual marriage before the name change, serves to further highlight a disruption in identity. The client’s discontinuity of self has been quite drastic, affecting her behavior, memory, how she perceives the world around her and her cognition. The client presents as a teenager, her language and mannerisms adolescent, and after watching some of Dora Jones’ fashion and lifestyle vlogger videos on YouTube I’ve noted that she comes across as confident and mature. The difference between the two personalities are markedly distinct.

  * * *

  (P) This session concludes our daily appointments. As Dora is returning home, we will now be moving to weekly appointments. I intend to further explore the memories that the client does have of her childhood. I would also like to get a profile of the client around the time the name change took place. I’ve asked Dora to talk with her wife and any other family members she feels close to and safe with to gather information from this time. I have also prescribed regular walks, as this exercise in particular seems to temper the daily anxiety Dora suffers from, and to keep eating regular meals. Dora may have had some orthorexic tendencies before the amnesia, as well as excessive exercise habits.

  6

  Steve - July 1996

  * * *

  "And Bates is spelled B-A-T-E-S?"

  "Yeah." Steve nodded and slouched down on the padded chair he'd been directed to for the interview.

  Detective Carole Greiner studied the boy in front of her. He had the tall, rangy body of a young man. His brown hair hung to his collarbone, the front long and partially obscuring his left eye, a brilliant green. A sizable cystic pimple protruded from his chin, open and bleeding. His hands rested in his lap. Now he placed them on the table, and Detective Greiner took note of the long fingers, the nails stubby, chewed short rather than cut.

  "What is your address, Steve?"

  He tossed his hair away from his eye. "It's 4275 Jackson Avenue, Culver City."

  "And how long have you lived at that residence?"

  "Um, a year." He moved the palm of his left hand back and forth over the table and then stopped the motion, clasping his hands together. "A little over a year."

  "And where did you move from?"

  "Elkhart." He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. "Elkhart, Indiana."

  Detective Greiner nodded and smiled easily at the boy. He gave her a half smile before his eyes dropped down to his hands.

  "How old are you, Steve?"

  "Seventeen."

  "So you'll be a senior in high school?"

  "Yeah."

  "It must have been difficult making a move like that in your junior year, adjusting to a new school, new town."

  "Not really."

  "Oh? Why is that?"

  He shrugged. "People have been pretty cool for the most part," he glanced up at her. "You know."

  She nodded. "So where is your house in relation to Enzo Moreno's?"

  "Pretty much, like, across the street."

  "Are you and Enzo good friends?"

  He shrugged again. "He's alright."

  The detective waited.

  "He's not someone I hang out with regularly, but we get along okay."

  "And Serene Hokulani," she stumbled on the last name.

  "Hokulani," he repeated with the correct pronunciation.

  "Right. Thank you." The detective made a note of this. "And is Serene a good friend of yours?"

  Steve made eye contact for the first time. "She's my girlfriend."

  "I see. And where does Serene live in relation to you."

  "She's across the street and right next door to Enzo."

  "Okay. So Enzo had a party the other night. Can you tell me the date and time?"

  "It wasn't like that. It wasn't a party. It was just a few of us kicking it at his house. Me, Serene, Kanani, Bets and Taylor." Taylor's name was whispered and his eyes dropped to his hands again.

  "And what day was that?"

  "Monday, July 15th."

  "What time did Enzo have all of you over?"

  Steve shook his hair off his face again––it had slid back over his eye. "I don't know. Around eight."

  "Where were Enzo's parents?"

  "Out of town. I think that's what Enzo said."

  "So Enzo's folks were out of town and he had the house to himself and decided to have some friends over."

  "Basically, yeah."

  "Can you tell me what happened that night, what all of you were doing before you found Taylor?"

  "Yeah. We weren't doing much, just talking. Enzo made some dinner."

  "Officer Hernadez said you kids had been drinking and marijuana was found."

  Steve blushed and his attorney Mike Rollins leaned forward. "You don't have to answer that, Steve."

  “Did Enzo supply the beer?" Detective Greiner asked.

  Steve stiffened and squirmed slightly.

  "Again, my client doesn't need to answer that. Let's stick to the questions that are pertinent to the case."

  "If Steve or any of the others at Enzo's dinner party were inebriated or their state of mind altered with drug use, it could have impaired their judgment and recollection of relevant events," Detective Greiner said.

  "Let's move on, please," Mike replied.

  "What happened after dinner?"

  "We just hung around the table talking and stuff. Kanani kind of started giving Taylor a hard time."

  "What about?"

  Steve blushed and then sighed. "Being stuck up and promiscuous. Taylor laughed it off."

  Detective Greiner waited.

  "Then Bets, she'd been kind of sulking all night. She told Taylor she saw her flirting with her boyfriend and, um, Taylor had this way of making light of serious stuff that could be infuriating. And that's what she was doing to Bets, mocking her, which really pissed Bets off. Then shit really hit the fan when Serene asked Taylor if she'd slept with her stepdad, Darpan."

  "Shit hit the fan. Walk me through that."

  Steve swallowed. "Taylor didn't answer Serene right off. Usually, Taylor's pretty quick with comebacks, but it was like… she looked guilty, you know? Enzo lost his temper and he made a grab at her, but I stopped him. Me and Kanani held him back."

  "Has Enzo been physically violent with Taylor before?"

  S
teve bounced his knee. "It was just a spur of the moment thing."

  "Have you witnessed Enzo hitting Taylor in the past?"

  "No," Steve said after a beat.

  "What happened next?"

  "Enzo told Taylor to leave, and she did."

  "What time did this argument take place?"

  "Around ten."

  "Did you stay at Enzo's after Taylor left?"

  "No. I went home because it was getting late and I didn't want to piss off my dad."

  "And how long were you at home before Enzo called you?"

  "Well, it wasn't Enzo, it was Bets."

  "What time do you think that was?"

  "I wasn't home long. I think only twenty minutes when she called."

  "So around 10:20?"

  Steve gave a curt nod.

  "And your dad didn't ask or wonder why you left to go back to Enzo's?"

  "He and my mom had already gone to bed."

  "So Bets called and said what?"

  "That Taylor was there. That she'd come back and it looked like something was wrong with her."

  "Why did she call you and not 911?"

  "No one was sure what to do. I think they were still trying to decide how serious things were with her."

  "And they thought you could provide the answers?"

  "You don't have to answer that," Mike said.