Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

  First Message: "Blessings be," a familiar airy voice came through the speaker. "Have you forgotten our visit, Dora? I will call to confirm our next scheduled date, goddess of gifts."

  Darpan?

  Second Message: "Blessings be, Dora. It’s not always easy to walk with the light. I trust you will do the right thing and rise to your godly self, confirming your divine essence, and let truth have its voice."

  "What the hell is he talking about?" Dora muttered to herself, staring at the phone. Why in the world did she keep a secret phone for talking to Darpan with?

  Dora set the phone on her desk and opened the dress up, laying it on the makeshift futon bed. The fabric was yellowed in the underarm area. Again, she felt that odd jolting sensation. For more than a month she'd been Dora, but all of her memories are Serene's, and as Serene, it was only weeks ago that she went to Forever 21 with Bets and bought this white t-shirt dress, now old, the fabric brittle. Like everything and everyone from her past here in this sped-up future, Dora couldn't help but feel the numbness of shock at drastic changes continually lobbed at her, too many to process. For the umpteenth time, she tried to recall this other life she'd been leading.

  What compelled her to go into the bedroom she shared with Erica, to snoop around and look for something she couldn't define? A sense? Was it the real Dora, the part of herself that had vanished? She wanted to scream. How could this happen to people? How could she betray herself so completely?

  “For fuck's sake,” Dora exclaimed, hands trembling as she picked up the phone and played the messages again.

  * * *

  The sound of the door opening, and voices brought her out of her reverie.

  "Hello? Anyone here?"

  One of the kids. Sara or Jesse; Dora wasn't sure which. She stepped out of the room to see her son and daughter taking their shoes off by the door, a redheaded woman setting some duffel bags down and a small boy standing next to her.

  "Hi," the woman said.

  Dora gave them a brief wave, not sure what was happening.

  "Mom, you're home," Jesse, or maybe Sara, said.

  The woman smiled. "We forgot about the kid's spring shopping. Erica said to drop them by." She smiled again, this time a bit uncertain when Dora didn't say anything. "Is Erica here?"

  "She went for a walk with Cuppa." Dora crossed her arms for something to do. She had no idea who she was talking to. Embarrassment kept her from inquiring.

  "They went for a walk," the child with the blue eyes corrected. "Erica doesn't use the pronoun she."

  Dora blinked her confusion. What did the kid mean, Erica didn't use the pronoun she? How was Dora supposed to refer to her?

  The brown-eyed child ran up to her and threw his or her arms around Dora's waist.

  "Leave Mom alone, she's confused."

  "Mom's trying to remember her life, and we need to let her know when she gets things wrong." The blue-eyed-one shot back.

  The brown-eyed child burrowed its face into her chest, breathing deep. Dora wanted to peel this small person off of her. She wanted to set everyone straight and explain that she wasn't a mom, not really. She didn't know what to do with kids, didn't get this strange world she suddenly found herself in. She didn't know what to make of allowing little boys to go around as transvestites. Isn't that what grown perverted men did?

  The woman who had brought the kids back watched Dora as if she were some exotic creature. "Will you be alright with them?" She asked. "It's just, I need to meet up with a friend. Laird has a playdate."

  "Of course, she's alright with us," the child squeezing Dora said. "She's our mother. She raised us way before you came along."

  The blue-eyed one didn't look so sure. "I'm going to call Erica," she or he said and bent to unzip one of the bags on the floor. The small boy, who Dora presumed was Laird, stood idly picking his nose, looking a little bored.

  "Erica?" The child spoke into the phone. "Tera just dropped us off here with Mom. Is that okay? Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. See you in a few." The child set the phone down and turned to Tera. "You can go. They're just a couple of blocks away. They'll be here in, like, five."

  "Okay," Tera said. "Well, have fun, you guys."

  The blue-eyed child glanced at Dora. "Is Dad coming back for us later?"

  Tera hesitated. "Well, no, Sara. It's really your mom's week."

  Sara's eyes turned frosty. "Okay. Whatever." She hefted her bag up and headed for her room without bothering to say goodbye.

  "Sorry," Tera said to Dora and took her son's hand, lingering uncertainly by the door before opening it, her mouth turned down slightly. A second later, she slipped out.

  "Do you want to go shopping with us?" The child hugging Dora asked.

  Dora now knew that if the other one was Sara, then the one hugging her must be Jesse, the boy. He lifted his face up, his expression hopeful.

  "Yes," Dora said, although she actually didn't. Not really.

  * * *

  It was cold on the promenade and the wind stung Dora's cheeks, making her nose run. They'd stopped at a Starbucks to buy hot drinks, coffee for Erica and hot chocolates for Dora and the kids. An attempt by Erica to order Dora's usual cappuccino created a frisson of tension when Dora told her––or them––she didn't drink coffee––another reminder to her family that she was someone else walking around in Dora's body.

  Apparently, this afternoon of clothes shopping was one of three seasonal outings they did as a family. Barbara had stopped joining them as of late, Erica explained when they returned from their walk with Cuppa. The kids went through their things and got rid of what they didn't want. Erica and Dora usually brought their donations to a women's shelter. It seemed excessive, Dora thought to herself, taking kids shopping for clothes three times a year.

  "Of course, we usually end up buying mostly everything online." Erica had said with a laugh. "Or shopping in your closet. You always have something cute for kids."

  "My closet?" Dora echoed and watched Erica's carefree smile disappear, their martyr look of patience snapping back in place, acknowledging that Dora remembered nothing.

  "Your online business I told you about earlier," Erica explained. "It's called Dora's Closet. You sell and rent clothes and other fashion accessories. Barbara, Cuppa and I have been running it for you until you're ready to take it back over. To be honest, it's Barbara who's been doing most of the work. Cuppa and I just take orders from her. You were training Barbara before you…" Erica's voice trailed off along with their gaze.

  "What is your work?" Dora had asked.

  "Cuppa and I are business partners. We run a wedding business. Lesbian weddings, specifically."

  "Oh." Dora digested all of this, wondering why she never thought to ask about their jobs before.

  When Dora was still at The Source, Erica had mentioned Dora's work briefly to her, the reason for all the Facebook friends. Erica threw out words like podcast and something called a bog or blog. She may as well have been speaking another language. Clothing and fashion? Dora wondered how she'd found her way into that world.

  The four of them walked against the wind, heads bent. The promenade was busy, even with the inclement weather.

  "Can we go to T.J. Max?" Jesse asked. From the moment they'd left the car, he'd been holding tight to Dora's hand. His small face beamed up at her, and when Dora looked down at her son, her breath caught at the likeness she never noticed before. Fine-boned features with a hint of fragility. Cedar. Dora squeezed Jesse’s hand as a spark of affection leapt up her throat.

  "Yes. We can go there," she said

  A loud groan came from Sara. "There's never anything good at T.J. Max." She paused to blow on her chocolate and take a sip.

  Dora's heart quickened with this small connection she'd discovered. "I used to have a brother," she said to Jesse.

  Her son smiled. "I know. His name was Cedar. You said I look like him."

  Sara, who walked a few paces ahead of them next to Erica, turned to frown at Dora and roll
her eyes. "You've told us, like, a thousand times. That's why Jesse's your favorite." Her lips pinched together, and she turned back around.

  "Hey, Sara, attitude," Erica said.

  Dora tapped the girl's small shoulder and Sara glanced back at her. "I'm sure I never had favorites." She tried to give her daughter a reassuring smile, a mom smile, but Sara was having none of it.

  "What do you know? You don't even remember us," she said savagely into her cup of chocolate. Dora straightened back up. She felt like she'd been slapped.

  * * *

  T.J. Max was too crowded, the clothes pawed over, many of the items hanging sloppily on the circular racks.

  "I want to look at the shoes," Jesse called out excitedly, making a beeline for that section. "Come on, Mom."

  Leaving Erica and Sara to examine t-shirts, Dora followed her son, physically pulled along. He suddenly stopped short of the shoe section, dropped her hand and turned away.

  "Never mind," he mumbled.

  "Hey, it's that kid, Jesse," someone said from the Women's shoe aisle, followed by a stifled giggle.

  "Come on," he hissed at Dora.

  "Hey, Jesse," the voice drifted out from behind the shelf of shoes. "Hey, bitch."

  Dora could see two kids through the gaps of the shelving, giggling. One of them cupped his mouth with his hand and called out in the same taunting voice. "Jesse." Dora took two steps toward the teasing kids, hesitating when Jesse grabbed her hand.

  "Come on," he pleaded.

  "Wait. I don't like how they're making fun like that."

  Jesse pulled on her, but she felt determined to confront them. The two boys were older than Jesse, but still very young. Ten, maybe. They stopped laughing when they saw Dora, silently taking her in. She could feel her son edging up to her side.

  "What? You wanna play bully?" Dora said, the heat of her anger rising up her neck, prickling her face.

  "We're just kidding around," one of the boys said. "Chill."

  "You're asking me to chill when you went call my son a bitch?" She took a step toward the boys and they shrank back.

  "Mom," Jesse whispered, pulling on her sweater.

  A woman stepped out from a neighboring aisle. She was thin and blond with a blunt haircut, a small golden crucifix resting against her scoop neck navy-blue top. Her blue eyes took in Dora, Jesse clinging to her.

  "What's going on?" She asked crisply. The palm of her hand came to rest on the shoulder of one of the boys.

  "What's going on is that your kids are bullying my son."

  The woman's brows pinched together, and she leaned to the side to get a better look at Jesse, who was now mostly hiding behind Dora.

  "Your son?" She echoed.

  "Yes, my son!"

  "You need to calm down," the woman said, her voice rising.

  "Your kids need to apologize." Dora's voice rose to match the womans’. She could feel her throat getting tight.

  Suddenly Erica was there by her side, grabbing her arm. "Come on. Let's get some fresh air. It's not worth it."

  "Oh. I get it," the woman said, her voice growing low. "You're one of those families who don't believe in gender. God gave you a boy, but you're pretending he's a girl." She gestured at Erica. "And I suppose this one is supposed to be the husband. Is it no wonder my sons are confused? Not all of us live in your fairy world." She made air quotes with her fingers, and Dora lunged at her but was held back by Erica.

  "Stop!" One of the boys yelled, his face crumpling with fear.

  In her haste to get away from Dora, the woman stumbled over a stray shoe, falling on her bottom. The boys gathered around their mom.

  Dora held herself rigid as Erica, who was proving to be incredibly strong, physically turned her body toward the entrance of the store. With their other hand, they bustled Jesse and Sara forward. Jesse's eyes swam with tears and Sara tripped over her feet, trying to walk and look back at the boys with their mother. People stared, some of them are holding up their phones.

  Outside, Erica shooed Jesse and Sara down the sidewalk, telling them to wait. When they were out of earshot, they turned to Dora. "You need to get a grip on yourself. We are adults. We are the ones setting the example."

  Dora shook her head, the wind whipping at her hair. "I'm not going to stand by and let my kid get called a bitch."

  "Or what?" Erica challenged. "What is the other option other than walking away? Beat up their mom? Hit a child? Get in a pissing match with words? Possibly get arrested?"

  Dora opened her mouth to respond, but Erica cut her off.

  "This isn't about Jesse being bullied. Do you know that?"

  "Of course, that's what it's about," Dora shot back, swiping at her nose that had begun to drip again.

  "No, Dora. It's not." Erica's dark eyes held hers. "You struggled with us in the beginning when we started seeing each other. Struggled with your sexuality. When Jesse came out, you didn't want him to wear dresses. You didn't want him to feminize himself. Oh, the kids all thought you were cool with it, but I had to talk you around. This is not about those boys in the store or their mom. It's about you coming to grips with yourself."

  Dora struggled to respond through chattering teeth. It was so cold it seeped through her clothes. "That's just the thing, Erica. How can I come to grips with myself when I don't even fucking know who I am? Who am I? Who the fuck is Dora?"

  Erica reached out a hand to stroke her wife’s cheek, but Dora pulled away, and Erica’s arm slowly dropped back to their side, the hurt in their eyes draining Dora's anger away.

  "I'm not her." Dora tried to hold herself steady, but her teeth wouldn't stop chattering. She couldn't tell if it was the cold or nerves. "I'm not bi or gay or a mom or a fashion expert. I'm not Dora. I'm… I'm Serene." She glanced over her shoulder at Dora's children, watching them, pale faces drawn, noses and cheeks red from the cold. A howl of wind rounded the corner. Erica pulled the hood of their sweater up and went to the children, gathering them up. Dora watched as if from a great distance these strangers who were suddenly her family. People who belonged to a woman she couldn't access.

  35

  Barbara - February 2020

  * * *

  Barbara scanned the spreadsheet of receipts for January. Their sales were down almost ten percent and followers kept asking what happened to Dora. Her mother hadn't produced any new videos in over a month, and Barbara wasn't sure what to do. People were used to Dora uploading a video twice a week on YouTube and a podcast once a week. She also had a lifestyle blog that she updated twice a week with fashion tips, travel recommendations, DIY hair masks and conditioners, and facial cleansers and creams. Lately, Dora had let herself go. She didn't seem to use any of the high quality organic facial products at her disposal. Her hair often looked lank and a bit greasy, the roots puffy with new growth that she didn't bother to even out to match the permed straightened style she wore lately. Dora had stopped running and dark circles hollowed out her eyes, giving her a haunted look.

  Dora––the woman her fans knew––wore bright colors and bright lipstick. Her skin was always flawless and dewy fresh, radiating health. That Dora was witty and laughed a lot. She was personable. On her podcast, also called Dora's Closet, she was a skilled host who knew how to ask her guests all the right questions. Dora read magazines, articles and books about her industry. She followed a slew of podcasts and blogs. Often Dora's fashion business intersected with Erica and Cuppa's Brides 2 Be wedding planning business. The sale of products from Dora's Closet was partly contingent on Dora's regular online presence. She was the face of the business. People wanted to connect with her, try new things that Dora recommended and consume new content that Dora produced. Barbara sighed and closed out the spreadsheet, opening Shopify and navigating to Orders to look over sales in the past week. A folder on her desktop caught her attention. It was simply labeled “Us.” Wanting a break, Barbara minimized the browser and opened the folder. She knew what was inside, but having recently read American Murder, the c
ollection of images took on a different meaning for her. Barbara clicked on one of the pictures, an old photo of her mom and dad at the Santa Monica courthouse, skateboarding. Intrigued, Barbara opened another image, a grainy looking picture of her parents with some of their friends. She recognized some of them and slowly clicked through them all.

  Dora, when she was Serene, standing next to Bets in front of the high school, laughing about something.

  Her mom and dad and another boy. Dylan? Doing tricks on skateboards.

  Enzo, standing in front of his house with a soccer ball under his arm, head cocked, index finger pressing into his cheek, giving Taylor a goofy grin. She was laughing at him, her head a blur of movement. Behind them were Dora and Julie, before Julie became Mara. Julie's mouth was open in mid-sentence and Dora had her head down. Barbara stared, fascinated at the next image. She couldn't recall ever seeing the picture before. A group of kids in a living room, some of them dancing, all of them unfamiliar with the exception of Kanani. Dora’s hair is in the process of being braided, a great poof of kinks sprouting off the top of her head, the back already a curtain of braids, shiny with the synthetic plastic added in. The young woman braiding Dora's hair is yelling something at the dancers: boys in their late teens or early twenties, with wiry bodies and looking very nineties in baggy jeans that hang off their hips. One of them has a flat top and the other is in cornrows. Kanani is bending toward them, one hand out, legs in a wide stance, singing. In the center of it all is a kid with a braided ponytail and large dorky-looking reading glasses, doing the splits and grinning back at Dora. The kid looked familiar, and then it hit Barbara like a sharp zap of electricity. Erica? Is that Erica?