Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

"Ramani said she thinks it's only a matter of time. That we're not prepared," Barbara added and picked up the plate of fresh tomatoes, mozzarella and basil leaves, rolling her eyes. If she had a dollar for every cockamamie conspiracy theory Ramani went on about, well, she'd be able to buy herself a new iPhone.

  "Ramani," Erica said under their breath and rolled their eyes, too. "We have one of the top healthcare systems here in this country, even if most people can't afford it. Still. I think we're in a much better position to get ahead of this thing than Italy."

  "What's happening?" Dora asked, coming out of her thoughts.

  Erica left the sofa and joined them at the table. "There's a virus that's come out of China. It's been making a lot of people really sick, and some have died. A respiratory virus."

  "It's spreading?" Dora asked, her mug cradled in her hands, uncertainty sparking in her gaze.

  "It's mostly in China, and a few other countries," Cuppa explained. "But I think now that China is taking severe measures to contain it, it'll probably blow over, nothing too much to worry about. I mean, of course, it's terrible for the poor people in Wuhan and Italy."

  Erica got up to get the remote and turned off the music, putting on CNN.

  "Oh, come on," Cuppa moaned. "Not news with our breakfast." Cuppa stood with her hands on her hips, glowering at the TV. "And of course it's Trump." She threw her hands up and took a seat.

  "Trump," Dora repeated hollowly, as if she were trying to recall him, and then took a sip of her drink.

  "Yes, Trump," Cuppa said. "And we're all well aware that you hate him with a rabid passion, Dora," she added irritably, forgetting Dora's condition.

  "I do? Who is he?" Dora blinked and set her mug down, eyes flicking over to the bacon. Her favorite. Barbara picked up the platter and handed it to her mother, intrigued at Dora's question. Erica muted the volume and turned to stare at Dora as if they weren’t sure what to think or say, Cuppa mirroring their expression.

  "Did I know him?" Dora asked and grabbed three slices of bacon with the tongs.

  "He's the president, Mom." Barbara knew her mother's memory was compromised. She understood and could conceptualize everything that her mother had lost, how her amnesia changed their family dynamic at its core. But Barbara somehow found this new level of not knowing unfathomable. She watched her mother bite into her bacon, her indifference over Trump plain as she served herself eggs and a slice of toast, skipping the tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, yet another indication that Dora was not Dora anymore.

  "He's an awful man," Cuppa said, forgetting that she didn't want to talk about Trump. Her eyes bored into Dora as if trying to summon all that passionate anger back.

  Dora bit into her toast and her eyes skipped over to the TV. She didn't say anything. She didn't even ask why.

  The ring of the doorbell broke the grip of disconcertion that had descended over them. Cuppa leaned over in her seat to get a look out the window. "UPS," she said. "I'll get it."

  "No, no. Don't get up. I'll get it." Erica went to the door and then just stood there.

  "I have a few more boxes," Barbara heard the delivery man say. Curious, she joined Erica in the doorway. There were three medium-sized boxes and the driver was walking back from his van with two more. "That's it." He deposited them with the others, and Erica thanked him. Barbara squatted down, followed by Erica, to read the shipping labels. JK Manufacturing in Los Angeles. It was the factory that made the clothes Dora designed for Dora's Closet. They were samples. Dora was the only one who ever ordered samples. Erica picked up two of the boxes and Barbara followed suit.

  "What's all this?" Cuppa asked, getting up as well, sipping from her coffee mug as she walked.

  "I don't know," Erica muttered.

  Barbara went into the kitchen and got a sharp knife to cut through the tape. Her mother watched the other two women dully, shoveling a forkful of egg into her mouth.

  "Dora, did you order these samples?" Erica asked, looking up from her squatted position. Dora shook her head no. Barbara sliced through the tape of each box. In one of the boxes was a note. Barbara picked it up and read it out loud.

  * * *

  Hi Dora,

  * * *

  This is the full summer line of women and children's wear. We are still wrapping up the swimsuits, as I told you last night. I'll rush those over as well, per your request. I think you'll be pleased with the crosshatch side tie dresses. Good luck with the organic botanical line you're putting together. It sounds amazing!

  * * *

  Best,

  Lydia

  * * *

  "Mom, you talked to Lydia?"

  Dora's eyes widened slightly. She looked spooked.

  "Who's Lydia?" She got up from the table, a frown forming on her face and growing deeper as she looked from box to box.

  "When was this? Two days ago? You were yourself. You ordered these things. You spoke with Lydia." Barbara could feel a pressure building in her chest as her mother stared at her dumbly. How could she have returned to herself and now be back to this, back to knowing nothing?

  Cuppa pulled at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "That's a good sign, right? It means your memory is starting to come back, even if only in spurts and sputters."

  Cuppa's words did not have the comforting effect she was going for. Dora picked up a child's blouse from one of the boxes and held it up, her face a mask of terror.

  41

  Serene - June 1996

  * * *

  Serene's right foot rested on her board. The sharp relief of her surroundings cut into her haziness, that odd murky dreamlike feeling hanging over her as she skated into town. But why was she here in front of the wedged-shaped brick building that was the Culver Hotel?

  "You're blocking the sidewalk," a man said irritably as he passed her. Serene stepped out of the way and wheeled in the direction of her street. Where was Steve? Did they skate here together? Maybe she should stay and wait in case he showed up. A breeze picked up, pushing some candy wrappers and an empty Taco Bell bag along the sidewalk. A guy in a bandanna, strolled past, a cigarette dangling from his lips, pants falling so far off his hips that the jeans straddled his thighs, inhibiting his gait. He grinned at Serene and she looked away, trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat. It was happening again. This losing time thing. She waited another five minutes to see if Steve might show. Finally, deciding he wasn't with her, she headed home. Her mind sorted through recent past events as she flew down Culver Boulevard. There had been all the sex. The thought of sex with Steve sent frissons of pleasure into her belly, the muscles tightening. After all those days with no sex, it was like a binge. A sex binge. After, they had gone to hang out in the yard. She'd brought out cheese puffs to snack on, and lemonade. Serene tried to remember the next thing, but there was only the hazy dreamlike memory of skating into town.

  When Serene got to her house, she looked over at Steve's bedroom window, unsure. The blinds were pulled down, but there was a flicker of movement, one of the shades denting inward and snapping back into place. Seconds later, the front door opened, and Steve stepped out. An energy that Serene couldn't ascertain bristled off of him, his green eyes locking with hers. She wanted to ask what happened. How did she wind up skating into town? Why did he go home? She wanted to ask a lot of things but couldn't seem to figure out how without appearing deranged. She held up her hand to wave, appear casual. He didn't respond at first, his hands crammed into his jean pockets. Finally, he lifted his left hand, gave a curt wave and went back inside.

  When Serene stepped into the house, she was confronted by Ramani and a group of women sitting in a circle on the living room floor, meditating. Ramani opened her eyes and gave Serene a look.

  "Go around back, please," she said, a steeliness to her tone that belied the tranquil environment she was trying to create.

  When did these women arrive? Serene wondered. Turning to go back out and through the driveway, she noticed the Volvo parked for the first time. Making her way
into the yard, a cold feeling descended upon her. Kanani lay in the Hammock Serene and Steve shared not long ago. She waved, grinning.

  "Where's the ice cream?" The smile faded on her lips when she got a look at Serene's expression. "You alright, sis?"

  Serene took a seat at the patio table. Kanani got up and joined her.

  "Yo, did something happen?"

  "I don't… what day is it?"

  "Oh, shit." Kanani took her hand. "It went happen again, didn't it? I thought you seemed different. Sis, your hand is ice cold." She placed Serene's fingers between her palms and rubbed hard, catching her eyes, and that's when the trembling started.

  "It's okay," Kanani said quietly. "It's okay. I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here."

  "Was I Dora?" Serene whispered. She pinched her nose to stop her eyes from watering.

  Kanani glanced over her shoulder. "No," she said, her voice just as low. "No. You never turn into Dora. But you were different. I didn't know because you were always going by Serene."

  Serene took a breath. "What happened with Steve and me?"

  Kanani shrugged. "I don't know. He got a part-time job and hasn't been around much."

  Kanani knew the drill, knew about the chasms of time that went missing for Serene, how to fill her in. Once, she had to fill Serene in on two years. She was the only one who shared Serene's secret. Knew that when she went by Dora, she wasn't pretending to be Dora as Ramani insisted jokingly, patronizingly. She was Dora. When Dora took over, Serene disappeared. Dora was Serene's ghosty, as the girls began calling this interloper when they were small. Dora knew how to do things that Serene couldn't do. Dora was an artist. She was good at math and super limber. Dora was loud and talkative. Dora was entrepreneurial. After Cedar died and Dora took over for two years, she'd do things like buy a bunch of candy at Foodland and then sell it out of her backpack at school during break or lunch. Dora made a good thirty dollars a week doing that. Dora learned how to read tarot cards and started charging money to Ramani's hippy friends for readings. Serene knew none of this––Kanani always had to fill her in. Dora didn't care about skateboarding or surfing, or anything Serene found interesting. And even though Kanani thought Dora was cool, she preferred to hang out with Serene.

  * * *

  It had been years since Dora took over, and Serene thought maybe Dora was gone for good. She hugged her arms close to her chest, thinking. "What's the date?"

  "June seventeenth."

  A week.

  "But I wasn't Dora?"

  "I mean, you never asked no one to call you Dora."

  Dora.

  Would she ever be rid of Dora?

  For as long as Serene could remember, Dora had made it a habit to hijack her life. She couldn't remember when Dora didn't exist, just like she couldn't remember a time when she didn't know Kanani. Once, Dora had told Kanani that Serene wasn't real, just an imaginary friend. This had frightened Serene, fucked with her head. The thing about Dora, Kanani explained to Serene, is that she never seemed to care how much time passed. She never seemed confused or upset when she was the one who disappeared for long periods. That was why Kanani knew that Dora must be the ghosty, not Serene.

  Kanani kept her eyes on Serene, holding her hand.

  "I'm losing my mind, aren't I?" Serene said.

  "No. Listen to me. You get these changes that come over you, but it's happening less, right?"

  Serene nodded. "I wasn't Dora, though, was I?"

  "Maybe Dora knows not to go around calling herself Dora, now that you're older. You know. It's, like… it's okay for a little kid to have an imaginary friend. When we grow up, not so much." The earnestness on Kanani's face, Serene's impossible situation––the strangeness of it all sent a bubble of laughter up her throat. She covered her mouth, sputtering between her fingers.

  Kanani rolled her eyes. "Girl," she said in imitation of Lanesha.

  Serene inclined her head toward the driveway. "The Volvo is back."

  "Oh, yeah, Aarav brought it back a while ago. You went spend a few nights over at his new place."

  "I did?"

  "I thought it was weird, but you wanted to go there."

  "Did you come with me?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's his new place like?"

  "I dunno, kinda small like. It's a one-bedroom. He's got all those sad looking guru guys up on the walls that he and Ramani are in to, you know. And it smells in there, all musty from those teas he likes to drink. We slept on the sofa couch and you wanted to talk to him all the time about stuff like past lives."

  Serene tried to imagine this, but it was hard.

  "You even meditated with him." Kanani wrinkled her nose. "Come to think of it, you didn't want to skateboard or do nothing but sit around talking about the crazy things your folks like to talk about." Kanani lapsed into momentary silence and then said, "You must have been Dora. It makes sense."

  Serene lowered her hand from her mouth. "Dora must have said or done something to Steve. He was acting weird when I came home." She shot to her feet.

  Kanani grabbed her hand. "Where you going?"

  "To Steve's."

  "Maybe you ought to feel it out."

  "No. I need to know."

  * * *

  Maggie answered the door, her eyes the same green as her son's. A look of surprise flitted across her face, followed by irritation drawing her penciled in brows together. "Serene." Her mouth tightened.

  "Is Steve home?"

  "He left for work." Maggie started to close the door, then appeared to change her mind. "Look, I know you're angry about the car and we're sorry. None of us knew that your grandmother was going to give him the Mustang, least of all Steve. But I want you to know that we're discussing what to do with it because we legally can't give it back to your family."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's a stipulation of the will."

  "My grandmother gave Steve a car?"

  Maggie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, confusion clouding out all other previous emotions.

  "Is that why me and Steve aren't talking?" Serene asked quietly.

  "I… what?" Maggie rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I'm talking about the car, yes. The one your grandmother left Steve in her will."

  What will? Serene wanted to ask. When? Why?

  "Serene? Are you okay?" Maggie's face softened with concern.

  Serene forced a smile, her mind frantically trying to find an explanation for her blatant ignorance. "It's okay. He can have the car. I want him to have it."

  Maggie opened her door wider. "Why don't you come in and we can talk."

  But Serene was already backing away. "That's alright. Tell him I stopped by."

  "He has his own phone now." Maggie stepped fully outside. "I can write down his number for you." She studied Serene, like how someone examines a thousand-piece puzzle that is only partially finished.

  "I'll get it later," Serene said, making her mouth stretch into a smile again, a flash of heat running through her body, hands suddenly clammy. She turned and jogged back across the street to her house, all the while feeling Maggie's eyes burning through her back.

  42

  Dora - March 2020

  * * *

  Poking out from under the pillow in her room, Dora found the journal, a cover of pink and purple frayed cloth with shiny sequined squares. Aarav had given it to her a year before Cedar's death. But how had it wound up here? Dora stood from her crouched position, the book still in her hands, trying to piece together the late morning events. At some point two days ago, she had become Dora again––the real Dora. Dora had ordered all those samples of a summer clothing line. She stared at the journal in her hand, a journal she thought lost ages ago, long before moving to LA. She opened the book. It smelled like old paper and mold.

  The first entry was typical of someone who has recently started a diary––an introduction of herself, her age and the family she lived with. Reading through the events of
her young life, a smile crept over Dora's lips. Enthralled, she turned the pages, the entries reminding her of long ago mundane activities, some of them forgotten until now. She had kept up writing for the first five entries every day, each entry growing shorter and shorter. After that, she wrote sporadically, the diary ending two months before Cedar's accident. There was no mention of that day. Dora started to close the book, but as the pages fluttered closed, she noticed more entries. Flipping through the empty pages, about halfway through, the journal picked up again. What she found sent a chill through her system. In small neat writing, not her own, was the date and an introduction by Dora Wilson––Ramani's last name––not Serene Hokulani.

  * * *

  My name is Dora Wilson. I live with Ramani and Aarav they are Serenes parents. When I was three they took me from my home Shangrela. Serene use to have a brother named Cedar but he fell off a cliff at Three Pools. Serene was there when it happened. It was the worse thing that ever happened to this family. Serene thinks its her falt becase Ramani told her that and so she was crying so much that it put her to sleep and now Im back. I have to fite hard to stay here becase Sahana and little girl are all ways tring to get in. Little girl was mostlie sleeping up till now but Serene woke her up with all her crying. I under stand thow becase Cedar dieing is the worse thing that could happen. I have a lot to take care of mostlie keeping little girl from being scared and fiting with Sahana to stay here. Kanani can tell me and Serene apart. The other day Kanani ask me about Serene. I tole her that Serene was made up becase some times Serene makes me mad. She makes me mad when she go and call me one gosty. This is me.

  * * *

  On the next page was a very intricate self-portrait depicting her at the age of ten—the kind of drawing that took real talent to produce. Underneath was written the name Dora. Dora had gone on to draw portraits of Serene and Sahana. In each representation, she looked a little different. Whereas Dora's gaze was level and mischievous, Serene's eyes were bigger, radiating sadness. Sahana's expression was challenging. The last picture was labeled Little Girl, and it was of herself as a very young child, sitting in a dark corner, legs drawn up, face a mask of fear. As she stared at this last self-portrait, competing emotions played out in Dora. She was amazed at the artistic ability, the detail and depth perception that went into the creation. The fear was palpable. It shot through Dora's system, a visceral reckoning of a muscle memory buried deep inside of something horrific. Her brain could provide no details or images; she only knew that Little Girl suffered. Dora sank back down to her bed, hand trembling as she turned the page.