Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

  More entries by ten-year-old Dora. Daily events recorded, days that were lost to Serene for two years when Dora took over. Interspersed are more incredibly detailed drawings––drawings of the land she lived on, their house, Sahana the dog, the ocean and various tropical flowers. Amongst the pictures, one is labeled Shangri-La, spelled Shangrela. It is a very detailed layout of the property in Oakland, with black crayon scribbles all through it. A fiery burning sensation filled Dora's throat as she stared at the drawing. Sprouting out of the scribbles, also in black crayon, are several crudely drawn long cylindrical looking things spewing something explosive.

  * * *

  Little Girl ruiened my drawing of Shangrela. She doesnt like it becase the master hurt her with his wand.

  * * *

  Dora's heart rate picked up and she wanted to shut the book, but she couldn't seem to stop reading it, stop reading the horrible things she had logged in this entry. The things Master did to Little Girl. The things Master did to her. The next page was another drawing by Dora of what Little Girl suffered at the hands of Master, a picture that made Dora feel faint and like she might be sick at the same time. A hot liquid shot up her throat and she threw the journal down, running for the tiny bathroom that was a part of the office. The bile shot out of her mouth before Dora could get to the toilet. Sliding to her knees, she lifted the toilet seat, heaving over and over again. More bile, all of her breakfast. Vomit spewed from her nostrils and she inhaled chunks, choking, coughing, gurgling, crying, a tiny voice far away crying with her. “No. No!” No, no, no. She couldn't control the growling rage erupting from her throat. She didn't hear her name being called or the knock on the door. She didn't even notice when a gentle hand was placed on her back, a soothing voice trying to calm. Dora couldn't make out the words then, not with all that growling and crying, a little girl crying until it was all she could hear, so loud that it drowned out all other sounds.

  43

  Counselor: Claudia Lipstein, Session Date: March 4, 2020

  Time: 2:00 PM, Session #28

  Client Name: Dora Jones/Serene Hokulani

  * * *

  (D) The client has expressed a desire to be called Serene Hokulani. Serene seemed stabilized when she came in for her appointment this afternoon. She was able to answer questions and follow the trajectory of normal conversation, a significant improvement from forty-eight hours ago.

  She arrived at this afternoon's appointment with a battered diary from her childhood, which Erica brought to her at the hospital. It had split record keeping between Serene and Dora's personalities. There were many drawings produced by Dora, quite advanced for a ten-year-old. Some of the artwork graphically displayed sexual abuse of a personality called Little Girl. It appears the diary was lost years ago when Serene was still a child and reappeared March 2. On the night of February 29, Dora made a brief appearance, ordering clothing samples for her business, Dora's Closet.

  Although Serene began calling herself Dora only seven years ago, Dora may have lived out the adult years of Serene's life. Serene's last memories are from the year 1996, specifically of leaving the house to see a Detective Greiner about a friend, Taylor Davis, who was found murdered the week before. Serene was a suspect in the case.

  * * *

  (A) Today, Serene wanted to talk about this case and has confided in me that maybe she knows more than she can recall. We did try to access some of the other personalities. We were possibly unsuccessful, although I am putting a pin in that. Serene cried throughout the hypnosis and the crying sounded very young, like a small child. When I tried to engage her and ask questions, she continued to cry. The crying only stopped when I took her out of the hypnosis. I did look at all of the pictures in the diary with Serene during this session. The last two drawings are of a man and woman labeled Mom and Dad, respectively. There are also drawings of Ramani and Aarav, who Dora calls “Serene's parents.” I asked Serene if she knew who the people in the drawings labeled Mom and Dad were. She pointed to Dad and said he was Jai, her biological father, but that she didn't know who the woman was. The picture of Mom looked very much like Ramani, and Serene did mention that. The client seemed genuinely confused over these drawings. She brought up Steve several times and asked if I thought he should be her guardian. When I asked her what she meant by that, she became evasive. I asked Serene more questions about her feelings around Steve. She appeared to be seeking approval for wanting to spend time with him. We talked briefly about Dora's children. She is still not connecting with them and finds her current marriage a strain on the values and feelings she has as Serene. I told Serene that I would like to reach out to Erica to arrange family therapy between Erica and the children while continuing to see Serene separately. The client seemed indifferent to my suggestion, which suggests that Serene still sees herself very much apart, and a separate agent altogether, from Dora's family.

  * * *

  (P) I have asked Serene if she might be ready to talk with Ramani. She said yes. I gave the patient an assignment to meet up with her mother and book a session for the two of them if Ramani agrees. I would like to dig deeper into Serene's childhood, especially the personality of Little Girl.

  I did feel that Serene was holding back information from me about the murder case of Taylor Davis in 1996.

  I will be reaching out to Erica to set up family therapy with them and the children.

  Serene has seen a noticeable weight loss since she left The Source and moved back home. After some questioning about meal routines, she admitted to sometimes skipping meals due to lack of appetite. We agreed that, to keep her blood sugar stable, she would experiment with consuming a protein shake in place of skipped meals. I have also suggested that Serene look over memorabilia and family pictures to help trigger her memories.

  44

  Serene - March 2020

  * * *

  The soft knock on Serene's door pulled her out of her reverie. A moment later, the door opened a crack, and Erica stuck their face inside.

  "Dora, we need to talk," they said.

  Serene rose awkwardly to her feet, smoothing out the bunched fabric of her coveralls.

  "Maybe we could take a walk," Erica added. "There's a little cafe across the street from Equinox. We could get a hot drink and sit out there." Erica's brows were up high as they spoke, eyes darting about the little room.

  Serene nodded. She'd caught a Lyft home after her counseling appointment, surprising Erica and Cuppa when she walked through the door. “Why didn't you call me?” Erica had asked. “I would have picked you up.”

  Serene hadn't had an answer for them. The autonomy of ordering a car felt freeing until she came home and found Erica and Cuppa sitting in the living room, taking a break from their work. Two women living in her house, running a family that she didn't feel a part of. All of it felt wrong. After a few polite words, she'd made her way to her room, but not before overhearing Cuppa remark to Erica that their clients, Susan Burke and Tiffany Peters, had canceled their April wedding due to concerns about the virus. “It's worrisome,” Erica had said after a beat and, although Serene couldn't see them, she'd felt her wife's eyes on her back.

  "I want to be called Serene," Serene said.

  Erica's brows rose higher, puckering their forehead. "Uh. Okay. You might want a sweater. It's cold out."

  That was another thing, this cold, cold weather, the wind and rain. It had been so hot back in the summer of 1996. A summer that felt only a month away.

  Serene's eyes swept over her room for the suggested sweater. Her gaze lingered on her bed as the thought of Steve's mouth hovering over hers rose up so vividly in her mental imagery that it made her freeze. She could picture his tongue lightly tracing her lips, and her physical reaction came on strong, sending her stumbling forward with a little cry. Erica caught her arm.

  "You alright?"

  Serene nodded and blushed.

  "I don't see a sweater in here," Erica said. "Do you want to grab one from our room?"

&nb
sp; In the bedroom she stood, unsure. Erica stepped around her and opened the closet. They pulled out an olive green knee-length knit sweater and a honey yellow silk scarf. "These are your favorites," they said, placing the garments into Serene's arms. She obediently put them on, wrapping the scarf around her neck.

  * * *

  They walked the first ten minutes in silence and Serene pulled the scarf tighter around her neck, grateful for Erica's suggestion as a blast of icy wind buffeted them.

  "How did your counseling go today?" Erica asked.

  Serene shoved her hands deep into the pockets of the sweater. "Claudia's going to call you to set up family therapy with you and the kids."

  "Hm. Dora––I mean, Serene. I'd like to talk about us. About our relationship." Erica glanced at her and Serene stiffened, waiting to hear what they might say. "I can see that this might be a much longer process than what any of us thought, than what I thought when I got the call that you were in the hospital with memory loss. I'd hoped that maybe you coming home would trigger who you were as Dora." Erica licked their lips and lapsed into silence, gathering their thoughts. "But it's obvious that you need more time and…" Their gaze wandered up to the grey sky. "I think we need to restructure our living space, at least semi-permanently."

  "I'm fine where I'm at," Serene said. "The office used to be my room, and as far as I'm concerned, I never stopped sleeping there."

  Erica blanched and rounded their shoulders, sucking in their breath before speaking. "It's your house, Dora––I mean Serene."

  Serene held up her hand. "It's okay if you can't remember. It takes time to remember a name change."

  "Thank you, but I will correct myself. If I'm asking people to remember to use a plural pronoun in place of a singular pronoun in reference to me, I can try to remember to call you by the name you want to go by." Erica gave Serene a little smile.

  Serene shrugged and the smile disappeared from Erica's lips.

  "Why do you want to go by they?" Serene asked.

  Erica fell silent for a full minute. Just when Serene thought Erica might not answer the question, they began to speak.

  "Many of us are gender fluid and don't want to fall under the hard and fast rule of having to bend to the gender binary of man or woman. Some of us feel we're a little bit of both."

  "But you're a woman. Anyone can see that, and you haven't had a sex change."

  "Yes, that's true, but I don't feel completely like either."

  "Is that how Jesse feels?" Serene stopped walking, her mouth hanging open slightly.

  "We don't know. We've just been following his lead, letting him experiment, doing what's comfortable for him."

  "Do you think Jesse can figure out something like that at nine?” Serene watched Erica do that thing they were good at, drawing her features into soft patience.

  "Maybe," Erica said.

  This time, Erica's patience only frustrated Serene. She wanted more discussion about this weird gender thing that was going on. A definitive answer, not the wishy-washiness of maybe, an answer she'd expect from Ramani. Did Jesse need help? Serene wondered. Perhaps it was a good idea that Claudia was going to see their family. Maybe she could help Jesse and talk reason into Erica. Jesse might have some kind of psychological problem. Serene started walking again, pondering this. It was a fact that she had her own issues; did she somehow do something to her son? Talk him into dressing like a girl when she was Dora?

  The elusive Dora. A flash of anger shot through Serene. Who was this other part of herself who had so wholly sabotaged and destroyed her life? The diary she'd found two days ago, the one that had caused her breakdown, sending her back to acute psychiatric care, came to mind. The thought of it and what its pages contained, as well as its disappearance and reemergence, sent an icy chill of fear down Serene's back. Dora had come back a few nights ago and left that diary for her to find. Would she, as Serene, disappear again and wake up at the age of seventy or eighty? What was the point of getting to know this family Dora created if she was only going to disappear for god knew how long?

  Serene was so deep in thought that she didn't notice Carrie walking in their direction.

  "Erica, Dora," Carrie called out. "What's up with my two favorite peeps? Well, except for my extraordinary niece, Barbara." Carrie laughed and held out her arms, pulling Erica in for a kiss, and then hugged and kissed Serene. "It's freezing," she said. "On my way to the folks. Where are you off to?” Some of her enthusiasm was dampening down after taking in the somberness of Serene and Erica.

  "Oh, just taking a walk," Erica said.

  "Ron and Maggie are still across the street?" Serene asked.

  Carrie looked momentarily taken aback. "Oh, yeah. They're not going anywhere."

  "The kids don't visit them?"

  Now Carrie looked uncomfortable.

  "There's been some issues," Erica said.

  "Anyway," Carrie said, sounding a little breathless. "Going to make them a pot of soup and try to talk them out of that cruise. You know my dad." Carrie rolled her eyes. "If Trump thinks it's okay, then it'll be fine.”

  Trump.

  Serene had looked him up online. He didn't seem to be all that remarkable or interesting. In fact, Trump reminded Serene of her friend Pono Boy's uncle, who used to go off on rants about politics. Family members would listen politely, but often he got so worked up that he stopped making sense. Serene was surprised that a man like Trump could be president of the United States, but a lot had changed in twenty-four years. Often, she found herself corrected for using words she'd always used but were now considered inappropriate. Words like lame, exotic and skinny. Mostly it was her eldest daughter Barbara who corrected her, explaining that there was better, more considerate language. A lot of younger people seemed old, somehow, wise beyond their years, but also overly fussy about semantics. The few times Barbara's friends visited, Serene had sat quietly in the corner of the living room, listening to them. They said things like, “let's talk it through,” and “I need to sit with that.”

  There was also a lot of talk about white privilege and the environment. Serene had known there were serious environmental issues in a vague sort of way, but now those problems seemed much more imminent. No one in Serene's crowd on Maui or LA had spent their time discussing climate change, genetically modified food, gun laws and immigrant rights. Serene felt dumb around these kids. They engaged with technology as if it were second nature and were highly empathetic. They looked at fashion differently, too. It was all about buying used clothes and using organic, environmentally friendly products. Many of the girls didn't even wear makeup, which was definitely not the LA vibe in the nineties. It was as if southern California had spawned a bunch of Ramanis with a more sophisticated and sharper intelligence.

  Serene focused back on Carrie, who was still talking––something about her parents getting more stubborn as they got older. She waved goodbye. Serene and Erica returned the gesture before continuing on their way.

  * * *

  "The thing is, it's your house," Erica said and took a sip of their coffee while Serene blew on her hot chocolate.

  "We're married. It's your house, too," Serene replied. This won her a tiny smile from Erica.

  "Yes. But, Serene, that closet of a bedroom is not where you should be. I've asked Cuppa to get her own place. We need to have space to figure this out. I think you should have our room and I can take Cuppa's."

  Serene shook her head no. "I don't want to tell Cuppa to leave."

  "She'll be okay. I think it's important that you move back into the room we shared and get to know the part of yourself you've forgotten, instead of living in the past."

  Serene's lips pursed. She wanted to toss her chocolate to the ground, get up and walk away. What did Erica know about what she needed? Erica knew Dora, sure, but Serene wasn't Dora. Didn't she matter anymore? Or was she just going to be forced to be Dora, whether she wanted to be or not?

  "Look, I know this is all very difficult and disconc
erting for you," Erica said.

  Serene's temper subsided and she recalled what Claudia had suggested. "My therapist said it might be a good idea to go through memorabilia and old pictures to help jog my memories."

  Erica looked hopeful. "I'll be happy to help you with that. In the closet, you have several boxes of old photos and letters."

  Serene nodded.

  "I know our relationship is scary for you, Serene, but I want you to know how deeply I care for you. And I'll wait. I'll wait until your memories come back." Erica's eyes moistened with emotion. Suddenly, Serene could see the young girl Erica once was, following her around, eyes full of that devoted expression she'd always worn. Serene felt ashamed and a stab of remorse for this woman, or however Erica saw themself now. It wasn't Erica's fault that Dora had seduced and married them, made a life with them and then vanished without a word, without even a look back at what she'd left in her wake. Serene reached out her hand and Erica swallowed, opening their own hand to receive hers. It was the first time Serene had voluntarily touched her spouse since those first moments Erica found her wide-eyed, baffled and utterly frightened in the hospital six weeks ago.