What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “Hey, wanna go to the bank now—”

  Ellen pulled her hand away and bolted upright with alarm. “Don’t you knock?”

  “Oh shit, sorry, guess you’re busy,” Sienna giggled and shut the door.

  Ellen sat mortified, unable to move. What had Sienna seen? Where were her hands? Ellen pulled the crumpled bed sheet from the floor, covering herself as she lay back. Whatever pleasure she might have felt a moment ago, embarrassment had completely erased any trace of it.

  ***

  “Miss Miller, do you realize how far over your overdraft limit you are?” the scrawny woman stated, in a voice implying this was not a question.

  Ellen studied the account manager, praying she could figure out how to fix all this and make it go away. “I don’t know, actually. That’s why I’m here.” Ellen adjusted her shirt, trying to appear self-assured. “Where do I stand in all this mess?” Ellen asked, trying to force a smile.

  “You have five thousand dollars in overdraft and you are at your maximum. Your credit report shows over fifty thousand dollars owing—”

  Ellen’s stomach dropped. Why should she be responsible for this idiot’s bad debt? “What about my savings account?”

  “There is no savings account,” she responded with a stern glare. “Not here. Do you have an account at another bank?”

  Ellen opened her wallet and searched for an imaginary bankcard. “Do I have any money here, anything at all?” Ellen suddenly realized just how desperate her situation was.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “What about a line of credit? Could I apply?” Ellen smiled and tried to act confident. “I have a good job,” she lied, forgetting they have access to her salary.

  “Yes, but with your delinquent payments, your credit score wouldn’t be high enough, even if you tried to pay some of this off.”

  “I see.” Ellen’s face blushed. Credit score? When had she ever worried about a credit score? She had no idea how to get one, let alone make it higher.

  “I’m afraid you are out of options. Credit collection agents will soon be at your door, if they aren’t already.” The woman glared at Ellen, convicting her with her eyes.

  “Yes,” Ellen said, her face overcome with heat. “I will sort this out.” Ellen looked at her wallet as she closed it. She glanced up at the woman, aware again of her massive, growing debt and the guilt flooding her thoughts. “I get paid on Friday. I will have more money to start paying off the overdraft—”

  “We’ll look forward to it. May I suggest our debt counseling service? You can book an appointment with Mary at the front counter.”

  Debt counseling? Ellen thought of all the money they had, of all the savings and trust funds. She thought of what others would say—a Horvath in debt! As if I would ever attend debt counseling. She looked at the woman and grinned. “Thank you,” she said in a sugary voice, still trying to impress this brittle woman. “You are most considerate. Good afternoon, Mrs. Bryce.”

  “Good day, Ms. Miller,” the woman replied, her lips in a tight smile.

  Ellen had thirteen dollars left. Payday was still one week away. Perhaps Sienna would help, or the old boyfriend, this Rory guy. Thank heaven for the charge cards—at least she could still buy something. Only four days had passed since she woke from the fever and already she was sick of this dismal existence. It sickened her to imagine a life filled with this frustration.

  Ellen felt the pain in her feet as she walked out of the bank. She definitely needed to buy some comfortable shoes and cosmetics. She couldn’t wear that drugstore garbage on her skin. Just the thought of the crude oil and fillers used, and that artificial perfume, made her skin crawl.

  Ellen stood in front of the bank and looked at her cheap watch, studded in fake diamonds. She frowned as it sparkled in the sunlight like an obvious fraud—gaudy and posing as something of value. The ring! What had happened to Sam’s beautiful ring from Jonathan? If she could find it, she could try and sell it. It had to be worth more than thirty grand. She sighed, wishing she had found it in her cleaning yesterday. Perhaps Sienna would know. That would certainly carry her for a few months and clear some of the debt. She glanced back at the tacky watch. It was already eleven, and in addition to shopping, she needed to go to the hospital today to see what was happening. To see what exactly? To see herself?

  ***

  The hospital elevator door opened and Ellen stepped out directly in front of the nursing station. Carrying all her shopping bags and a vase of flowers was awkward, but as she juggled the load, Ellen inhaled the rich fragrance of the roses and approaching the desk. She peered from behind the flowers and asked the nurse standing behind the desk, “Mrs. Horvath, please. Which room?”

  “Are you family?” the nurse asked, setting her coffee down.

  “Yes, I’m her niece, Cindy. Cindy Patterson, from Iowa—mother’s side.”

  “Sign here.” The nurse slid the clipboard toward her. “Beautiful flowers.”

  Ellen set the vase down beside the clipboard and signed in. “She loves roses and gardenias.” Ellen smiled at the nurses, glad she was able to use the account at her florist’s, since money was rather tight. Tight? She laughed silently … try nonexistent!

  “Room 602B, three doors down, on the left side. She’s still in a coma, but just the same, don’t say anything you wouldn’t want her to hear—only nice stuff. Sometimes they hear things, in their subconscious, you never know.” The nurse leaned closer. “It can freak them out … plays over and over in their mind.”

  “How alarming,” Ellen said as she picked up the vase and adjusted her grip on her bags, then headed toward 602B. As she walked along, she noticed the room listed on a sign:

  602B ELLEN HORVATH.

  She stood outside the room and waited, listening to the phump, phump sound of a ventilator pumping, to gurgling noises and steady beeps. She moved closer and listened to hear if anyone was in the room before peeking inside.

  Inside the room, it was semidark, with the colored lights glowing from all of the equipment, and what little other light poured in came from the bright hallway, through the half-open door. A curtain, pulled partway around the bed, exposed the footboard and a motionless body under the blanket.

  Ellen entered and set her bags down on a chair next to the door. She held the vase in one hand as she slowly pulled back the curtain, taking a deep breath in anticipation.

  For a brief moment, she thought she would faint. She grabbed the bedside rail.

  It’s me! It really is me. How can it be? How is this possible? She wanted to touch it—her—to feel if it—if she, was real. What has happened? What have I done? Am I dead?

  She reached over and touched her hair. It was a mess, so she tried to smooth it. “I look awful,” she whispered. “Look at my skin, so dry and coarse.” The complexion seems jaundiced too, she thought. Perhaps it’s the lighting.

  She reached for the hand and stopped. “Who are you?” she whispered to the body on the bed. “Are you still me? Is anyone in there? Is this Samantha Miller in there?”

  Ellen touched the hand. “If this is Samantha Miller, I can only say you got what you deserve, you evil little minx.” Ellen stood staring at the body a moment, squeezing the hand harder. “And guess what? I’m now you. Crazy, I know. But now I get him. I can marry him and there isn’t anything you can do about it. How does it feel to be alone? How does it feel to be old and at the end of your life? I should feel sorry for you, but I don’t.”

  Ellen leaned closer. “You wanted to be me so badly, well here you go, enjoy. I know I am going to enjoy being you. I’m tempted to just pull the plug on this machine and end your life, but I would rather you wake up—wake up and be me. Wake up and live the life you created for me. You had no qualms about destroying my life, so now I certainly have no qualms destroying yours. Wake up! Wake up! Please Sam, wake up!” Ellen was shaking her lifeless arm.

  “What are doing?”

  She turned at the sound of Brianna’s vo
ice. “Brianna!” Ellen called out, releasing her grip. “My darling.”

  “My god, it’s you!” Brianna shouted, emphasizing the ugliness of the word you.

  “What?” Ellen stopped, suddenly aware of who she was to Brianna, of who she looked like.

  “You! You’re Samantha. The one my dad—what are you doing here?” Brianna yelled, her face tightening as she hesitated for a moment. “Get away from her. Get out.” Brianna grabbed the vase from Ellen’s hand and pointed to the door. “Get out of here … now!”

  “But Brianna, you don’t understand. It’s not what you think,” Ellen pleaded. “I’m actually—”

  “No!” Brianna set the vase on the nightstand. “Go! Before I call security. You have no right to be here.” She grabbed Ellen by the arm and pushed her toward the door. “Get away from my mother, you evil monster.”

  “Brianna, it’s me. It’s—I’m your mother.”

  “Nurse!” Brianna called out, pushing the nurse button repeatedly. “Nurse!”

  Ellen picked up her bags. “All right, I’m leaving,” she said, looking solemnly at Brianna. “I’m sorry. It’s just … I wanted—”

  “Go … just leave. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? You’re the reason she’s in here. You’re the reason she did what she did. If it wasn’t for you …” Brianna’s voice broke, her eyes flooded with tears as she turned away and stroked the dormant hand lying on the bed, her mother’s hand. “I hate you. You’re a monster. Get away from her and stay away. Don’t come near her or me again.”

  Ellen restrained her selfish need to stop Brianna and tell her that the woman on the bed was not her mother—that she only looked like her. She watched Brianna touch her mother’s face with affection, then lean over and kiss her cheek.

  “I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me,” Ellen said, then slowly turned and walked out of the room. She wanted to give her a hug, to say, “It’s Mother. I’m here … don’t worry. Things will work out.” To tell her none of this really happened.

  But now was not the time. No, now was clearly not the time to tell her anything so absurd and unbelievable. Besides, how could she expect Brianna to believe any of it, when she hardly believed it herself?

  ***

  Three days later, Ellen awoke and looked at the clock: six thirty a.m. Her first day of work—how long had it been? Thirty-eight years? She lay in bed and tried to imagine what it would be like. It certainly couldn’t be too difficult. No one that had met Samantha Miller would expect her to handle too many things at once. “I’ll show her how to work,” Ellen said aloud as she flipped the covers back, ready to face the day.

  Today, she would finally see Jonathan, however briefly, before he leaves for a weeklong trip to the south. What would it be like? Her mind imagined all sorts of possibilities, both pleasurable and satisfying, ones where he takes her in his arms and kisses her, telling her how much he loves her and how beautiful she is.

  By eight thirty a.m., Ellen was racing through the familiar tower lobby of Horvath Industries. She had gotten turned around and missed her bus and was now running late. The money Sienna had given her was used for the cab. Thankfully, she had packed a lunch as she was down to three dollars and change. Packed a lunch! Ellen Horvath!

  As doors to the crowded elevator closed, she watched the numbered lights blinking above in sequence, unsure of whether she was more anxious about attempting to work in a job she was untrained in or seeing Jonathan. The elevator opened and closed several times, thinning the crowd, before arriving at seventeen. They opened to a long walnut reception desk, where a pretty girl sat manning the phones. “Hey, Sam. How you feeling?” the brunette said as she looked up from her switchboard and smiled.

  “Better, but I have a bit of a memory lapse … the fever, you know?” Ellen shrugged. “Say, where do I go?”

  The girl laughed. “Happens to me—only mine’s alcohol-related. Come on, I’ll take you.”

  She took her to the inner stairwell and up two flights, then through a hallway to a small cubicle. “Here you are,” she said, pulling out her chair. “Your sanctuary, at least for now.” She gave Ellen a wink and turned away.

  Ellen sat in her chair, staring at the desk and stacks of paper for several minutes. She rummaged through the mound of invoices unsure of what she was supposed to do. Her heart started to beat faster. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. She went through the other stacks and tried to figure it out.

  A curly blonde head popped over the cubicle. “Hey Sam, you better now?”

  Ellen looked up from her miserable pile. “Much better, thanks … bit of a memory block, though. I had amnesia, and there is still so much I don’t remember—”

  “You missed Trisha’s going-away party. It was a blast,” the sweet-faced girl said.

  I bet, Ellen thought. She could only imagine what this blast of a party involved.

  “Brian was there. Oh my God, was he loaded. I thought he would pass out for sure—oops, incoming!” The blonde head quickly popped back down as a tall woman stood over Ellen.

  “Samantha, we’re behind on the month end—do what you can to catch up.”

  “I … I don’t seem to remember how to do this exactly … the fever … it affected my memory,” Ellen said, rifling through the stacks.

  The women looked at her with a scowl. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Ellen gave her a sheepish grin.

  She shrugged, shaking her head and abruptly setting her stack of folders on the desk, then picked up several of the invoices. “This piece here, needs to get matched up to this file—see the numbers? Whatever you don’t have for POs, you have to find. Simple.” The woman picked up her pile, turned and walked away.

  Ellen stared at the stack. “I hate this already,” she said under her breath.

  By noon, Ellen was beyond bored. She opened her lunch bag with its room-temperature tuna sandwich. It smelled rancid. She opened her wallet. Three dollars; not enough to buy anything, not if she wanted to get home. She spent the rest of her lunch organizing the files on the desk and in the cabinets and sorting through all of the drawers. Ellen tried to imagine anyone working in such chaos. By two-thirty, she had most of the disarray sorted out.

  The tall women reappeared. “Have you finished?” she demanded.

  Ellen flushed with heat. “No, I … I need more time.”

  The woman put one hand on her hip. “We are behind—I don’t care that you were sick. We have a deadline. Now get going!” She slammed the top of the cubicle with her hand.

  Ellen faced the miserable stack again. How many days of this could she endure?

  After the tall lady left, the blonde head popped up again. “Ouch! She sure hates you.”

  “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “You didn’t do anything. She hates you because you’re so pretty.”

  “Sorry, what’s your name again?” Ellen stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Duh, Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca, of course,” Ellen made a note of it and her stomach growled again. “This fever has me in a bit of a bind … any chance I could borrow a few dollars till payday?”

  “Again?”

  Ellen smiled as Rebecca turned to get her purse. This wasn’t so hard. She could do this. She could be just like Samantha Miller, selfish and using people to get what she needs. And she could fool everyone—do all the simple, mundane things a girl like Samantha does every day—no one would even notice. But for how long? How long before she couldn’t take anymore?

  CHAPTER 18

  Sam tried to move her body. It was heavy and immobile, like solid bronze. She felt trapped, encased in a type of cast from head to toe. As she struggled to open her eyes, no amount of effort seemed to separate them. There were no recognizable sounds apart from the constant buzzing and the muffled sound in the distance. Were they voices? She wasn’t certain. She lived in and out of dreams, never sure where they ended and began again, never certain of what was reality a
nd what was illusion. She tried to scream, but no sound came forth.

  She wanted to cry, but no sound escaped her mouth, no tears flowed. Her only joy appeared when she was suddenly free, when she felt she was floating up higher and higher until the room would suddenly appear bathed in a warm bright light and she would feel safe, secure, and loved. She wanted to reach this light and be free at last from the constraints of her immobility. She would float higher freely, without effort. Weightless and ethereal.

  Could this be heaven? Am I dreaming?

  Sam didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she finally felt a sense of belonging, of security. Time disappeared. She knew only now, this moment. Her heart expanded as if it grew larger, its beating loud and resonating through every cell of her body.

  She wanted more of this feeling of freedom.

  More.

  Thump, thump, thump. She listened to her heart, louder and stronger, sharp and clear, followed by the steady rhythm of the echo beep. She would hover, floating free, up toward the light, almost reaching it, a blissful and unrestricted state of joy.

  Then suddenly, without warning, she’d fall, the terrifying collapsing sensation encompassing her body, plunging down, deeper, as the light immediately shut off, vanished. Back into darkness, back into confusion and noise, suddenly aware of beeps and screeches and voices. She returned again to the sounds of hissing, gases pumping and mental wheels rolling.

  Noise. Loud noise. Too much noise. She wanted to block all of it out but couldn’t. She tried to go back to the peaceful sleep, tried to recapture the warmth of the light. Cold hands moved across her skin. Her body shivered in aftershocks, wave after wave of tingles until finally her hands moved. Or did they? She couldn’t feel anything except a prickly warmth, like when a part of your body falls asleep.

  More noises. More beeps. A scurry of activity all around as she experienced jabs and more pain. She wanted to tell them to leave her alone. Leave her in peace. But they only became louder. Her hand felt as if it was holding something.