by Larry Low
Aberrant memories flooded in. Although I wasn't certain of much, I did realize that I needed to stall for time to make sure that the lady dripping with diamonds hadn't been conning me. I couldn't fault her. When she first approached me, I had every intention of conning her or at least I thought I did. In my present state I cannot be too sure of anything. In a single glance though, I knew that she was filthy rich. It was the one item in my memory bank that I could still rely on. I remembered that much as I drifted off while she was talking to me. When I awoke from my nap, I had mixed feelings of relief and regret.
More out of boredom than out of desire, I pulled the cord pinned to my pillow. Almost before I knew it, a fresh- faced nurse was at my bedside. She sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand in both of hers. Her hands were soft. I couldn't remember when I had felt hands that soft before. A feeling of softness caused a pleasant sort of anxiety in me. With a start, I remembered being in grade nine and agonizing over asking Marguerite, the one with the big knockers, to a movie. It's funny the things you remember. That was simply eons ago. It wasn't Marguerite, who had made me anxious; it was me.
"Relax," Ms. Softness said. "I just want to take your pulse."
I smiled. She returned it.
"Hold still. Now, I want to take your blood pressure."
"My blood pressure might be okay but I am beginning to feel a bit paranoid."
"That is understandable," she said. "The uncertainty of your past must make you anxious."
"Everything is new to me," I said taking her hand. To my surprise, she didn't flinch.
"Tell me what's bothering you at this moment and I will see what I can do to help."
"You already are."
There was a comfortable lapse in the conversation such as is experienced by old friends.
"I need to find out who I really am. I can remember a good part of Nixon's resignation speech but am not sure what my real name is except that it isn't Harvey."
"Do you know anyone named Harvey?"
"Yes," I said. "He was a large white rabbit, the imaginary friend of a drunk, who had probably been suffering the DT's."
"You are definitely making progress. "I'll be back to check on you in an hour. By the way, Harvey was a very tall rabbit, a Pooka from Celtic mythology."
"In the meantime, I'd like to read the paper."
"Be back in a jiff."
"What's your name?" I blurted the moment she returned.
"Belinda Rawlings, age thirty-four, fairly recently widowed and the mother of a rambunctious six-year-old."
"Does your rambunctious six-year-old have a name?"
"Rachel Rawlings."
"Wife of Jacob and mother of Joseph and Benjamin."