Round 11 #2
“Good. They’re itchy and annoying.” I don’t know if he expects me to have forgotten how to play the game—I don’t even know if I expected to have forgotten—but I set a yellow reverse on the pile, then a yellow skip, and with a smile, I toss a yellow pick up two down last. Settling back against my pillows, I grin. “Guess I didn’t forget this.”
“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” He picks up two cards, then tosses down a yellow five. “How are you feeling about your news debut today?”
I shrug and lay a blue five on top of his yellow. “Nervous, I suppose. It feels weird to think about all these random people knowing who I am after this, especially when I don’t even know who I am.” I shrug. “But it’s for a good cause, right?”
“It’s definitely for a good cause.” He peruses his cards and lays a blue nine on the pile. “If the right people see it, they’ll bring us the answers we’re looking for. Not knowing is torture for me. I have no clue how you’ve made it this far without screaming.”
“I have, haven’t I? Screamed,” I clarify, setting a red nine on top of his card.
“I was thinking, just before you came in here, how my life feels like a sensory deprivation experiment. The room is bland. The view out my window is bland. I have no friends, no phone pinging with text messages. I watch the news sometimes, but none of it means anything to me because I’m not a part of the world like everyone else is.
I’m just sitting here… on pause. I considered asking for a radio so I could listen to music during the day, but then I worried it would drown out the sound of the nurses’ sneakers on the floor in the hall.
The food is mostly the same, three meals a day.
I don’t even have to change my own sheets or clean or do anything except rotate now and then, so I don’t get bedsores.
The highlight of my day is when you stroll in, and even that happens less often lately. ”
“The winter makes for stupid injuries and a bustling ER.” He counters my red nine with a red pick up two. But then he stops and smirks. “Sorry.”
I consider countering his move with another pick up two, forcing him to collect four.
But I decide against it and add to my dwindling collection.
“Is it crazy to think someone might claim me… but they might be someone I wouldn’t normally choose to be around, but we don’t know that, since I can’t remember, so then we’re at this person’s mercy?
Or someone who doesn’t know me at all, but they have a weird desire to try their luck and see what they can get away with?
How can we possibly know to trust whoever comes for me? ”
“We’ll research the hell out of them. Question them.
Test them.” He mustn’t have any red cards, so instead of putting anything down, he picks up from the stack.
“I’ll be your first line of defense, and even though I personally think Billy’s an asshole, I know firsthand he’s decent, and he’s not gonna hand you over to just anybody.
We’ll verify every single person who calls up about you, and we’ll make them prove your relationship.
” He stops and meets my eyes, his bright blue stare somehow all-seeing, all-knowing, despite not knowing me two weeks ago.
“Whatever happens after this, whoever comes looking, nothing changes without deep consideration for what’s best for you.
” He leans across the table and places his hand over mine.
“Even if the perfect person steps forward, you’ll have plenty of time to adjust, because whoever they are, they won’t mind going slow.
That’s love.” He squeezes my hand. “If they love you, they’ll do everything they can to make you comfortable. ”
“On February first, in the cold, dark hours mere miles outside a small town called Plainview, a mystery was born.” A woman’s voice bounces from the television, her plump, strawberry blonde hair taking up an easy seventy percent of the screen.
That is, until a picture of a busted fender and sprayed blood staining otherwise untouched snow replaces her.
“A woman stepped onto the road and into the path of a vehicle that would forever change her life.”
Ollie’s jaw grits and firms, the muscles in his cheeks flaring as displeasure rolls off the man in waves. “They’re running with the cinematic version, I see.”
“A woman known only as Jane Doe has taken up residence in the hospital with multiple serious wounds, though none more serious than the head injury that stole her identity and delivers us to our mystery. Jane has lost all recollection of who she is. Where she came from. Why she was on the road. And if she had a destination in mind, that’s gone, too. ”
They trade out the image of Barbara’s car with the video of me instead, right here in this room, where the scrapes along one side of my face slowly heal, and my nails, still chipped and broken, somehow look a thousand times worse on a fifty-inch flat screen television.
“Ugh. I thought I looked nice the other day. Brushing my hair and teeth made me feel pretty. But…” I scrunch my nose and watch, horrified as the woman on the screen nervously chews her nails.
“Jesus. I must’ve been an absolute troll before that long shower. ”
“Television always makes us look worse than we really are.” He lowers his hands to his lap, cards facing up, so I’m treated to a view of everything he’s got—including three pick-up-fours and a single color change card.
“They intentionally made you appear sickly and wounded. Putting a beautiful, unmarked woman on the news wouldn’t sell the story nearly as convincingly. ”
“They couldn’t just use my CT scans or something?”
“Jane needs your help,” the reporter continues, while behind her, silent footage of my interview plays.
“She has no ID, no paperwork, no memory of who she is, and no clue what she should do next. But maybe you recognize her?” A number flashes across the bottom of the screen.
“If you know this woman, contact us here at the station, and we’ll connect you to the appropriate authorities.
If you recall seeing her anywhere on any day prior to February first, let us know.
As we attempt to piece together a woman’s shattered life, we send our warmest hope and comfort to Jane, no doubt curled in her hospital bed at this very moment. ”
“Good lord! Am I an invalid?”
“Nothing sells a story like half-truths and a steaming pile of bullshit.” Shaking his head, Ollie twists back to face me and pastes on a fake smile.
“Let’s focus on our goal of having your face exposed to the masses, and not on my deep desire to smash the windshield out of that chick’s car.
The latter will land me with another ding on my rap sheet, and, turns out, the hospital’s board of directors doesn’t like it when that happens.
” Resetting himself, he studies his cards and tosses the color change down. “Let’s go with green. What’ve you got?”