21. Friday, November 3, 2023 #3
When they finally brought Lucy out of the coma, she couldn’t talk.
They called it post-traumatic mutism, not uncommon for people suffering from a severe head injury.
They said she would recover her speech in time, along with the use of her arms and legs, but not until the swelling in her brain was completely gone.
That’s why when Lucy’s mom rushed into the room calling her Polly, she couldn’t correct her.
It’s why when her mom and dad gathered at her hospital bed to break the news to her that Lucy had died in the accident, she couldn’t tell them that they were wrong.
She shook her head, despite the pain of it, but they thought it was her reaction to hearing the news, her denial that she had lost her sister.
At first Lucy felt like she was trapped in a waking nightmare.
Her own mother didn’t recognize her? How could that be?
What was the point of being the good one, the responsible one, the overachieving one, if no one knew?
If it didn’t make her stand out when it counted?
Then it dawned on her: If Lucy died, so did all their expectations of her. As Polly, she would be free.
They were all mourning her anyway, all learning to live without her. Wouldn’t it be creating a whole new tragedy for them to find out that it was Polly who had died? Then they’d suffer another loss. That’s how she rationalized it. They all got something out of her pretending to be her dead sister.
It was easier than she’d thought. At first, they blamed any odd behavior on the brain injury, but in no time she was answering to the name Polly.
She adopted her mannerisms to a tee, even her attitude, and when she started speaking again, a few weeks after waking from the coma, she started talking like Polly too.
It was like being Polly was already in her DNA, transferrable upon request. Like flipping a coin.
The guilt was awful though, when she heard her brother crying in her old room, or her mother calling her name through her sobs, when she saw her dad pounding back bourbon staring at a photo of her on his phone.
It was hard not to step in and tell them that she was right there.
Flip the coin back and show them it was Polly they should be mourning.
The lying wasn’t easy either, but part of her felt like they deserved it, for not being able to tell the difference in the first place.
How could they so easily dismiss what had always distinguished her from Polly?
She was the good one. Well, not anymore.
She was an imposter the whole family accepted and there was no going back.
That was fine with Lucy. Polly’s skin was much easier to wear.
She could swear, disagree, act out, do whatever she felt like, and nobody stopped her; nobody told her they were disappointed in her, that they expected more, that she could do better.
She was allowed to be—for the first time ever.
All she had to do was pretend to be her dead sister for the rest of her life.
Alice
Alice sits in her parked car, staring at her house.
There are lights on inside, making it glow warmly in the fading afternoon light of the gray and rainy November day.
There’s nothing sinister about it in appearance; it looks inviting, it is her home, and she’s the one who chose it—but now she’s afraid to walk through the front door.
Afraid that Polly is still lying half-asleep in her bed because of something that happened the night of the séance.
That she’ll see that strange black shadow that keeps eclipsing Geoff’s eyes.
That her mother will show up to dinner with dirt in her teeth.
That the minute her head hits the pillow she’ll have dreams about finding her husband’s penis in a field of ferns.
Or that she’ll discover she’s the crazy perimenopausal woman who everyone keeps hinting she is when the next hot flash comes.
Fuck that.
Alice unclicks her seat belt and gets out of the car.
On her way to the front door, she makes a plan.
She’ll check on Polly and if there’s been no improvement then she’ll call the therapist and get her in for the earliest appointment.
Then she’ll make an optometrist appointment for Geoff and get his eyes checked out, and then she’ll book her mother in with her doctor for a full physical and psych evaluation.
Lastly, she’ll see her own doctor about the myriad things she’s experiencing.
It’s time to get some professional opinions, time to tackle these things with real, logical methods.
Stepping through the front door, she feels energized by her new resolve and heads right to Polly’s room, not even bothering to take her coat off.
“Sweetie?” she says, pushing on the partially open door.
She’s surprised to find the bed empty, and Polly’s pajamas discarded on the floor.
She turns to go and almost collides with Quinn, who suddenly appears in the hallway.
“Polly went into the woods,” he says without preamble. “Dad said she left almost two hours ago. Right before I got home from school.” He’s vibrating with nervous energy, and he’s wearing what Alice refers to as his old-man face, furrowed and dark with worry.
Panic reaches up and grips Alice’s heart, her pragmatic resolve vanishing.
The thought of Polly in the woods alone sends terror coursing through Alice’s veins.
She can see it in Quinn’s eyes too. “Did your dad go looking for her?” she asks, gently moving him away from Polly’s room and toward the kitchen.
He doesn’t say anything; lets the scene in the kitchen speak for itself. Geoff is cutting vegetables by the stove, and her mother is sitting at the island, a cocktail in one hand, flipping through a magazine, soft jazz playing in the background.
“Happy Friday!” Geoff says when he notices her in the doorway. “Take a load off and come have a drink with your mom.”
“Polly is lost in the woods?” Alice’s voice is shrill with concern, piercing the bubble of domestic calm.
“I wouldn’t say lost,” her mother says. “She’s just out for a walk.”
Alice turns to Geoff. “You’re not worried? Quinn said she’s been gone for two hours.”
Geoff glances at the clock. “I wasn’t,” he says with a shrug. “Should I be?”
His response ignites rage in Alice. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She can feel heat prickling through her body.
“It’s almost dark,” Quinn says. “At what point are you going to worry and go looking for her?”
Geoff stares back at him blankly.
“I’ll go looking now,” Alice says through gritted teeth.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother protests. “You’ll just end up lost. You don’t know those woods at all, dear.”
“Nobody needs to go looking for Polly in the woods,” Geoff says, continuing to chop vegetables. “She’ll be back when she’s ready and she’ll be fine. Better than fine, I suspect.” He looks up from the cutting board and Alice sees that weird shadow pass over both his eyes again.
“Whoa. Dad,” Quinn says. “Something weird just happened to your eyes.” He glances over at Alice to see if she noticed, but she does her best to act like she didn’t.
Geoff uses the knife to point at the pendant lights that hang above him. “It’s just these lights,” he says. “I’ve noticed they reflect strangely sometimes.”
“And how the hell do you know that she’ll be better than fine, Geoff?”
“Polly is an adult,” her mother says, still flipping through the magazine. “Don’t be one of those hovering parents. What are they called?”
“Helicopter parent?” Geoff offers. “She’s right, Alice,” he continues, oblivious to the flush of red rising in Alice’s cheeks.
“Polly is an adult and should be treated like one. She could take offense if you go chasing after her. Like you don’t trust her or think she’s capable of finding her own way. ”
“Mom, are you okay?” Quinn asks.
She can feel the splotches of heat pulsing on her face. Anger must have lit the match that started the hot flash that has suddenly overtaken her.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” she says, yanking her coat off and tossing it on the back of a chair.
“When I left this morning,” she says, the volume of her voice rising with each word, “Polly was in the midst of a mental breakdown. She went into the woods two hours ago, and now it’s dark, and I’m the only adult who’s concerned?
” Sweat tickles the hairs across her upper lip.
She swipes at it quickly, wiping the dampness on her pants.
“Suit yourself, dear,” his nana says with a shrug. I just think it’s a bit of an overreaction about a simple walk in the woods.” Her mother points at her. “And you’re not looking well, dear. You should maybe go lie down or have a cold shower.”
“You seem really worked up, babe,” Geoff says, moving away from the cutting board toward her. “Why don’t you sit down and have some water? Try to calm down before making any decisions.”
Alice can feel her hot flash burning away her credibility. She sees what they see—a sweating, unkempt, hysterical, menopausal woman ready to run off into the woods after her daughter for no good reason.
“I’m going to look for Polly,” she says as calmly as she can.
“I’ll come with you,” Quinn offers.
She appreciates the show of support, so much that she could actually cry, but she shakes her head. “One child in the woods at night is more than enough. You stay here.” She uses her nonnegotiable tone and is grateful when he doesn’t argue with her.
“I’ll track your location while you’re in there, then,” he says instead. “And if you get turned around, just text me and I’ll guide you back.”