Lucid

Chapter Thirteen

The woman that speaks to us has distinctive cheekbones. Her bangs frame her face, and for a moment I can't tell if she's thirty or sixty. When she speaks, her voice is low and raspy. Sixty. Definitely sixty.
    "We've noticed some interesting behaviors during observation that we need to discuss with you. Um, who is she?"
    Kayla's eyebrows raise. "Uh, hi, I'm Kayla. I'm a friend of Miles."
    "Miles is your son, correct?" she says to my mom. She nods. "Well then Miles can stay, but I'm afraid I can't discuss his condition with her in the room."
    Mom turns to say something to Kayla but she puts up her hand. "It's okay, I can go sit in the car. You guys have the good radio. I don't mind."
    I give her a gentle smile and watch her leave. The room seems to get colder.
     "Uh, is he ill? Is there a problem with him?" Mom asks, fiddling with her bracelet on her left wrist. She's had it for as long as I can remember. I don't usually think about it. It's just part of her, like a freckle. But now that I'm paying attention to it, I'm realizing how odd it is that she's never taken it off.
     "I believe so. I've been a doctor for thirty years, and every case like this seems to be the same. You see, we've been watching him closely. The first day he slept a lot, was heavily drugged, and we made him eat. He had an IV and he had a small dose of caffeine to wean him off of it, it's showing to put a lot of stress on his heart."
     "His heart? Is it okay?" I blurt out.
       "Yes, it was just under a lot of stress with the caffeine and sleep and anxiety but it looks overall healthy. But after his body was replenished, he seemed fine for another day. Stressed, angry for not being by his daughter, but overall normal. No psychiatric issues."
       "So he's fine?"
       "Miles, don't interrupt."
      The doctor stops a moment to shoot me an annoyed glance. "Then the next day he had an episode during a therapy session. I observed closely and it didn't seem anxiety-related. He dosed for a moment, dissociated and disconnected. Then he was extremely angry, violent. I noticed a complete change in mannerisms and in his speech patterns. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing there."
     "Wait, what? What does that mean? He has amnesia?" Mom asks.
      "No, no. I believe he has dissociative identity disorder. You might have heard of it as being called 'split-personality disorder'. He displays the classic symptoms. I seem to have watched him dissociate between being his regular self that you guys tend to see, Matthew, and someone else. He says his name is Mark Wilde, twenty-five. He thinks he's been arrested and is in prison. I asked him why he'd be in prison and he shouted out that he wouldn't give a confession because he was innocent.
     "This is a very severe disorder, and it can't be cured but there are many treatment options. Matthew does not seem suicidal and so I would have no reason to keep him here, but I don't know about Mark's mental health. I think he needs a lot more observation so we can determine how safe he is and put him on a treatment path."
I swallow hard. What the fuck?
   "What do you mean you need to know about Mark's mental health, Mark and Matthew are the same person," Mom says, still fiddling with her bracelet.
     "Physically, yes, but in terms of personality, character, memories, etc., they're very different. Since it went undetected for so long, it seems very likely that Mark doesn't come out very often. He doesn't remember anything Matthew went through so he wasn't watching either. The two don't know about each other. In some cases, one 'alter', as we call them, will watch and observe the other personality live their life. Mark has never met Matthew and vice versa. When Matthew leaves and Mark steps out to the front, they don't realize what's happened. They probably both think they have memory problems."
   "If this is happening, how would we not know? Wouldn't he be constantly going back and forth? 
Even if we never happened to see him 'be Mark'," Mom makes air quotes, "wouldn't we know that he has a bad memory and forgets stuff?"
    "He would only have a bad memory in the sense that if you tell Mark some information, Matthew won't remember it, because they're separated in the brain. If you've never met Mark, you probably wouldn't see his memory being faulty."
     I sit quietly. I'm at a loss for words.
    "Can I see him?" Mom says.
   "Visiting starts in an hour. I've cleared him for visitation because he doesn't seem to be dangerous -- his violent outburst quickly calmed down. We think he was just extremely afraid. Imagine waking up in a psychiatric hospital with no memory. He does seem to have dissociated again and gone back to Matthew. This morning he woke up with his regular mannerisms, tone and attitude. I asked him to spell his name and he spelled Matthew. If you would like to see him, you can, but we haven't discussed his condition with him yet."
     "Do you think it would be good for him?"
     "The mother in me says yes, that he would love to see a familiar face. But the doctor in me worries about it triggering him to remember his daughter and the world outside of here. Sometimes people need to live in a bubble of safety to heal before they are ready to face the world again," she explains.
Mom looks at me. She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
      "I want to see him. An hour, you said?"
       The doctor nods. My mom keeps grip on my hand and stands up from her seat.
    "Let's go. I'll take you and Kayla out for ice cream somewhere nice and then we can swing back."
    I gently pull my hand away from her, embarrassed. I follow her out to the car, pale and a little nauseous.
     "You okay, Miles?" Kayla asks.
       I nod but don't speak. When we arrive at the ice cream shop I tell them I'll get whatever Kayla's getting. Kayla and Mom strike up a casual conversation, as if this isn't happening.
    "Miles?" Mom's voice violently yanks me from my thoughts.
     "Uh, what?"
      "I said that you've been quiet. Are you okay?"
I take another bite of my ice cream and smile and nod. Kayla looks at me skeptically. Mom gets up to throw away the remainder of her cone, making a remark about being old means you have to be careful with your dessert. I roll my eyes.
    "You fucking liar," Kayla says, giggling.
    "What?"
    "You're clearly not okay. You look like you've seen a ghost. Actually, scrap that, you look like you are a ghost. Seriously, are you alright? I don't know exactly what happened in there but if there's anything I can do, please let me know."
      She gently sets her hand on mine. My heart skips a beat. She takes her hand off. "Sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to-"
       "It's okay," I interject. "I know." Mom sits back down. She's got a smirk on her face as she eyes the two of us.
     "You two would make a cute couple," she tells us. "Not to embarass you, but I saw that little hand thing there."
     "Mom," I say, an unexpected bite in my voice.
      "What? Honey, I'm not trying to call you guys out, I'm just saying, you'd be adorable together."
    "Well we're not together."
    "Thanks," Kayla says.
      I then realize how harsh and disgusted I sounded when I said that. "No," I say, "that came out wrong. Not that I wouldn't want to date you, but I don't want to date you."
     "Again, thanks."
     I try to explain, "Fuck. I just -- no, that isn't what I meant."
     She stands up with her empty cup of ice cream and walks towards the trashcan. I push back my chair, my knees weak as I stand. With my fists clenched, I yell: "I don't want to date you because I can't and I can't because I'm in love with Alyssa."
     She turns swiftly and her jaw drops.
    "Isn't she --"
     I realize how fast my heart is racing and I sit back down again. I turn to see my mom in complete shock.
   "Miles? Since when did..."
    "Ever since I've known her." My voice catches in my throat. "Oh, god. If she dies I'll never be able to tell her." I drop my head into my hands.
      I feel Mom's arms wrap tightly around me, but it's Kayla whos says: "It's gonna be okay." I open my eyes to see Mom sitting across the table from me still. I hug Kayla back.
     "I'm sorry for getting you involved with my messy life. And I didn't mean to insult you by saying I wouldn't date you."
     "I was half just giving you shit anyway," she teases.
      "Not to ruin the heartfelt moment, honey, but we gotta go. It's about to be visitation time and we gotta drive back over there still."
                                            *****
        I'm patted down by a very large black man with balding hair and blue latex gloves. He then scans me over with a hand-held metal detector. He takes our phones and tells my mom she needs to remove her bracelet because of the sharp charms.
     "Oh, I've worn it for years, I can't take it off. I always wear it."
     "Sorry, it's the rules. It could fall and end up in the hands of one of the patients. Believe it or not, it happens a lot."
       She grips onto it tightly. "I can't take it off. My late husband gave it to me for our first anniversary and I've worn it ever since. Is there any way I can still go?"
       He shakes his head. "Just the minor going, then?"
Mom looks at me and my eyes widen. "I'm going in alone?"
       "You don't have to. You'll be watched closely anyway, don't worry, you're safe," the man tells us.
He offers me my phone back. I push it away.
      "No, I'll go. See you in a few minutes, Mom," I tell her. She smiles at me, embarrassed about the bracelet and hiding it with her hand still. I can't believe she never told me why she wore it.
       I walk with the man into a large cafeteria. At several spaced out tables are singular patients. A few other people walk in behind us. One young woman runs up to a skinny and pale guy sitting and fiddling with his patient wristband. She hugs him and squeals, giving him a kiss on the cheek. I look away. It feels like an intimate moment and I don't want to watch.
       I lock eyes with Matthew. His hair looks clean, soft, and his face is shaven. I wonder if he was able to shave it himself or if he had to have someone do it for him. I sit down across from him. The table is small so I don't feel inappropriately separated.
       "Hey, Matthew. Mom couldn't make it but I wanted to see how you're doing."
      "I'm doing fine. Better, at least. Funny how fuzzy things get when you don't sleep. I have all these memories about you being in the room and saying bizarre things. The doctor says I was possibly hallucinating quite a bit."
     "Wow. I'm sorry you had to deal with that," I tell him. Of course I can't tell him that the whole single-sided conversation about prison that I had with his daughter was real, he'd tell someone and I'd end up sleeping here tonight as well.
     "It's okay. I've got food and fluids in me. I'm pretty sure they drugged me up pretty good, I can't remember a huge chunk of yesterday."
My heartbeat picks up. I can't tell him about his condition. Play it cool.
     "Huh. Yeah, they probably medicate you a little. They have your best interest in mind," I say. "I stayed with Alyssa for a while while you were gone but Mom made me come home. I still visit her at least twice a day, though. I'm hoping you'll be well enough to come back soon."
      His eyes are kind yet worried. "Thank you, Miles. You're a good man. Thank you for looking after my daughter the way you have over all these years."
     I lower my eyes.
     "I feel like I haven't done enough. I've always felt like it's my job to make sure she's happy and to look after her, like you're saying that I do. But if I had really been looking after he I would've noticed that something was wrong."
      "No, Miles. She was hiding it on purpose. It isn't your fault you didn't notice. Hell, I live with her and I hardly noticed anything at all. Sure, she spent a lot of time in her room studying, but a lot of teenagers do. She wants to have good grades, that's all. And some days she would blankly stare at her breakfast, but I figured she was tired, that's all. There was nothing that would give me a reason to check in with her further or think anything was wrong. She seemed like a happy kid."
      "I wonder if her happiness was fake or if her laughter and smiles were all real. It was nice. I'd make a joke and her laughter would fill up the room. You think she's just a good actress?"
       Her dad shakes his head.
     "No. Definitely not. Alyssa's been laughing that way all her life. The only time she fake-laughs is when she's annoyed with me about what I choose for dinner." He chuckles. "But her laugh these past few months has been genuine. It's real. She was happy when she was with you. I think she just wasn't happy when she was alone."
     I hear sobbing. I turn around to see a red-headed man crying into someone's arms. I face Matthew again, shuddering at the reminder of where we are.
     "I hope she was happy, at least for some of the time. Clearly she wasn't happy. Not happy enough to want to live. Fuck. I'm sorry, Matthew, I'm just still trying to wrap my head around all of this."
     "Me too, son, me too."
       The big guy from earlier tells me I have a few minutes left. I tell Matthew to make sure he takes care of himself and listens to the doctors so he can return to Alyssa in good health.
    "One more thing, Matthew," I say.
    "Of course."
    "Don't ever let the doctor stop her heart. She will come out of it. I know it's a lot of fucking money to keep her in the hospital being monitored and all that shit but she has to know that we aren't giving up on her. Maybe she'll realize that and realize how much we love her and she'll wake up."
    "Miles, I don't think it works like that."
    "Just, don't."
    His eyes are sincere when he tells me: "I won't. I promise you that. She's a fighter. She may not know it yet, but she is. She's strong. And she'll wake up. That's all I can hope for."
    When I look into his eyes, I believe him. I believe he won't let them take Alyssa off this earth. I believe him because even though things may change and he may change his mind, I have to have trust in something. I can't trust what's going to happen, but I can trust that Alyssa's dad will persevere. And I can trust that he'll get better.
    Hell, if I don't have Allysa's dad, what do I have left of her?