Isobel
Setting the stage: Well and Right
The darkness cloaked the alley, but I knew they were out there. I heard
each of them as their feet hit the ground. Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Saturn,
Moon, Venus, Mars, Mercury...and Jupiter. I was even aware of the man
watching from above in the shadows, due to his cape flapping quietly in
the breeze. It had begun.
This would be the last time I would ever meet her. The fact that it was
so different from how we first met was fitting in a way. After all, the
day does begin with light and end with darkness.
I still remember how I first met her...
I was in my nation's capital with two friends who were in school with me.
Because the semester was "deep fryin' our brains," as Amelia would say, my
friends, Amelia Allen and Megan Maria Sims, and I caught the train up to
D.C. for a break. The original plan was to hang out in Union Station all
day, but Meggie insisted that we walk to a nearby museum. That was the
only reason we were outside at all.
Now the District is always full of people, especially on a Friday, as it
is both weekday and weekend at the same time. Yet, on this particular
Friday, the District was more crowded that usual, due to the international
cooking conference that was in town. Chefs and cooks from all over the
world, including countries like France, Italy, Switerland, India, and
even Japan were in attendance, over three thousand people in all. These
great cooks had spent the week cooking and networking, according to the
Food Network anyway. According to the news, the conference also had huge
organizational problems, leading to extra chaos for the District.
That Friday, it got worse.
Meggie, Amelia, and I had just stepped out of Union Staion when we heard
it. It was an awful mix of sounds that no one wants to hear: a car horn,
the squeal of brakes, a scream, a thud...silence.
At first I just clutched my purse even tighter...but something called me
to do something that even I thought was a little crazy.
"Hold this," I said to Meggie as I pushed my purse into her arms and took
off toward the area where the sounds came from.
"What?! Madre Dios! Parry, where are you going?"
I didn't turn around to answer Meggie, I just kept going. I heard Meggie
and Amelia running after me, and Amelia saying, "That proves it. She's
snapped. The white girl has lost her damn mind. Slow down, Parry! She's
gonna get us all killed."
Finally, I reached the scene...and pushed through the rapidly growing
crowd to see what had caused the scream. A woman sat in her car, mumbling
something to herself over and over again, but I didn't pay much attention
to that. Mental breakdowns happen everyday. What I did pay attention to
was the probable reason for the driver's current state...which lay about
three feet in front of the car.
The young woman was clearly unconscious and had apparently been hit by
the car. When she was hit, her chef hat went flying. At least, that
is what I assumed happened, as her hat was now three lanes over from where
her body was.
She was tall, wearing a stereotypical chef's outfit, but she appeared to
be carrying no identifying...well, anything. No name tag, no purse in
sight, nothing. She had masses of brown hair pulled back in a ponytail,
which allowed me to see that her head was bleeding at least a little.
She also wore small rose earrings. Of course, the scariest thing was
that she wasn't moving.
Now, I had no medical training whatsoever, but I ran over the young
woman and attempted to find a pulse. Looking back now, it is a little
sad and telling that no one else had moved to help her before I did.
I understand why, however. We all have a fear of being sued, so we stay
out of other people's lives. Gotta love American values.
As I was bending over the girl, she stirred. "Whoa, sweetie," I warned,
"Don't move. The ambulance is on its way, I'm sure." As if to prove
my point, sirens could be heard in the distance. "We'll get you help,
all right?"
The woman on the ground moaned and slowly opened her eyes. Then she tried
to speak, "Iso..bella...nani...auto...matte-"
"Shh," I said. "Save your strength."
Then I heard a voice say, "Oh my God," behind me. Meggie and Amelia had
finally caught up with me.
"What happened here?" Meggie asked.
"Oh crap, she's bleeding. Has someone called 911?" Amelia added in her
rather bossy way.
By that time, the police and EMTs had arrived. A flurry of questions were
asked, answered and shrugged at, as they stablized the victim for transport
to the hospital. As no one knew who she was, I was able to lobby to go
to the hospital with her. So Meggie, Amelia and I sat in a hospital
waiting room for news about "the pedestrican struck by a car just outside
of Union Station this afternoon." At least, that is how the news referred
to her. The rest of us didn't know what to call her, because she was
not conscious and carried nothing that bore her name.
It was about to get even more complicated than that.
After sitting in the waiting room, tense and concerned, for over an hour
the doctor finally came out to us.
"You three came in with the female patient from the Union Station
accident?"
"Yes, I'm Parria Austin-Franklin. These are my friends Amelia and Megan. How
is she?"
"She's awake now. The next 48 hours are crucial, however." The doctor replied,
"Is she a friend of yours?"
"No, we don't know her at all. We were just the first people there at the
scene. The first there who did anything, at least. She didn't have a
purse or anything that I saw."
The doctor ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "I had hoped that
one of you knew her or knew something about her. She awakened very
disoriented, and we think that the accident may have affected her
communication ability. At the very least, we did want a name. She
doesn't seem to trust us at the moment and won't speak to us."
"Well, she spoke to me before the ambulance got to her," I said, "Maybe I can talk
to her."
"Fine," the doctor agreed in a defeated voice, "But only you. She one
step from needing to be in ICU. We can't have too many people moving
in and out of her room. It will halt her recovery."
So, while Amelia began to object to the doctor's "one person" rule, I was
shown back to the hospital room. The young female now laid in a bed, hooked
to more machines than I have ever seen in one room. She was clearly awake,
but she looked frightened...and in pain.
"Hey," I practically whispered as I gently sat down on the bed. "You got
a little banged up there. Sorry about that. The District is notorious for
attracting bad drivers. I was never sure of why."
She blinked at me. I could see recognition in her eyes, but I also saw
confusion as well. She shook her head slightly and continued to look puzzled.
"Okay, obviously you remember me. That's a good sign. But are still not
talking. I wonder if you suffered brain damage from the accident."
A snort was heard from the doorway. "That's not it," a familar voice stated.
I quickly turned to face the doorway, "Amelia? How did you get back here? I thought
the doctor mandated that only one of us be here at a time."
"He did, but you know me and authority. I ignore it if I think I can do
better."
I looked at my friend who was still lounging in the doorway. "But how did you
get back here? I'm pretty sure that a black woman wandering aimlessly around
the halls would have been stopped by someone."
My friend smiled, "Not when she has this wonderful tool she liberated from a
nearby cart," Amelia said as she pulled the broom out from behind her back.
"Sometimes American stereotypes can actually work in our favor," she
observed as she walked into the room. "But that's not what we were talking
about."
I nodded. "So, what's not it?" I asked, returning us to her original statement.
"Brain damage. It is not the reason our guest here can't speak. She can't speak
because she doesn't understand us."
"And that's not brain damage, why?"
"Because she can't understand us because she doesn't speak or understand English."
"What do you mean she doesn't understand English? Why would she come here if she
didn't speak English?"
"Madre Dios," my other friend said as she walked in the door, "Sálveme de Americanos estúpidos"
I threw Megan a nasty look. Although I didn't know any Spanish, I was pretty sure
I knew what she meant. "What makes my question stupid?"
"Hubris. You assume that the whole world must know your language, especially
when they are in your country. Yet you have been to Rome without knowing Italian,
France without knowing French, and Switzerland without knowing one of their four
national languages! So, she doesn't know English. She made not have had to."
"Okay, okay. Point taken. So, she doesn't speak English. So now what do we do?"
"Well," Amelia said from the chair she was sitting in, "she seemed to be a little less
confused when Megan was speaking. Maybe she knows a romance language. One that isn't
Spanish."
"And that helps us how?"
"Well, I happen to know some French and Italian. I can try those."
"Fire away, Amelia."
So Amelia came to stand next to the bed and spoke. First in French and then in Italian.
She seemed to react to Italian, but our patient still didn't answer.
"Wait, I'm confused. She obviously knew some Italian, but she didn't respond.
Is brain damage still an option then?"
"No," Megan said definitely. "My guess is that Italian was a second language, and a new one at that."
I turn to my friend and said sarcastically, "Oh wise Queen of all things ESL, how do you know that?"
After I finished speaking, Amelia reached over and hit me upside the head.
"Ow!"
"Idiot," she mubbled under her breath.
"I know," Megan replied after sending me a dirty look, "because I've had that look
of concentration when I was first learning English. When you first learn a language,
you translate it into your native language, formulate a response, and translate it back
into your second language. It is only after speaking for a long time that you begin to
think in your second language. If a language is new and you were recently plowed down
by a car, you make recognize the sound of the language but have no idea to respond."
I sighed. "Okay, so Italian is her second language, that she can't speak due to the
injury. So, without knowing her first language, we still can't help!"
"Ah, but we can," Amelia insisted. "You see, because I try to be a practical
person, I know the words for love and bathroom in 40 different languages. I can
go through all 40 and see which ones she responds to."
"Um, Mellie, that's great and all, but how is saying that you love someone in forty
different ways going to show us that she can communicate?"
Amelia nodded. "You're right. Saying love 40 different times won't help. But,"
she continued as she held up the bed pan that had been left in the room, "saying
'bathroom' forty times just might help."
We agreed to try Amelia's idea, and, after Amelia and I had switched places,
she began. Pointing to the bedpan she held in her hand, she said 'bathroom'
in one language. Meggie and I looked at the young woman's face after every
attempt, looking for any reaction besides confusion. Thirty-two languages in
I was about to give up. Then Amelia utter a word that made the injured woman
blink in comprehension. Amelia and Meggie were so tired that they missed the
reaction, and Amelia went on to another language. But I jumped up out of my
seat.
"Parry-" Meggie started to say, but I ignored her.
"Go back, Amelia! That last word you said-" Amelia uttered a word. "No, no!"
I shouted, "The one before that!"
Amelia said the word again, and our injured woman did more than just
blink. Pointing at the bedpan (and looking rather horrified), she repeated
the word.
"See, see Mellie! She understood!"
"Obviously," Mellie said, as she handed the bed pan to the agitated
young woman. "and she doesn't look happy about it either."
By this point, Meggie was on the other side of the bed. She had taken
the young woman's hand and was saying something conforting in Spanish.
While the young woman didn't know the language, the tone and concern seemed
to calm her down. But, I admit, I wasn't paying that much attention to her at
the time. My attention was focused on Amelia.
"What language was that?"
"It was Japanese."
"So, we know she speaks Japanese. So, what do we do now? Go find
a translator?"
"Not quite yet," Amelia said. "I actually know a little Japanese.
Let's see if we can find out some more about her first."
I stared at my friend, "You know Japanese?"
"Of course, I know some Japanese. Remember the fact that I love
anime? Remember how much anime-based fan fiction I read in a given
month?" Amelia stuck her tongue out at me. "I picked up some
Japanese through all of that. I told you my hobby was useful."
"Okay, cosplay geek. Have at it."
Amelia threw me a dirty look. "I am so sorry I ever told you that
Anime North story," she said as she turned to a slightly calmer
injuried woman. After lightly poking her to get her attention, Amelia
say what must have been hello. Then she began the strangest attempt at
communicating that I had seen. Looking the women straight in the eye, she
said, "Allen Amelia," pointing to herself. "Sims Megan," she continued,
pointing to Meggie. "Austin-Franklin Parria." she ended, pointing at me.
Then she pointed at the girl and looked questioningly at her. The girl
remained silent.
"Okay, let's try this again," Amelia muttered in English. Taking a
deep breath, she said, "Mellie-chan," pointing herself. "Meggie-chan,"
she said, point to Meggie. "Parry-baka," she said, pointing to me.
"Hey!" I objected, not really knowing why, but being pretty sure I was
just insulted.
Ignoring me, Amelia then pointed to the girl. Then, she said, the word for
bathroom, pointing to the bowl, her name pointing to herself, and pointed
to the girl.
After a few moments, the girl answered. At the time I didn't know
any languages other than English, so I wasn't sure what she said...but
it sounded more like a sentence than a name.
"What did she say?" Meggie asked
"That didn't sound like a name, Mellie." I pointed out, almost hoping to be
proved wrong.
"It wasn't," she confirmed. "I think she said that she doesn't
know."
"You THINK? Oh, THAT'S helpful."
"Well, she looks agitated enough for that to be right," Meggie
said from her position. "Marde Dios, I think she may have
anmesia!"
"Well, that's just great!" I looked at the female in
the hospital bed, who was growing increaingly more disturbed.
"Amelia, do something! Say something to calm her down!"
"I don't know what I can say! I mean, I know the words and
phrases for love, bathroom, hello, goodbye, and lunch box.
I can hint at the idea that we are friends. I can call her
an idiot. I can say 'what', 'but', and 'wait'. And that's about it."
"Mellie, you said you picked up Japanese from those stupid
fan fics!"
"I SAID that I knew some Japanese from the fan fics I read.
Keep in mind that I'm reading mostly mediocre to crappy fan fics
written by native English speakers, not an intro to Japanese
textbook. I'm sorry if I can't ask complicated questions,
oh madam foreign language instructor!"
"I think now would be a good time to get a translator," Meggie
interrupted.
So, soon after the young lady was awake, we had learned three
important things: she spoke Japanese and had some understanding
of Italian; she didn't speak English; and, she didn't remember
who she was. As the day at the hospital wore on, we also learned
the fourth important thing: no one had reported her missing. As
of that moment, she had nowhere to go. She also didn't really have
a name. I started calling her Isobel, because of what she uttered
after the car hit her. After a few tries, she realized that we
were addressing her when we said it. So, for all intents and
purposes, she was Isobel Ikeda to us. The last name of Ikeda
was Amelia's idea, pulled from some anime character, no doubt. I never
asked.
I'm not sure why I suggested that she be released in my care. And
I am really not sure why anyone agreed with this idea, although
Amelia clearly expressed very loudly how crazy the idea was. But
before I knew what happened, I had a roommate in my appartment who
spoke no English and I spoke no Japanese.
That six months that she spent with me were the most instructive
of my life. She obviously knew her way around a kitchen and
she was a virtual maid, a nice mesh for my love of eating and
making messes. We also worked on learning the other's language.
She was doing much better than I was, however. Four months after
the accident, she was able to form complex sentences in English
and even read some street signs. I, however, could barely
say more than "Hello, my name is Parria. I am pleased to meet
you," in Japanese. Meggie, trying to make me feel better, pointed
out that Isobel was being emersed in the language. Mellie, being
her contrary self, said that it proved that I actually was an
idiot.
There are times when I wish things ended that way. That she just
got her memory back after those four months and then went home. I could
imagine us still being friends. I could imagine the letter-writing that
would happen, and the trip to Japan Mellie, Meggie and I would have
taken to visit. I could imagine being blissfully ignorant.
But my guest, my new friend was mentally running away from something...or
something was mentally chasing her, I wasn't really sure of the best
way to explain what was happening in her head. Regardless, it caught
up with her while she was under my roof. And because of that I received
too much information to stay silent, and that ultimately sealed my fate.
- to be continued -
I know this doesn't seem much like an Sailor Moon story at the
moment, but it will. It's a rather strange idea that I've been
tossing around in my head since I heard Dido's song "Isobel".
Also, I am in desperate need of both an editor and beta. If you
are interested, email me (cemberl@yahoo.com) and let me know.
(If you would like to edit,please send a writing sample or and
example of something you edited. For anyone who would like to
beta, you would need knowledge of SailorMoon through the Stars
season.)
As always, thanks for reading.
~December
Setting the stage: Well and Right
The darkness cloaked the alley, but I knew they were out there. I heard
each of them as their feet hit the ground. Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Saturn,
Moon, Venus, Mars, Mercury...and Jupiter. I was even aware of the man
watching from above in the shadows, due to his cape flapping quietly in
the breeze. It had begun.
This would be the last time I would ever meet her. The fact that it was
so different from how we first met was fitting in a way. After all, the
day does begin with light and end with darkness.
I still remember how I first met her...
I was in my nation's capital with two friends who were in school with me.
Because the semester was "deep fryin' our brains," as Amelia would say, my
friends, Amelia Allen and Megan Maria Sims, and I caught the train up to
D.C. for a break. The original plan was to hang out in Union Station all
day, but Meggie insisted that we walk to a nearby museum. That was the
only reason we were outside at all.
Now the District is always full of people, especially on a Friday, as it
is both weekday and weekend at the same time. Yet, on this particular
Friday, the District was more crowded that usual, due to the international
cooking conference that was in town. Chefs and cooks from all over the
world, including countries like France, Italy, Switerland, India, and
even Japan were in attendance, over three thousand people in all. These
great cooks had spent the week cooking and networking, according to the
Food Network anyway. According to the news, the conference also had huge
organizational problems, leading to extra chaos for the District.
That Friday, it got worse.
Meggie, Amelia, and I had just stepped out of Union Staion when we heard
it. It was an awful mix of sounds that no one wants to hear: a car horn,
the squeal of brakes, a scream, a thud...silence.
At first I just clutched my purse even tighter...but something called me
to do something that even I thought was a little crazy.
"Hold this," I said to Meggie as I pushed my purse into her arms and took
off toward the area where the sounds came from.
"What?! Madre Dios! Parry, where are you going?"
I didn't turn around to answer Meggie, I just kept going. I heard Meggie
and Amelia running after me, and Amelia saying, "That proves it. She's
snapped. The white girl has lost her damn mind. Slow down, Parry! She's
gonna get us all killed."
Finally, I reached the scene...and pushed through the rapidly growing
crowd to see what had caused the scream. A woman sat in her car, mumbling
something to herself over and over again, but I didn't pay much attention
to that. Mental breakdowns happen everyday. What I did pay attention to
was the probable reason for the driver's current state...which lay about
three feet in front of the car.
The young woman was clearly unconscious and had apparently been hit by
the car. When she was hit, her chef hat went flying. At least, that
is what I assumed happened, as her hat was now three lanes over from where
her body was.
She was tall, wearing a stereotypical chef's outfit, but she appeared to
be carrying no identifying...well, anything. No name tag, no purse in
sight, nothing. She had masses of brown hair pulled back in a ponytail,
which allowed me to see that her head was bleeding at least a little.
She also wore small rose earrings. Of course, the scariest thing was
that she wasn't moving.
Now, I had no medical training whatsoever, but I ran over the young
woman and attempted to find a pulse. Looking back now, it is a little
sad and telling that no one else had moved to help her before I did.
I understand why, however. We all have a fear of being sued, so we stay
out of other people's lives. Gotta love American values.
As I was bending over the girl, she stirred. "Whoa, sweetie," I warned,
"Don't move. The ambulance is on its way, I'm sure." As if to prove
my point, sirens could be heard in the distance. "We'll get you help,
all right?"
The woman on the ground moaned and slowly opened her eyes. Then she tried
to speak, "Iso..bella...nani...auto...matte-"
"Shh," I said. "Save your strength."
Then I heard a voice say, "Oh my God," behind me. Meggie and Amelia had
finally caught up with me.
"What happened here?" Meggie asked.
"Oh crap, she's bleeding. Has someone called 911?" Amelia added in her
rather bossy way.
By that time, the police and EMTs had arrived. A flurry of questions were
asked, answered and shrugged at, as they stablized the victim for transport
to the hospital. As no one knew who she was, I was able to lobby to go
to the hospital with her. So Meggie, Amelia and I sat in a hospital
waiting room for news about "the pedestrican struck by a car just outside
of Union Station this afternoon." At least, that is how the news referred
to her. The rest of us didn't know what to call her, because she was
not conscious and carried nothing that bore her name.
It was about to get even more complicated than that.
After sitting in the waiting room, tense and concerned, for over an hour
the doctor finally came out to us.
"You three came in with the female patient from the Union Station
accident?"
"Yes, I'm Parria Austin-Franklin. These are my friends Amelia and Megan. How
is she?"
"She's awake now. The next 48 hours are crucial, however." The doctor replied,
"Is she a friend of yours?"
"No, we don't know her at all. We were just the first people there at the
scene. The first there who did anything, at least. She didn't have a
purse or anything that I saw."
The doctor ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "I had hoped that
one of you knew her or knew something about her. She awakened very
disoriented, and we think that the accident may have affected her
communication ability. At the very least, we did want a name. She
doesn't seem to trust us at the moment and won't speak to us."
"Well, she spoke to me before the ambulance got to her," I said, "Maybe I can talk
to her."
"Fine," the doctor agreed in a defeated voice, "But only you. She one
step from needing to be in ICU. We can't have too many people moving
in and out of her room. It will halt her recovery."
So, while Amelia began to object to the doctor's "one person" rule, I was
shown back to the hospital room. The young female now laid in a bed, hooked
to more machines than I have ever seen in one room. She was clearly awake,
but she looked frightened...and in pain.
"Hey," I practically whispered as I gently sat down on the bed. "You got
a little banged up there. Sorry about that. The District is notorious for
attracting bad drivers. I was never sure of why."
She blinked at me. I could see recognition in her eyes, but I also saw
confusion as well. She shook her head slightly and continued to look puzzled.
"Okay, obviously you remember me. That's a good sign. But are still not
talking. I wonder if you suffered brain damage from the accident."
A snort was heard from the doorway. "That's not it," a familar voice stated.
I quickly turned to face the doorway, "Amelia? How did you get back here? I thought
the doctor mandated that only one of us be here at a time."
"He did, but you know me and authority. I ignore it if I think I can do
better."
I looked at my friend who was still lounging in the doorway. "But how did you
get back here? I'm pretty sure that a black woman wandering aimlessly around
the halls would have been stopped by someone."
My friend smiled, "Not when she has this wonderful tool she liberated from a
nearby cart," Amelia said as she pulled the broom out from behind her back.
"Sometimes American stereotypes can actually work in our favor," she
observed as she walked into the room. "But that's not what we were talking
about."
I nodded. "So, what's not it?" I asked, returning us to her original statement.
"Brain damage. It is not the reason our guest here can't speak. She can't speak
because she doesn't understand us."
"And that's not brain damage, why?"
"Because she can't understand us because she doesn't speak or understand English."
"What do you mean she doesn't understand English? Why would she come here if she
didn't speak English?"
"Madre Dios," my other friend said as she walked in the door, "Sálveme de Americanos estúpidos"
I threw Megan a nasty look. Although I didn't know any Spanish, I was pretty sure
I knew what she meant. "What makes my question stupid?"
"Hubris. You assume that the whole world must know your language, especially
when they are in your country. Yet you have been to Rome without knowing Italian,
France without knowing French, and Switzerland without knowing one of their four
national languages! So, she doesn't know English. She made not have had to."
"Okay, okay. Point taken. So, she doesn't speak English. So now what do we do?"
"Well," Amelia said from the chair she was sitting in, "she seemed to be a little less
confused when Megan was speaking. Maybe she knows a romance language. One that isn't
Spanish."
"And that helps us how?"
"Well, I happen to know some French and Italian. I can try those."
"Fire away, Amelia."
So Amelia came to stand next to the bed and spoke. First in French and then in Italian.
She seemed to react to Italian, but our patient still didn't answer.
"Wait, I'm confused. She obviously knew some Italian, but she didn't respond.
Is brain damage still an option then?"
"No," Megan said definitely. "My guess is that Italian was a second language, and a new one at that."
I turn to my friend and said sarcastically, "Oh wise Queen of all things ESL, how do you know that?"
After I finished speaking, Amelia reached over and hit me upside the head.
"Ow!"
"Idiot," she mubbled under her breath.
"I know," Megan replied after sending me a dirty look, "because I've had that look
of concentration when I was first learning English. When you first learn a language,
you translate it into your native language, formulate a response, and translate it back
into your second language. It is only after speaking for a long time that you begin to
think in your second language. If a language is new and you were recently plowed down
by a car, you make recognize the sound of the language but have no idea to respond."
I sighed. "Okay, so Italian is her second language, that she can't speak due to the
injury. So, without knowing her first language, we still can't help!"
"Ah, but we can," Amelia insisted. "You see, because I try to be a practical
person, I know the words for love and bathroom in 40 different languages. I can
go through all 40 and see which ones she responds to."
"Um, Mellie, that's great and all, but how is saying that you love someone in forty
different ways going to show us that she can communicate?"
Amelia nodded. "You're right. Saying love 40 different times won't help. But,"
she continued as she held up the bed pan that had been left in the room, "saying
'bathroom' forty times just might help."
We agreed to try Amelia's idea, and, after Amelia and I had switched places,
she began. Pointing to the bedpan she held in her hand, she said 'bathroom'
in one language. Meggie and I looked at the young woman's face after every
attempt, looking for any reaction besides confusion. Thirty-two languages in
I was about to give up. Then Amelia utter a word that made the injured woman
blink in comprehension. Amelia and Meggie were so tired that they missed the
reaction, and Amelia went on to another language. But I jumped up out of my
seat.
"Parry-" Meggie started to say, but I ignored her.
"Go back, Amelia! That last word you said-" Amelia uttered a word. "No, no!"
I shouted, "The one before that!"
Amelia said the word again, and our injured woman did more than just
blink. Pointing at the bedpan (and looking rather horrified), she repeated
the word.
"See, see Mellie! She understood!"
"Obviously," Mellie said, as she handed the bed pan to the agitated
young woman. "and she doesn't look happy about it either."
By this point, Meggie was on the other side of the bed. She had taken
the young woman's hand and was saying something conforting in Spanish.
While the young woman didn't know the language, the tone and concern seemed
to calm her down. But, I admit, I wasn't paying that much attention to her at
the time. My attention was focused on Amelia.
"What language was that?"
"It was Japanese."
"So, we know she speaks Japanese. So, what do we do now? Go find
a translator?"
"Not quite yet," Amelia said. "I actually know a little Japanese.
Let's see if we can find out some more about her first."
I stared at my friend, "You know Japanese?"
"Of course, I know some Japanese. Remember the fact that I love
anime? Remember how much anime-based fan fiction I read in a given
month?" Amelia stuck her tongue out at me. "I picked up some
Japanese through all of that. I told you my hobby was useful."
"Okay, cosplay geek. Have at it."
Amelia threw me a dirty look. "I am so sorry I ever told you that
Anime North story," she said as she turned to a slightly calmer
injuried woman. After lightly poking her to get her attention, Amelia
say what must have been hello. Then she began the strangest attempt at
communicating that I had seen. Looking the women straight in the eye, she
said, "Allen Amelia," pointing to herself. "Sims Megan," she continued,
pointing to Meggie. "Austin-Franklin Parria." she ended, pointing at me.
Then she pointed at the girl and looked questioningly at her. The girl
remained silent.
"Okay, let's try this again," Amelia muttered in English. Taking a
deep breath, she said, "Mellie-chan," pointing herself. "Meggie-chan,"
she said, point to Meggie. "Parry-baka," she said, pointing to me.
"Hey!" I objected, not really knowing why, but being pretty sure I was
just insulted.
Ignoring me, Amelia then pointed to the girl. Then, she said, the word for
bathroom, pointing to the bowl, her name pointing to herself, and pointed
to the girl.
After a few moments, the girl answered. At the time I didn't know
any languages other than English, so I wasn't sure what she said...but
it sounded more like a sentence than a name.
"What did she say?" Meggie asked
"That didn't sound like a name, Mellie." I pointed out, almost hoping to be
proved wrong.
"It wasn't," she confirmed. "I think she said that she doesn't
know."
"You THINK? Oh, THAT'S helpful."
"Well, she looks agitated enough for that to be right," Meggie
said from her position. "Marde Dios, I think she may have
anmesia!"
"Well, that's just great!" I looked at the female in
the hospital bed, who was growing increaingly more disturbed.
"Amelia, do something! Say something to calm her down!"
"I don't know what I can say! I mean, I know the words and
phrases for love, bathroom, hello, goodbye, and lunch box.
I can hint at the idea that we are friends. I can call her
an idiot. I can say 'what', 'but', and 'wait'. And that's about it."
"Mellie, you said you picked up Japanese from those stupid
fan fics!"
"I SAID that I knew some Japanese from the fan fics I read.
Keep in mind that I'm reading mostly mediocre to crappy fan fics
written by native English speakers, not an intro to Japanese
textbook. I'm sorry if I can't ask complicated questions,
oh madam foreign language instructor!"
"I think now would be a good time to get a translator," Meggie
interrupted.
So, soon after the young lady was awake, we had learned three
important things: she spoke Japanese and had some understanding
of Italian; she didn't speak English; and, she didn't remember
who she was. As the day at the hospital wore on, we also learned
the fourth important thing: no one had reported her missing. As
of that moment, she had nowhere to go. She also didn't really have
a name. I started calling her Isobel, because of what she uttered
after the car hit her. After a few tries, she realized that we
were addressing her when we said it. So, for all intents and
purposes, she was Isobel Ikeda to us. The last name of Ikeda
was Amelia's idea, pulled from some anime character, no doubt. I never
asked.
I'm not sure why I suggested that she be released in my care. And
I am really not sure why anyone agreed with this idea, although
Amelia clearly expressed very loudly how crazy the idea was. But
before I knew what happened, I had a roommate in my appartment who
spoke no English and I spoke no Japanese.
That six months that she spent with me were the most instructive
of my life. She obviously knew her way around a kitchen and
she was a virtual maid, a nice mesh for my love of eating and
making messes. We also worked on learning the other's language.
She was doing much better than I was, however. Four months after
the accident, she was able to form complex sentences in English
and even read some street signs. I, however, could barely
say more than "Hello, my name is Parria. I am pleased to meet
you," in Japanese. Meggie, trying to make me feel better, pointed
out that Isobel was being emersed in the language. Mellie, being
her contrary self, said that it proved that I actually was an
idiot.
There are times when I wish things ended that way. That she just
got her memory back after those four months and then went home. I could
imagine us still being friends. I could imagine the letter-writing that
would happen, and the trip to Japan Mellie, Meggie and I would have
taken to visit. I could imagine being blissfully ignorant.
But my guest, my new friend was mentally running away from something...or
something was mentally chasing her, I wasn't really sure of the best
way to explain what was happening in her head. Regardless, it caught
up with her while she was under my roof. And because of that I received
too much information to stay silent, and that ultimately sealed my fate.
- to be continued -
I know this doesn't seem much like an Sailor Moon story at the
moment, but it will. It's a rather strange idea that I've been
tossing around in my head since I heard Dido's song "Isobel".
Also, I am in desperate need of both an editor and beta. If you
are interested, email me (cemberl@yahoo.com) and let me know.
(If you would like to edit,please send a writing sample or and
example of something you edited. For anyone who would like to
beta, you would need knowledge of SailorMoon through the Stars
season.)
As always, thanks for reading.
~December