Chapter 2
Jamie and Tom stopped their cars and cautiously approached the ghoulish figure. Right about that time, it collapsed into a bloody, scruffy mess and Jamie called 911. The ambulance came and loaded their quarry. Jamie followed the ambulance to the hospital, partly out of concern and partly (he admitted this himself) out of curiosity. Tom left for home, confident that whatever was going on would be handled just fine by the doctors and the police.
Jamie waited in that hospital for quite some time until things had stabilized and he was able to find out what was going on. The mess he found and saved was me, Jude Harrison (a.k.a. Hope Andrews ) - and I was barley alive.
Jamie came back to the hospital a few weeks later when I was somewhat ready for visitors. I don't remember a thing about those weeks between being found and Jamie's' visit, but I remember meeting Jamie. I was so tired and so sore, and so sick of scrubs and needles and tolerantly polite hospital staff. I was tired of explaining to cops and psychiatrists that I didn't know, I didn't remember.
It was such a joy to see a new face.
I couldn't tell who was more nervous when Jamie first entered my room. I know I looked a sight, all bandaged and fragile. He sat down beside my bed and said, "Hi, you look like you are doing better." in this really soft and friendly way. It sounded like he was genuinely concerned. I wanted to like him right away but I was suspicious – who the hell was he?
Jamie must have been able to see the confusion on my face so he started to explain who he was and that he was the one who found me. The hospital staff had explained my injuries (I had been beaten very badly and had suffered some internal injuries as well as the surface bruises, cuts and scratches) to Jamie before he came in my room. By the time Jamie was able to visit me I was on the mend, but still so broken. Mentally and physically.
Oh yeah, I also couldn't remember a damn thing.
Jamie left after a short visit, promising to come back soon. He had told me the story of our first meeting (that was how he put it) and how concerned he was about me. I don't know why or how, but by the time Jamie left that day I trusted him. Maybe it was how gentle he was with my feelings and uncertainty, maybe it was the emo hair and kind eyes, maybe I just really needed something to hold on to.
Maybe I just really needed a friend.
Jamie proved to be a true friend over the ensuing months. He came to visit regularly and brought all kinds of goodies to entertain me. Since neither of us knew what I liked he arrived with a wide variety of books, magazines, CDs and candy. Some of his contributions were, well, interesting. I know I couldn't really tell him what I was in to and we didn't know anything more then my approximate age - but what person over the age of 10 likes bratz?!?! To be fair, he really tried and was a candy god. I got more then my fair share of sugar fixes and after all that hospital food, even a box of nerds is like a gourmet treat!
When Jamie gets something right, he really gets it right. On his third or fourth visit, Jamie brought me a portable CD player and a bunch of CDs. I was in heaven! Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, Annie Lennox, Arcade Fire, the list goes on. It was wonderful to loose myself in the music after painful physical therapy and appointments with the psychiatrist.
While my body was mending itself slowly but surely, my mind was still a mess. After exhaustive tests and sessions, my psychiatrist (a lovely, kind man named Johannes Vogel) diagnosed me with Dissociative Fugue. Yeah, I had the same reaction the first time I heard that: "What the…?!?!?"
Dissociative Fugue is caused by psychological trauma and is usually temporary (yay!). Dr. Vogel told me it is basically, " …a type of amnesia in which the inability to recall some or all of one's past and either the loss of one's identity or the formation of a new identity occur with sudden, unexpected, purposeful travel away from home."
In other words, the fact that I could remember how to brush my hair and eat, what the capital of Turkey is (Ankara) and how to program a VCR but didn't know my name, my age or my nationality could be due to something psychological and not my injuries. Great. I am a forgetful psycho!
