Chapter Seven (Michael POV)
It's been ten minutes since Jane cut the ignition and I can't bring myself to open the car door. The house looms to the left of us, a bright Suburban jewel complete with a pristinely manicured lawn and potted palm trees decorating the front porch and yet it feels like my worst nightmare. I barely slept at all last night. The apprehension over the impending introduction to my parents had made it impossible to rest. A late night phone call to Lorena couldn't calm me down. Jane listing all the reasons I shouldn't be nervous didn't calm me down either. It's difficult to relax or even feel a shred of optimism when every scenario I've conjured in head my regarding this first meeting has ended in tears, pain and disappointment.
In essence, I'm an emotional wreck. If it weren't for the fact we had already informed Michael and Patricia Cordero that we were on our way, I might have asked Jane to crank the car back up and get me the hell out of there. But it's too late to retreat now. So I sit here, frozen and terrified, while Jane watches me with curious expectation.
"Are…are you going to get out of the car?"
"I can't," I burst out, shaking my head wildly, "I thought I could but I realize I can't do it! This feels like it's too soon. I'm not ready."
Jane says my name in that tone I'm quickly becoming familiar with, that gentle, disarming tone that reminds me that I'm not alone in this. She will have my back the entire time. I feel myself begin to calm just a little bit. "They're your parents," she reasons, "What do you think is going to happen?"
"They're going to be happy to see me and welcome me with open arms," I hypothesize thickly, "They're going to cry and fawn and tell me how much they love me and how much they've missed me and I'm going to feel…absolutely nothing."
I watch her wince as she digests this latest insight into my inner thoughts and I imagine it's because she's thinking how what I just said might apply to her as well. She confirms my suspicion when she asks, "Is that how you feel when you're with me, Michael?"
"Sometimes I do," I admit with some reluctance because I don't want to hurt her, "You have all these special memories about us but, it feels like you're telling me a story about someone else. But, at the same time, I can't pretend that I don't feel drawn to you. I don't know what it is or why but it's easy to be friends with you. I don't have to think about it and I like that."
The corners of her mouth turn up in a shy smile. "So do I." She reaches over to pat my hand. "You'll have that with your parents too. Just be patient with yourself and be patient with them."
"Sure," I agree without much conviction, "But, in the meantime, can we please talk about something else? Distract me. I just need a minute to pull myself together."
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything. I don't care. Tell me something about you."
She peers at me with a curious smile. "Something like what?"
"Like…what do you like to do? Any hobbies? Do you have any siblings or are you an only child? What's your favorite food? How do you feel about Karaoke? I don't care. You pick."
"Okay, well first of all, I like to write. I'm a writer."
"What do you write?"
"Romance mostly. I'm actually working on a novel right now…or I was."
"Why past tense?"
"I've got severe writer's block at the moment. Life has been a little distracting lately."
"You mean I happened."
"Yes, you happened," she replies with a smile, "I'm not sorry about that, just in case you're wondering."
I feel a strange flutter unfurl in my belly with that admission but I'm quick to chalk it up to my lingering anxiety. "Good to know."
"Okay, so back to your questions," she says when the quiet stretches between us a little too long, "My favorite thing to eat is grilled cheese and don't you dare laugh," she warns when I make an "are you kidding me" face, "Grilled cheese can be a very sophisticated dish."
"If you say so," I laugh.
She growls at me. "Do you want me to answer the questions or not, Cordero?"
"Okay. I'm sorry," I reply, adopting the most studious expression I can muster, "Please continue."
"As I was saying, I like grilled cheese. I love Karaoke and, until two years ago, I was an only child. Now I have a baby sister. She's almost a year old."
"Really? So what is that, like a twenty year age difference between you or something?"9
"Almost 30," Jane clarifies wryly, "Thanks for pointing that out and making me feel like an old lady."
My attempt at pouting contrition fails miserably and becomes laughter instead. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Whatever," she scoffs, but it's clear that she's trying to keep from smiling, "The point is, I'm happy for my dad. He missed being in my life when I was growing up so I'm glad he has a do-over with my sister. He deserves that."
"Is there a reason he wasn't in your life?"
"He didn't find out he was my father until I was 23 years old," Jane tells me, but despite her light tone I sense the subject still causes her pain, "But that's another story for another day. Today, we're focusing on your parental woes."
"Oh no, no parental woes at all," I say, "You're supposed to be distracting me. Remember? Tell me more about your little sister."
"Well, there's not much to tell. She's hitting all of her milestones. She's stinking adorable and…" she concludes as she shifts around to regard me with a dazzling smile, "…my father actually named her after you. Baby Michaelina."
The news takes me by surprise and, at first, I'm not certain how I should react. I don't know what I feel or even if I feel anything at all. In the end, I am more curious about the choice than honored so I ask, "Why would he do that?"
"My father adored you, Michael. Still adores you. You two had a very strong friendship."
I wait for some memory of what she's telling me to resurface, some recollection of this great friendship I apparently shared with her father, of the closeness that would prompt a man to name his child after me but I've got nothing. It's just as I told her before…she's telling me a story about someone else. "I wish I could remember that."
"I know you do," she murmurs.
I'm ill equipped to tackle the sorrow and disappointment that comes following this newest bit of information about myself so I do what I usually do when I'm uncomfortable or sad or stressed. I take refuge in humor. "Michaelina?" I utter aloud with a grimace, "He named her Michaelina? And her first name is Baby? That poor kid. She won't win either way. And what was wrong Michelle or Michaela? Were they not available? Michaelina isn't hideous but…Baby Michaelina going to be one hell of a legacy to carry."
Jane sits in stunned silence after that and, for a second, I'm afraid I've offended her and then she suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh my God!" she chortles, "I thought the same thing! Don't get me wrong. It was so sweet that he named her for you but…my God! I shudder to think what he would have named me if he'd had the chance!" We giggle together as we consider the various disasters she could have suffered.
"I'm 90% sure he would have named me Rogelia!" Jane chuckles.
"You don't look much like a Rogelia," I observe wryly, "Now Rogelina on the other hand…"
She snorts her disagreement. "Nice try but you're not thinking big enough. My dad prides himself on creativity. He would have come up with something truly God awful like…Carmeliana Opralia Venturithah, because he obsessed with Ace Ventura Pet Detective for some reason, De la Vega. I would have been screwed."
"Wow. That one is truly terrible but I think his love for Ace Ventura should be respected." She opens her mouth to make what I assume is going to be a laughing retort when my cell phone suddenly chimes a text notification. I glance down at my phone screen and read the quick message from Lorena. U ok? Rather than texting her back, I decide to call instead after asking Jane to give me a quick minute to do so. Lorena picks up on the first ring. I can't help but smile when I hear her voice. "Hey."
"Hey. Are you there yet?"
"We arrived a few minutes ago," I tell her, "I can't bring myself to get out of the car though."
"I don't know why you're freaking out. They are going to love you."
"That's actually why I'm freaking out. What if I don't love them back?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. You won't," and her succinct determination of the situation provokes my short, stunned laugh, "You're not going to love them, Michael, because you don't know them. But that will change with time."
"I guess…"
"Think about how you and I began," she reminds me, "You were so mistrustful of everyone and everything that it was hard to get close to you. It was like befriending a stray dog."
"Gee, thanks a lot for that comparison."
"The point I'm trying to make is, we didn't start off so great," she presses on, "but I think the journey has been pretty epic. It can be like that with your parents too. Don't give up before you even try."
I clutch the phone tighter to my ear, tears suddenly burning in my eyes. "I really wish you were here with me right now, Lorie. I miss you."
"I miss you too." Her words sound gargled in my ears and I suspect she's crying as well. "Call me when you get back to your room. We'll Facetime."
"Sounds like a plan. Talk to you soon."
It's only after I hang up that I realize that Jane has been following my entire conversation. She doesn't make it too obvious that she's been eavesdropping but there's something forced about the smile on her face. I decide to address it rather than let it fester between us. If Jane and I are going to have a true friendship then I want it to be one that is built on honesty.
"Did that make you uncomfortable just now?"
She immediately shakes her head but when she speaks she contradicts the gesture entirely. "No. Yes. I mean I don't know."
"Which is it?" I ask her slowly.
"I guess it's strange to listen to you use that tone, you know that gentle way you have of talking when you love someone or…you're in love with someone. That used to be reserved for me alone and now it's not," she mumbles before plastering on an over-bright smile, "It makes me a little sad."
"But you're getting married."
"I'm not saying it makes sense," she acknowledges, "My feelings for you are complicated and it's hard to deal with so many changes coming so fast but I'm working on it and I'm truly happy for you. I'm glad you have someone, Michael. One of the hardest parts of this whole ordeal was thinking you've been alone this whole time."
"I haven't. I have friends and I have a support system so if the reason you asked me to stay is because you think I have no place to go or-,"
"—I asked you to stay because I want you to stay." I'm still trying to find a response to that firm declaration as well as figure out how I feel about it when she surprises me yet again by asking, "So…how did you and Lorena meet?"
"She literally saved my life." When she looks puzzled, I clarify, "Lorena and her brother Marcel are the people who found me. She's a trauma nurse. She performed CPR until the paramedics arrived."
"Oh my God, Michael…"
"I owe her everything," I whisper, "because I wouldn't be here without her."
"No wonder you have such strong feelings for her. That's good. It's good you have that."
"You really mean that?"
She responds my question with a vague shrug but her glossy eyes bely her indifferent response. "It's been five years. A lot has changed and maybe it's impossible to go back," she considers, "We're not the same people we were but that's okay because I'm so glad to have you here right now, Michael. That's what matters to me the most. I just want us to be friends again."
I reach over to brush away the errant tear that has fallen on her cheek. "We're getting there, I think."
Jane favors me with a teary smile. "Yeah?"
I smile back at her. "Yeah." I start to say more but, just as I start, I hear at tap on the window. I lurch around in my seat, startled to find two worried, anxious faces peering back at me. "Who the hell are these loonies?"
"Michael, those are your parents," Jane hisses.
"Really?"
Armed with that information, I glance back at them and study their features more closely. It's easy to do because they are both looking at me with laser focus. Beyond the paleness of their skin (because I'm sure seeing their dead son alive is still a shock even if they were expecting it), they appear to be a normal, basic, middle aged couple with lined faces and threads of gray hair. I can also see that there are some features of theirs that are reminiscent of my own. I have Patricia Cordero's blue eyes and Michael Cordero's nose and brow line. But, other than that, I could have passed them on the street and not missed single step. I don't register an ounce of recognition. And though I expected it, the realization is disheartening nonetheless.
Steeling myself for the oncoming assault of emotions, I roll down the window. "Hey."
"Hey," they reply in unison before Michael Cordero, takes control of the conversation after an unspoken agreement with his ex-wife. "We saw your car from the living room window," he explains, "You've been sitting here a while. When you didn't come out we started to get concerned."
"Yeah. I guess I'm a little nervous."
"Do you know who we are?" he asks me in a deliberate tone filled with hope.
"I know your name is Michael Cordero and that is your ex-wife Patricia but…I don't remember you."
Patricia Cordero stifles an anguished whimper with my admission but Michael Cordero accepts it with a stoic nod. He steps back from the car and nudges Patricia so that she follows his lead before making a beckoning gesture for me to exit the car. "Come on outta there, Mikey, and let us get a look at you."
Jane and I exchange a fretful glance before I take a deep, shuddering breath and finally climb from the car. I am vaguely aware of Jane exiting the vehicle as well. I don't turn to verify that fact, however, because I am too acutely aware of Michael and Patricia Cordero's proximity. The sight of me standing before them in broad daylight, alive, whole and healthy, causes Patricia Cordero to break down into noisy sobs. I feel very uncomfortable and I guess it shows because Michael Cordero starts nudging Patricia Cordero with his elbow.
"Pat," he admonishes her sharply from between clenched teeth, "We discussed this! Get a hold of yourself! You're scaring him!"
"I'm sorry," she sobs, "I'm so, so s-sorry…"
"Don't apologize. I'm the one who's sorry," I mumble, "I…I didn't mean to upset you."
"Y-You d-didn't upset m-me," she weeps hysterically, "I-I just th-thought I'd n-never s-see you again!"
Michael Cordero Sr. is much better at holding back his tears but it's obvious that he's on the verge breaking down himself. "Can we…?" He stops to clear his throat several times and collect himself before he begins again. "Do you think we could hug you, please?"
I saw the request coming but that still didn't make me any better prepared to receive it. Because I can't very well say no to them, especially when they are sobbing right in front of me, I jerk nod of consent even though it's the last thing I want right then. They converge on me in an emotional embrace, locking me in from either side and squeezing me tight. I crane an anxious glance over Patricia Cordero's head at Jane, silently begging for her assistance when it seems they have no intention of letting me go anytime soon. Jane, however, proves to be useless. She shrugs helplessly in response, giving me no choice but to endure it until it's over. When they step back at last, I try to temper my relieved sigh.
"You look really good," Mr. Cordero tells me, "You're too thin and you could use a haircut and a shave but really good."
As I'm rooting around in my head for an appropriate response to that, Mrs. Cordero says, "Why don't you and Jane come into the house? We can catch up more in there."
Upon stepping inside, I take in my surroundings with a dissecting eye, waiting, hoping for some flicker of recollection. But nothing comes. I see little more than the generic floorplan of a generic ranch style home adorned in varying shades of green and blue. It's pretty and well decorated but, to my everlasting disappointment, it doesn't feel like home.
"Does anything look familiar to you at all?" Mrs. Cordero asks from behind me.
"No. I'm sorry but, it doesn't," I reply sadly, "You have a lovely home though." Jane and I take our cue to sit down together and then Michael and Patricia Cordero immediately situate themselves on the sofa across from us. It's difficult not to squirm under their intense scrutiny. They stare at me as if they are memorizing every detail of my face. It's excruciating.
"So…you're my parents," I open lamely, "It's good to finally meet you."
"You're sure you don't remember anything about us?" Patricia Cordero pushes, "Not even a little?"
"No. Nothing."
She and Mr. Cordero dart furtive glances over at Jane. "But you and Jane are here together and you seem well…comfortable with another," she argues, "We thought that maybe…"
"No," I interrupt gently before she can finish the thought, "I don't remember her either. We've been thrown together in this crazy situation and we're trying to make the best of it."
Mr. Cordero scowls, seemingly turning my reply over in his mind before he asks, "Does that mean you two are trying to date or something? Is…is that what's going on here?"
"No!" both Jane and I exclaim simultaneously. We look at each other briefly in an tacit exchange before I forge ahead to clarify, "Jane and I are becoming friends. That's it. She came with me today to offer emotional support."
Patricia Cordero deflates then, as if her last remnants of hope have died out. "And you needed her support because we're strangers to you," she concludes sadly.
"Well yeah, but…that doesn't have to be a bad thing," I rush to reassure her, recalling the encouragement Lorena had given me earlier, "Jane and I started off as strangers too and it's getting better." I pause to smile at her tenderly and she smiles back. "It's going really well actually," I murmur before giving my full attention back to Patricia, "and I hope, eventually, it can be the same way with us."
She dabs at the tears welling in her eyes but otherwise maintains her composure. "Me too."
"So…" Mr. Cordero drawls after a heavy stretch of silence, "…where have you been all this time?"
"I've been living in Houston, Texas for the last six months. I can't tell you where I was before that because the first thing I remember is waking up in a hospital there."
"Why were you in the hospital?" Patricia Cordero asks.
"Malnutrition, hypothermia and shock. I was in the ICU for 16 days and then after I stabilized I was moved to a regular floor and then discharged 10 days after that." I can feel Jane tense beside me. Although she knows the story of my hospitalization this is the first time she's hearing the actual details.
I'm mentally preparing myself for her cross examination but the next question actually comes from Michael Cordero. "You spent nearly a month in the hospital? You must have been very sick."
"Yep."
"Where did you go after you were discharged? You couldn't have known who you were or where to go or anything," he theorizes.
"I didn't. I moved all around. I stayed in a couple of homeless shelters for a few weeks. Committed some petty crimes to get by…you know, survival stuff. I did what I had to do."
I've barely finished the statement before I feel Jane nudge me in the side with her elbow. "You didn't tell me that you were homeless," she whispers.
"Not for long," I reply, "Eventually, I crossed paths with Lorena again and she took me in."
Mrs. Cordero blinks at me in a double-take. "Who is Lorena?"
"She's the best friend I have in the world. She took care of me when I was hospitalized and after I got out." Almost in unison, Michael and Patricia slide a dubious glance over at Jane but she seems so strangely engrossed with studying the carpet fibers beneath her feet that she misses their curious looks. "Lorena saved my life," I tell them, "and she gave me a place to go when I didn't have one. She helped me find a job. She helped me form some kind of identity and she's the one who encouraged me to find you."
I am actually shocked speechless when Patricia Cordero says, "I'd like to meet her someday."
"You would?"
"Yes. To thank her," she whispers tearfully, "for saving your life, for giving you back to us."
However, while Patricia Cordero seems more focused on the emotional side of this reunion, her ex-husband proves to be the more practical of the two. "Wait a minute," he utters as if the details of my story finally settles on him all at once, "You're saying that you only remember the last six months?"
"That's right."
"What about the rest of it? You don't have any idea how you ended up 'dead' in the first place or where you've been all this time?"
"No, I don't. The only thing I can tell you is that wherever I was before probably wasn't a great place."
I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt and roll up the sleeves so that they can have a good look at the faded scars and roughened skin that rings both my wrists. A collective gasp of pure horror sounds through the living room, not just from the Corderos but from Jane as well. After I'm satisfied that they've seen enough, I tug my sleeves back into place.
"I also have the same scars around my ankles," I explain, "The doctors told me that it was likely because I had been shackled for some time and the metal rubbed my skin raw."
Both Jane and Patricia Cordero whimper with my description but Michael Cordero takes the news quietly, though his features are grim with varied emotions. "The doctors also found old rib fractures and bruises when they examined me…" I continue in explanation, "…injuries that they said are consistent with physical abuse."
"Oh my God…oh my God…," Patricia gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as if she feared she might suddenly become ill.
"It's okay," I reassure her, "It's not like I remember any of it. But it's enough for me to know that, wherever I was before I lost my memory, I definitely wasn't having a good time."
"Who would want to do such a thing to you?" Patricia laments, "This whole time we thought you were dead and you were being tortured…chained and beaten like an animal…" She surges to her feet abruptly. "I'm sorry, I need a minute to myself," she says before scrambling from the room. A few minutes later we can all here the distinct sounds of vomiting coming from the back of the house.
I look over at Mr. Cordero helplessly. "I didn't mean to upset her. I was trying to answer your questions."
"It's okay, Mike," he says, "It's just…if we had known you were alive, if we'd even had even a clue, there would have been nothing on this earth that could have stopped me and your mother from finding you."
"I know that. I don't blame you." I bounce a glance between him and Jane. "I don't blame any of you for what happened."
"We have to help you remember," Mr. Cordero says, "We have to figure out who did this to you and see that they are prosecuted."
"That's what I'm trying to do."
"Have you seen a professional yet?" All eyes swing around to regard Patricia Cordero as she returned to the living room. She looks ashen and unsteady on her feet but her face is set with determination as well. I suspect that this woman will fight to the death for me if it comes to that and, for the first time since I arrived, I relax a little. "When was the last time you spoke to a doctor about your condition, Michael?" she asks me.
"It's a waste of time. I was told that the amnesia isn't due to any physical injury…that likely it's an emotional manifestation of what I went through. It's like my mind's way of protecting me."
"Then you need to see a therapist," Jane suggests quietly, speaking for the first time since I began recounting my ordeal, "My grandmother suggested the same thing to me yesterday. You're obviously not having any success on your own so maybe it's time to try something new."
I'm already shaking my head in refusal the instant she says the word 'therapist.' "I don't need a shrink," I tell her, "And besides, I don't have the money for that."
"We do," Mr. Cordero interjects eagerly, "We'll pay for your sessions…whatever you need. We'll help you however we can."
"I can't take money from you."
"Of course you can," Mrs. Cordero insists, "You're our son and we love you whether you can remember that or not. We weren't able to help you these last five years while you were going through hell and I will never stop blaming myself for that. But I will be damned if we don't help you now. So, please…please, Michael, let us help you."
