She opened her parent’s wedding album. The first picture was a large color print of the two of them, happy, kissing. She puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She quickly closed it and moved it aside. There were some loose pictures at the bottom. She gathered them up and flipped through one by one. Most were of her mother when she was younger. Her hair much longer than it is now. There was one of her grandfather. He looked angry in the photo, his eyes going in different directions.
Then she found a small black phone book at the bottom of the box. She recognized the binding — this was the book her mother was holding. There was a picture inside. It was faded, but she could clearly make out her mother with her arm around the girl from the paper. Carmen. It was all true. Why did she lie to me? The betrayal made Rebecca feel very alone.
She recalled the doctor asking her a question after the third or fourth session:
“Rebecca, tell me, who is Carmen?”
He said she had told him her name was Carmen while she was under. She had no idea who he was talking about, she had no memory of that name or who it belonged to. Certainly no memory of ever saying it.
After their last session, she came out of it to find the doctor was sweating and very nervous. When she got up from his comfortable couch, she noticed the small green lamp that normally sat on the table beside her was on the floor, smashed. That was the last time she ever sat alone with the doctor.
The following visit, the doctor brought her and her mother in his office, all serious like. He asked her mother if she knew who Carmen was. Her mom got all fidgety, turned to her like she’d said a curse word or something. Her mother said to wait for her outside with the secretary. A few minutes later she came out all upset, grabbed her arm and said they were never coming back. She wouldn’t even let her go back to pick up her sketchbook.
She had waited two days, until her mother stopped muttering to herself, to ask her who the doctor was talking about. Who was Carmen? She sensed her mother was keeping something from her. She’d always sensed it. Then the report on the news. Why would she lie? Was she scared of her nightmares being real?
She flipped through the book to C, but found no entry. She flipped to the M’s and there it was, the name Carmen Muniz circled with a heart. She placed the book on her lap and repacked the box, closing it. She clutched the book and returned to the kitchen. She sat on a tall stool with a round red cushion and picked up the phone.
The drone of the dial tone made her shiver nervously. She swallowed, listening a moment to make sure her mom wasn’t up and about. She dialed the first few digits, her small fingers trembling. The terror was making her head ache, but her curiosity was so intense she decided facing the inevitable was her only choice. The pain and fear would be there anyway.
She finished dialing, hesitating before inputting the last number. She pressed it, sending the signal whisking along its way, then held the phone with both hands — waiting.
She looked over her shoulders several times, making sure the coast was clear. She checked the clock over the sink. 12:30 A.M. She hadn’t slept a normal schedule in so long, it never occurred to her that whoever answered on the other end might not be too pleased to be getting a call this late, regardless of who was on the line.
It rang once, twice, three times… four times. Rebecca went to hang up when she heard a click.
“Hola?” a voice said. It was Francisco. Rebecca sat silently, her mouth open, but no words. “Hola? Hello?” he said again.
“¿Quién es, Francisco?” Hester’s voice said in the background, nervously. The sound bounced around in Rebecca’s ears — she recognized it. She opened her mouth wider, but again nothing came out. Rebecca could hear the phone change hands.
“Hello?” Hester said, clearing her throat, still groggy. Rebecca pulled the phone away from her ear in terror, but curiosity pushed it right back, fastening it to her head. “Hello, who is this? Nada, no one.”
“…Hello,” Rebecca said, breaking her silence.
“Who is this? Why are you calling me like this? Habla!”
“…Momma?” Rebecca whispered into the phone. Hester went silent.
“Rebecca?” Laura’s voice spun Rebecca around, she immediately hung up like a young child caught looking at dirty pictures, slamming the pages closed. But she missed the base. Laura stood at the entrance to the kitchen in the darkness, bleary eyed, her robe open.
Laura approached and grabbed the receiver from her hand. “Who are you talking to?”
Laura lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello? Who is this?” Laura could hear sobbing, and then a click. “Hello? Hello?” Laura hung it up. Rebecca looked away, unable to make eye contact.
“Who was that?” Laura turned Rebecca around, lifting her chin. “Rebecca, who was that? Who were you calling this late?”
Rebecca just stared. Laura saw her old phone book and the photograph sitting on the counter. She grabbed Rebecca’s shoulders. “Rebecca, who was that on the phone? Who were you calling? Answer me!” Rebecca jerked away and took a few unbalanced steps backwards, confused, frightened. Her mother knew exactly who she was calling.
Rebecca’s eyes went dark, cold. Immediately fear gripped Laura tightly, not wanting to endure another episode like the one by the river. She backed off, softening her tone.
“Sweetie, talk to me.”
“I have to go,” Rebecca said. Laura reached for her, but she pulled away, taking a few more steps, but not really going anywhere.
“Baby, what are you talking about?”
“They must be so worried,” Rebecca whispered. Laura crept towards Rebecca slowly, the way someone tries to approach an animal without spooking it. “Who? Who’s worried, sweetie?” Rebecca just stood there, an epiphany was washing over her, pieces of a puzzle locking into place.
She turned away from Laura and grabbed her head, a tremendous pain suddenly swelled inside. It was the realization of truth, the anguish of being lost, of death, and then of being found, reconnection, longing and fulfillment — all of these emotions swirling inside her, slamming her fragile mind. Emotions without the clarity or perspective of where they emanated from. Emotions without the memories attached, just loose ends that felt real, that needed tying.
And the solution — the answers, lie out there. It couldn’t be solved with a mother-daughter talk, not anymore, now that the bond of trust had been broken. A good night’s sleep wouldn’t solve the riddle, neither would ignoring the feelings, hoping they would go away. They were here to stay, at least until an explanation that included some type of closure could put them to rest.
A light was turned on, Rebecca had stepped forth from the shadows of doubt and uncertainty — into reality. And that was the only prescription she needed. A large dose of reality.
Laura watched in agonizing horror as Rebecca imploded before her eyes. It wasn’t loud, or physical, it was an awakening. Powered by a force stronger than her, welling up and taking over. Her mind was downloading and processing information previously inaccessible, repressed and submerged, now bubbling to the surface. Rebecca was seeing the world for the first time as it actually was. And her place in it.
Laura wept at the sight, terrified for her, of the consequences. She cried, teeth bared, a contorted grimace of sorrow, helpless. “Becca, please…”
“Get away from me!” Rebecca cried out as she sidestepped Laura’s attempt at embrace. It no longer offered comfort, only confinement. Rebecca’s evasion provoked Laura and, in her exhausted state, sent her into a rage.
“Don’t talk to me like that, I’m your mother! Now who the hell were you calling in the middle of the night?”