Read Anamnesis: A Novel Online
Authors: Eloise J. Knapp
Anamnesis: A Novel (13 page)
“That’s lovely. You can come over whenever
you like. We’re retired so not much to do but haunt the house.” She laughed.
“Can you take down our address?”
I didn’t have a pen, but told her to go
ahead. They lived in Mt. Vernon. I had no clue where it was, but told her I’d
be there tomorrow sometime in the afternoon. She gave me a pleasant goodbye and
hung up.
The self-help books would be proud of this.
They had to give me a little credit. I was actively looking for answers,
seeking my true self. Yeah, I was doing it in a less than impeccable way.
Something was better than nothing.
The library was still open. I returned and
waited for a computer again, then found directions to Mt. Vernon. It was a two
hour bus ride north. I wrote the directions down too, taking some level of
pride in my collection of notes, and headed to the overpass. Tomorrow would be
an all-day affair.
I thought of Olivia’s Immaculate Car and
how the trip would probably be cut in half if we drove together. Then I
remembered she thought I was a lazy fuck-up. That, not for the first time in my
life, I’d made a bad fucking decision.
With the drugs weighing heavily in my
pocket, I walked up the hills to the overpass to help other people keep making
their bad fucking decisions.
The first hour of the journey was on I-5,
a bland stretch of freeway that passed dozens of cities. There were two other
people on the bus the entire time I was there, which killed my chance of people
watching. One was an Asian kid glued to a tablet, the other an old bearded man
who was passed out drunk or dead.
Traffic was in reverse, delivering all the
worker bees to city centers for the day. When I finally arrived at the Everett
transit station, I waited a half hour before my next bus came. No city I’d ever
been to was like Seattle, where all you had to do was turn your head an inch to
spot a crazy squatter, a punk, or some other character.
Everett was quiet and dull. It was close
to the water and I heard seagulls cawing overhead. It made me turn inward to my
thoughts which was never a good thing. Six cigarettes later, by the time the
second bus arrived, I was grateful just to move ten feet onto the bus.
At least the second leg had some scenery.
I didn’t leave Seattle often. There was no reason. Now I was reminded of the
beauty Washington had to offer. As I left the gray, flat city the scenery
turned to lush forest and grasslands. I let my forehead rest against the
window, rubbing the humidity off it every so often, and watched it pass by.
This area was definitely the kind of place someone would retire to. Remote,
pretty. Quiet.
The bus dropped me off in the center of
Mt. Vernon. I walked twenty minutes to the Cole’s house. During that time I
fussed over the shoes I chose, my teeth, my smoke laden clothing. What if they
realized I was a fake? I chose my cleanest pair of dark jeans, a plain gray
shirt, and brown leather jacket Donovan gave me that had always been slightly
too small. I looked presentable. Like everyone else. Sort of normal was the
best I could do.
They lived in a small one story house in a
retirement community. Despite it being winter, their lawn was perfectly kept. A
flashy blue picket fence enclosed their yard, with a hand painted sign
proclaiming ‘Welcome’ hanging off the gate. Red and white Christmas lights were
woven into the fence. Dozens of little Dutch girl statues lined the walkway to
the door. I looked for signs of a dog and saw none. I unlatched the gate and
entered.
During the bus ride, I’d worked out more
details of my back story. I was confident I could make this work.
A much older version of the woman I saw on
the video opened the door before I even rang the bell. Lenora Cole was willowy
and soft, her white hair back in a low bun at her neck. She wore a button up
dress, tights, and slippers, like she’d teleported from the late 1950s to here.
Her eyes, a clear but watery blue with droopy eyelids, met mine and she smiled.
One of those fragmented memories I had
from my childhood came up. It was my own grandmother on her deathbed. Some
incurable disease was eating away at her. I don’t know if anyone told me what
it was. I’d been ten, maybe eleven. I was angry that my parents brought me to
see her. That would be how I saw her from then on in my mind; an ashen face,
muscles and skin sitting too close to her bones. Now, almost two decades later,
it was the only memory I had of her.
“Donovan, it’s so great to meet you.
Please come in.” She stepped aside and invited me into her home.
I took a deep breath and smiled back
before entering, letting the thought of my grandma drift away. I tried to
remember how Olivia acted when we first encountered Brian. I wished I’d paid
more attention. “Thanks so much. What a lovely home you have.”
“Oh, we do our best. I get my retirement
and Richard has his pension.” Lenora moved by me gracefully. She stopped a few
feet away and looked pointedly at my shoes. “Shoes off please.”
Feeling embarrassed though I couldn’t
pinpoint why, I slid out of my shoes and set them by the rest next to the
doormat. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. I like to keep the house very
neat. Now, would you like something to drink?”
A whiskey would be nice
. I had to stop
myself from saying it out loud. She didn’t give me any options so I agreed. Lenora
led me into a living room where I expected to see sofas covered in plastic, but
was startled to find a hospital bed with a frail man lying in it. He was hooked
up to wires and tubes. Machines emitted beeps and whirring noises. There were
two sitting chairs across from him. In the corner of the room by a window was a
sparse fake Christmas tree.
So much for setting aside traumatic childhood
memories.
“This is Richard,” she said as she guided
me to one of the chairs. “He suffered one too many strokes
and requires
full time care now. I hate the thought of putting him in a home, so I take care
of him.”
Her voice dropped at the end of her
sentence. I saw right through her in that moment. The tiredness, the OCD house.
She had to take control where she could. A house doesn’t fight back. It can be
exactly what you want it to be. I did the same with my own body; I could put
whatever substance I wanted in it. It was my choice.
“I’m sorry. It’s good of you to take care
of him.” It was all I could think to say. Lenora smoothed her hair back and
walked away. I wondered if she got many visitors.
Being in Richard’s presence made me feel
uneasy. His eyes were closed and, based on the giant tube going down his
throat, the movement in his chest was involuntary. Not quite alive, but not
quite dead. It was cruel to keep him around. Selfish. I wondered how Lenora justified
it. Did she think he’d come around?
Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he woke up
sometimes and was lucid. I didn’t know. I leaned back in the chair, looking
anywhere but at him. There were dozens of photos on the wall. Many were of Lenora
and Richard in their youth. Both were attractive and lively. The rest were of
Andrew. Him playing guitar or piano, dressed up going to prom with a pretty
girl. Laughing beside his father on Halloween. I wanted to see the pictures and
suddenly remember him. Anything to fill in the blank space.
“I hope you don’t mind coffee. I know a
lot of young folks drink tea these days, but nothing is better than a nice cup
of java.” Lenora came into the living room baring a giant metal tray with a
fancy coffee press and two mugs. There were sugar cubes, a pitcher of cream,
and delicate crumbly cookies that resembled pressed sand. She set it on the
coffee table between our two chairs. “The cookies are spritzers. Been in my
family for generations. Does your mother bake?”
I cleared my throat and got into Donovan
Holloway mode. “Yes, she is a great baker.”
“Wonderful. Cream or sugar?”
“None, thank you. I like it plain.”
Her smile twitched when my hands came up
to retrieve the cup she’d poured. “What happened there?”
I looked down at my own hands and saw the
string-like scars. Scars I hadn’t made up a story for. “Oh, well, it was a
childhood accident. I was so young I barely remember.”
“Terrible. Kids think they are invincible,
don’t they. Do you have any?” She sipped her overly sugared coffee. Her gaze
eventually moved to Richard, then back to me. “I see you don’t have a wedding
ring though.”
Would the personal Q&A ever end? Is
this what normal people did when they first met? I wasn’t sure. Almost all of
my conversations consisted of asking what a person wanted, giving them a price,
and telling them to come back soon. I took a long drink of coffee to reorient
myself. “No wife or children yet. I’m thinking about proposing to my girlfriend
soon. I have a good feeling she’ll say yes.”
That hit her. Her face lit up again.
“That’s lovely! So wonderful. I wish Andrew had the chance to meet a lovely
young woman and get married. I would’ve loved to have grandchildren. But I only
ever had him.”
“I’m so sorry about your loss.” I jumped
at the chance to shift the conversation. “Andrew was such a great person. He
loved music so much.”
“Yes, he was talented. He wanted to go to
Juilliard as you might know, but his father always put so much pressure on him
to go to the University of Washington. That’s where both of us went way back
when. Sometimes we worry that’s why he took his own life, because he felt like
he wasn’t living his dream.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, searching for
something to say to make her feel at ease. “Some people just have thoughts that
weigh them down so much, they feel like ending their life is the only solution
to take that weight away. It has nothing to do with us.”
Straight from the self-help books. At
least they were good for something.
“I suppose so.” She was quiet for a
moment. “Anyway, let me tell you some things about Andrew’s childhood. That
might be nice to have in your memorial.”
I’d come prepared, having purchased the
little notebook from the dollar store I kept telling myself I wanted. I
retrieved it from my pocket and set it on my knee to write. Lenora told me
sprawling tales of Andrew as a baby, when he first started playing music, his
first girlfriend. Eventually her stories came to when he moved to Ballard,
where she stopped.
“Do those stories sound good? I hope
they’ll be useful for your memorial.”
“They’re great,” I assured her. “I think
everyone will appreciate them. I know it’s difficult, but would you mind
telling me about Andrew’s time in Ballard and school? I just feel like it might
give everyone closure to know the whole story. We were never told much beyond how
he died and haven’t been able to find his roommate.”
I was nearing dangerous territory. What I
wanted to know might be things Donovan Holloway
should
know as Andrew’s
friend. I worried at any moment Lenora would realize I wasn’t who I said I was
and kick me out or call the police. I relied on her desire to talk about her
feelings and worries rather than think too deeply about me.
“The whole thing did happen fast, didn’t
it? Well, Andrew moved to that Ballard apartment just before fall quarter
started. The university had no room in housing. Andrew planned on finding a
roommate because even that apartment was too expensive for one student. About a
month later Ethan moved in.”
A wave of dizziness swept over me. My
chest tightened up and my heart raced at the sound of my own name. According to
the credit check William Grigg lived in the apartment and that’s what I
expected to hear. Who gave me the name Ethan Knight and why? When? Why did I
believe that was who I was?
“Was his last name Knight? Ethan Knight?”
“Knight?” Lenora pursed her lips in
thought. “I don’t remember. I don’t think I ever heard his last name.”
“Did you ever meet him?” I regretted the
questioned right away. If she had met me, maybe she’d remember now.
“No. Richard did once when he drove down
to drop off some of Andrew’s things. He said Ethan was unusual and might do
drugs, but Andrew got along very well with him. Andrew told me Ethan never
missed his half of the rent. Did you know Ethan at all?”
I fidgeted in my seat. “I never met him. I
only knew Andrew from class and when we went out, but never went to his place.
Do you know where Ethan worked, or if he went to school? I’d like to try and
find him in case he wants to speak at the memorial.”
Lenora poured herself another cup of
coffee and topped off mine.
“I don’t think he worked. Andrew said he
had trust fund money that paid for his rent. I know he didn’t go to school. I’m
sorry, Donovan, it’s hard for me to think about things too close to when Andrew
died. I hope you understand.”
I wanted more, but knew she had nothing
left to give. I suppose I did get some answers. I did live with Andrew, I
didn’t go to school. Somehow my rent was being paid for even though I didn’t
work. That was a possible avenue to explore; where had I been getting money from?
Was it possible to get some records from the apartment complex? Olivia would
know what to do. This was out of my expertise.
“Of course, I understand. Thank you so
much for everything.”
She smiled and nudged the plate of cookies
towards me. “You haven’t tried one of my cookies. Have a few. There’s one other
thing I have for you.”
I obliged, hungry from the long trip, and
ate four by the time she came back. They were dry and sweet, but tasted good.
She handed me a wooden keychain in the shape of a buffalo with two keys hanging
from it.
“We put all of Andrew’s things into a
storage unit right after he died. Whatever the police didn’t keep. Richard and
I planned to go through it all, but he had his first stroke shortly after and,
well, things fall to the wayside. If you wanted, you could take a look. It
might be nice to have some of his old drawings or instruments at the service.
It would make me happy to know someone finally went through it. It’s the
self-storage on Broadway in Everett.”