Bury Me(29)

“I might have forgotten a few things, but that doesn’t make me an idiot. The things I have remembered are the exact opposite of everything my parents are telling me.”

He cocks his head as he studies me, a lock of his white hair falling down over his forehead. “What are they telling you that you don’t believe is true?”

I should lie, tell him I’m imagining things so he’ll leave and stop studying me like I’m a bug under a microscope. I know as soon as he walks out of my room, he’ll tell my father everything we discussed. A few days ago that knowledge would have filled me with dread, but now I no longer care. Let them talk; let my father have another reason to look at me in fear. I’m finished hiding who I am.

“Did you know me before the accident, Dr. Beall?” I ask, pulling my legs under me on the bed and sitting up tall.

“Yes, I’ve seen you on a few occasions over the years. Little things here and there like the flu, a twisted ankle and other minor problems.”

I nod my head and continue. “How would you describe me when you saw me those times?”

His face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything about how strange my question is.

“I guess I would say you were a normal, happy young lady. As I said, I didn’t have to come out to the prison very often. You were a normal, healthy girl so there was no need for regular check-ups.”

There’s that word again, normal. It’s pathetic that it seems to be the common word used to describe me.

“And that seems to be the problem, Doctor. The things I’ve remembered, the memories that flash through my mind and wake me up in the middle of the night, tell me I was anything but normal. They show me that I probably wasn’t the good, perfect little daughter my parents like to keep reminding me of.”

Dr. Beall sighs and uncrosses his legs, pushing himself up from my bed to pace around my room.

“The mind is a tricky thing, Ravenna. It gets even more complicated when someone has suffered a head injury as you did. I know it’s frustrating, but you can’t always believe everything you see when your mind is still in the process of healing,” he explains. “Our minds can play tricks on us. Make us see things that aren’t really there or feel things we wouldn’t normally feel. It doesn’t mean your parents are lying to you about anything or that you suddenly woke up a completely different person.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming at him. I want to scramble off the bed and shove his old, slow-moving body right to the floor. I didn’t just wake up one morning a different person. I know with everything inside of me that I’ve always been this person. Why else would I feel so alive letting the anger consume me? A switch has been flipped and I no longer care about turning it off because I like feeling strong and in control of my life.

“The night of my accident, did my parents tell you what happened?”

He stops pacing and turns to face me. “Just the basics that I would need to assess the situation. Your father called my home around one in the morning, telling me you’d suffered an accident outside and you weren’t conscious. I got dressed and came right over. I checked your injuries, dressed the wound on your head and your mother assisted me in cleaning you up and putting you in dry clothes before we put you to bed. I was told you must have been sleepwalking and fell down out in the woods and your injuries matched that information. When I questioned you after you woke up, you couldn’t remember what happened, so there was no reason to think otherwise.”

It was pointless thinking this man could give me answers to my questions or fill in any blanks. He’s going along with whatever my parents told him and not bothering to think anything is strange about what happened. Why would he? Two seemingly loving parents who run a well-known business in town tell the good doctor their daughter was walking in her sleep and must have been clumsy. When the daughter wakes up and can’t confirm or deny their story, there’s no reason to argue it.

“Everything is going to be fine, Ravenna, you’ll see. Just rest your mind and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” he tells me with a smile as he comes back to the bed, closes his black leather medical bag and moves to my door.

“I do believe I’m already back to my old self,” I mutter under my breath.

Dr. Beall stops with his hand on the door and looks back at me. “Did you say something, dear?”

I give him a fake smile and shake my head. He nods, pulling open my door and is just stepping out into the living room when another question pops into my mind. I jump up from my bed and jog to the doorway, stopping him at the top of the stairs.