[The following piece is a an idea I would like to develop into a short story]
Malcolm blames himself for the accident, I can tell. When you’ve been with someone this long you pick up on these things. It’s like I can read his mind.
We’ve been married for almost seven years,and we were together six more before that. Our seven year anniversary will be this September. Your wedding day is one of those big events in your life you’ll always remember, like giving birth or your mother’s funeral.
Then why is it that the little girl that’s sitting outside waiting in the taxi, the one everyone says is my daughter, how come I don’t remember her?
The doctors said it was common after a head injury, especially ones that result in a prolonged coma. Most likely there’ll be some memory loss they said. But give it sometime, those memories should hopefully come back. But what if those memories weren’t there in the first place?
I’ve gone over the events leading up to the accident again and again, reliving it and I just don’t remember a creepy little girl being in our lives.
I remember packing up the tent and putting it onto the back seat with the two sleeping bags, I remember having to show Malcolm how to attach both of our bikes to the roof rack again, he forgets everything, which is ironic really, considering my present circumstances.
I remember Malcolm driving and being upset about something I’d said. I remember him taking his eyes off the road for just a second. I can remember right up until I saw something in the corner of my eye in the headlights, maybe it was a deer, and then I’m screaming and reaching for the steering wheel.
The next thing I know I’m waking out of a coma and every time Malcolm comes to visit there’s a little girl who I don’t know and then later, when I’m feeling a little better the doctors and the nurses are telling me how sweet my little girl is, the strange little girl dressed in adorable dresses who comes everyday to visit her Mommy. I didn’t buy it, something wasn’t right.
I wanted to go home, I didn’t want to stay another night in the hospital. So I tell my husband I’m feeling better. I tell the Doctor that it’s all starting to come back to me. Hannah, yeah, my daughter, I’m starting to remember things now I say. But it’s not true, not really.
The taxi driver helps Malcolm lift me out of the wheelchair and into the back seat, my legs are still a little weak.
The girl sits next to me and just looks at me the whole time. What a weird kid, or whatever it is.
Craning his neck round the front passenger seat to look back at me,at us, Malcolm says “Hey Hannah, tell Mommy how excited you are to have her coming home”.
She doesn’t say a word, she just looks up at me with those inhuman eyes of hers.
Hannah. I don’t like it, it’s not a name I think I would have picked for my child.
She doesn’t say a word to me the whole way home.
The taxi driver offers to help bring me inside but Malcolm politely says, “Thanks, I’ve got it from here “.
Honestly, I’m starting to feel sad about how guilty he feels about all of this.
Malcolm gently drops me onto the sofa, the way his arms started shaking I thought he was going to drop me in the hallway. Can someone gain weight whilst being in a coma?
There’s a handful of cheap party balloons pinned to the wall and a shiny, silver welcome home banner, hanging across the TV.
He fusses over me, which is quite nice.
He gets me a pillow from the bedroom and the blanket. He cooks me dinner and helps sit me up so I can eat it, asking if I’m OK, if there’s anything I need or anything I want. I tell him no, I’m fine, that’s its just nice to be home.
Then I catch “Hanna” staring at me.
I just want her to get out of my house. I don’t know who or what this imposter is but I need to keep up the charade, mother and daughter, yeah, sure, why not. Other wise they’ll lock me up and medicate me again. This kid’s got everyone fooled. I need to play the slow game with this sneaky one.