* scene 1

"The patient is disoriented X 3." Ha ha, how many times had she written these words in patient charts? At least a thousand times, over the years, essentially stating that this or that geriatric client couldn’t tell their arse from a hole in the ground! (i.e. disoriented to person, place, and time.)

Oh, bitter irony! She didn’t know it was contagious!

But she was well aware that some patients were highly adept at covering-up and compensating for their confusion, as if some deep subliminal need to "maintain appearances" transcended beyond the crippling effects of a diseased mind.

Yes, she knew the tricks. But she just recently recognized how long she, herself, had been employing them!

It had started out with little things - forgetting what she was about to do (here's a trick: go back to where you last were and retrace your steps - the thought will often come back to you); or writing the old year on checks written in January ("Oops, force of habit."); or putting the icecream in the refrigerator instead of the freezer ("Geez, I can't believe I did that!")...

all little things, easily explained away...

"...too many things on my mind"

"...I'm under a lot of stress"

"...I haven't been sleeping well"

Yes, she knew that she was getting absent-minded and that her attention span was down to zilch. Increasingly, most of her thoughts were half-formed and simply forgotten. She even thought, on different occasions, that she should get an appointment for a medical exam. ("I have to remember to ask a doctor about this.")

But, like all her fragmented thoughts, this idea - which had seemed vitally important at these times - slipped her mind, repeatedly.

One morning, she awakened with a start, certain that she had some urgent meeting. With a sudden burst of movement, she sprang from the bed, dressed in heavy winter clothes, grabbed the car keys, and rushed out the door.

The heat-blast was akin to opening a furnace. She stared around, totally confounded, at a typically hot and steamy July day. ("How can it be hot outside? What season is this?")

(T'is the season of unreason...)

She looked at her watch, but it didn't have an answer. She looked again anyway, then decided to check the date on her computer... July 13, 2003...("Okay, face it. There is definitely something wrong with your brain. Call the doctor!")

But, she was unbearably hot. Shedding her clothes as she went, she retraced her steps.

Naked upon the bed, sleep claimed her instantly.

* scene 2 - July 14, 2003

When she awoke, the digital clock read 7:00, but she had no clue if it was 7 AM or 7 PM. Naps often confound people that way, and the view through the window did nothing to enlighten her - grey, all grey, foggy, groggy grey.

On auto-pilot, she shuffled to the bathroom. She reached for the door, but the door opened without her.

A strange man in her bathroom! Her chest squeezed her heart, which pounded fitfully like a bird in a flue pipe, struggling to be free of the trap. A scream died in her constricted throat. Pinpoints of bright light swam before her eyes, and she grabbed onto the door frame for support.

"Hi honey, did you have a good nap?" he said warmly, with a beguiling smile.

In a sudden flash of insight, she realized that her mind had finally, totally, collapsed.

("Damn, I meant to see a doctor!,") A flurry of mental flashes flooded her frenzied brain - blocked artery, seizure, brain tumor... or maybe she was insane! ("No, maybe I'm just trapped in a dream... maybe... wake up!")

But the vision was persistent. "Are you feeling okay? You look a bit frazzled."

("Cover and compensate! Mumble your way through this - say something, damn it!")

"I'm just not myself today." ("Oh, please, dear God, make him go away!")

And, as if her plea was heard, he gave a gentle stroke to her cheek in passing, and told her he'd get the steaks off the grill while she washed up. She followed him with her eyes - out the door, down a hall. She listened to the sounds of his receding footsteps, the sounds of a refrigerator opened and closed, the sounds of a screen door banging shut.

("Okay, don’t panic - that’s just making things worse. Think! Did I lose a block of time again? Did I finally get the divorce I wanted? Is this my new man? Or maybe I'm just confused, and this man is my husband...what's that word, come on, think - when you lose your memory... amnesia, yes that's it... maybe I was in an accident and I have... damn it, I don't know!")

("Cold water, splashed on my face - yes, that would help.")

The water sparkles, so cold, running down her arms and dripping off her elbows - dripping too much, running off the counter. ("Shut it off... but it's so pretty... but you have to lower your hands from your face to stop it from dripping on the floor...")

She stopped it, lowering her hands into the sink, and raising her face to the mirror.

She could not identify with that face.

* scene 3

She had to pee urgently, and went to sit on the can. ("Don't drop you panties, you don't know this man!")

It did not occur to her that there was a lock on the door. She sat upon the toilet lid, legs crossed tightly, rocking herself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, self-comforting.

She was startled by the sudden sound of tapping on the door - the sound of four fingers wrapping in sequence, four times. "Honey, the steaks are almost ready. Are you feeling well enough to eat? I was thinking we might open a bottle of wine for dinner - is that okay, or do you want iced tea?"

("I don't know that voice! - okay, just play along until you have time to figure things out... respond, damn it!... wine, yes, couldn't hurt... fake it... just play along until you have time to think... ")

"Sure, I'll be out in a minute. Wine would be fine."

("Remember - you were going to call the doctor... yes, okay... it's just me, probably... something seriously wrong with me... okay - just need time to reason this out... just need to fake normalcy until I can get help... damn, I can't even remember his name...")

It briefly occured to her to look for mail, and she congratulated herself for thinking of it, but then instantly forgot what idea she had. ("Oh, bloody hell, what is the matter with me?")

She listened to his retreating footsteps, turned on the water faucet again, turned off the light, and peed into the toilet basin, watching the stream with absorbed fascination as the yellow fluid mixed with the blue. ("Brain tumor, that must be it... that's what is distorting my perceptions... he must know I have a brain tumor, and that's why he is being kind... damned evil bastard, just waiting for me to die!... probably inoperable... if only I had remembered to see a doctor!")

Tap, tap. "Come on honey, before it goes cold. You need to eat," said the compassionate foreign sounding voice behind the door.

("Okay, brave face. No need to let him know how screwed up my brain has become.")

She rinsed her hands in the chill water, but did not dare to look into the mirror again. When she opened the door, this stranger was still standing there, looking concerned. For one brief moment, she had the urge to fall into his arms and be held by him - but the terrifying confusion swept that impulse away instantly.

"Is anything wrong, hon? You seem like your mind is a million miles away."

("Ha ha, if you only knew! ...mister, I don't even recognize you!") "No, everything's fine. Let's eat."

* scene 4

He had set the table outside on a back-facing wooden deck, complete with steaks, baked potatoes, salad, wine, and even napkins. ("He would never cook for himself, let alone for me... maybe he has been poisoning me... some poison that messes up your mind... makes everything seem unreal... ")

Suddenly, she realized that he had his arm around her waist, and was steering her toward a seat. ("No, don't sit there! It's a trap... that's the... ")

Though that thought escaped before completion, she casually maneuvered away from that chair and sat down in front of the other setting. He came and tucked in her chair anyway. With head lowered, she carved off a piece of meat and put it in her mouth, without ever raising her eyes from the plate.

He sat across from her and scrutinized her with a look of deep concern on his face. "Sweetheart, are you sure you are feeling okay... are you sure nothing's wrong?"

("Play the game!") "Absolutely. I'm just a bit tired today."

"Well, then let's just leave the dishes after dinner. We can go upstairs, take a nice relaxing bath, and go to bed early. I'll come down later after your asleep and clean up."

She replayed his words in her head twice. There was something about them that she should be wary of, she felt sure of it. But, she couldn't quite think of what it was. And he looks so charming.

He was looking at the sky, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I was just noticing how the clouds have evaporated, just in time for the sun to set... just those lacy layers at the horizon... beautiful, isn't it?"

She followed his gaze, and felt a relaxing rush of warmth filling her. She willed him to her, and he came, drawing back her chair and taking her hand to gently lift her into his cradling arms. ("His embrace feels so good!")

She melted into him, and he turned her around without ever releasing his gentle hold.

He drew her back tightly against his chest, nestling his face in her hair, and rocking her ever so softly as they watched the sun go down.

* scene 5

Then, in silence, he led her inside, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. She sat down on the edge of the white claw-footed tub, and stared dreamily as he turned the ceramic cross knobs, releasing a strong crystal flow. The mesmerizing stream created thousands of shimmering diamonds on the pooling water below.

He was undressing her... kneeling at her feet, removing her sandals... raising her with him, to remove her dress.

She stood there, naked and unashamed, as he untied the drawstring of his pants and let them fall to the floor.

He held her arm as she stepped in, delighting in the sensation of tiny bubbles clinging to her legs. She knelt down into the water and made room for him.

Her mind was at rest... no racing, panicky thoughts... just pleasant sensations.

He lathered her, massaging slowly, and rinsed her from his cupped hands. ("...such lovely hands... ")

Reclining against the back of the tub, he pulled her softly against him. Cradling her head on his chest, he gently swirled the locks of her hair that fanned out in the water.

She was totally relaxed upon him, eyes closed, feeling only his heartbeat against her cheek and the tickling of the gently undulating waterline at her waist.

Drifting...

drifting...

into peaceful oblivion...

* scene 6 - July 15, 2003

She awoke from the sharp jab of a knee into her ribcage.

"Damn it, where's my supper? What the hell did you do, sleep all goddamn day? Get your damned ass off that couch this minute and get me some food!"

The enraged face turned from her and stomped heavily away, leaving a trail of caked, wet mud in it's wake.

("no... just a few minutes... something I have to remember... where was I?") She fought to go back, but to no avail.

This nightmare scenario was much too familiar not to be real - the pain in her ribs was real, as she uncoiled her body from the fetal position it had assumed.

Two empty bottles littered the kitchen counter, along with one unopened beer. The glass was still cold on the empties. He must have chugged them down fast, no doubt on his way to an all-night drunk.

The sounds of channels being changed repeatedly blared from the family room.

"Heat me some of that potroast - and I want raw onion on it this time! It tasted like shit last night!" growled the ugly voice, "and bring me my beer!"

Her servitude came naturally now, after years of being treated as nothing more than a maid and a waitress - serve and obey and stay out of the way, or you'll pay.

She sat at the opposite side of the couch, watching him slop food off the coffee table, slugging beer, flipping through channels, and swearing at the images that flashed by on the tv.

She dare not speak.

The hours slipped away, as her mind furiously protested the thought of having to share a bed with this drunken lout... ("...so ugly, so mean... hate him... hate the smell of him... ")

She needn't have feared that particular night. He’d finished off the full pack of beer she'd brought upon his demand and had passed out where he sat.

The tv was displaying white noise. She dared not touch it.

Quietly, she slipped away, dragging herself up the stairs. The unmade bed looked so inviting...

Within moments, she was asleep.

* scene 7 - July 16, 2003

Chaffed and raw from repetitive movement, her elbows burned as she propped herself up on the coarse white sheets. Her unfocused eyes strained at something big and white looming in front of her. She felt a hand on her chin, prying open her mouth, and another hand dropping an assortment of pills on her dry, cracked tongue. She swallowed them down with tepid, metallic tasting water which, tipped carelessly to her lips, streamed down her face and onto her gown.

Her head was too heavy to hold up, and she fell back gracelessly, her eyes already closed.

A gruff voice bellowed from beyond the door, "Look, I’m a busy man. Is there any good reason I need to stay here? I mean, is she dying now, or what? I have things to do!"

She heard. She knew that voice. She didn’t strain to hear the nurses reply. Inside her mind, she gave her own... "no need."