Page 1 of Our Moon
Part One
Ally
Chapter One
“That’s about it. Does anyone have any questions?” Dr. Moody asks as she finishes her spiel. Yep, that’s right. A psychiatrist named Dr. Moody. It doesn’t get much better than that, folks. Her appearance is much softer than her name, though, light brown hair with freckled skin and a slightly rounded middle. She has a very soothing, grandmotherly demeanor, quite the contradiction to her name.
I peer over at my two brothers, seated awkwardly across the coffee table from me and Dr. Moody. I stifle a laugh; they look about as uneasy as I feel. Trevor is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, while one foot taps non-stop, causing hisentire body to shake. Alex is slouching back in his seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, with the most confused expression on his face. Night and day, those two. I hope I’m not wearing my emotions so transparently.
I imagine the long list of my possible behaviors, which Dr. Moody just listed, read like the various side effects on one of those medication commercials I’d seen on the television in the common room: irritability, anxiety, disorientation, depression, and the list goes on. It’s enough to make anyone twitch, I suppose. Especially when they’re going to be living with someone with said side effects.
“I think we’ve got it all,” my older brother, Trevor, says. I don’t know him well, but from what I’ve made out during our many family sessions, he’s the responsible, older brother. He’s also really tall, like six-five tall. Might not seem like a big deal, but I’m only about five-two, so that’s huge to me.
Alex is more easy-going. He’s also my twin. We share the same blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. He’s between Trevor and me in height, about six feet, I would guess. I only know Trevor’s exact height because he caught me gazing up at him in absolute wonder once and told me. Trevor has referred to Alex and me as “double trouble” more than once over the past month. I’m interested to see if and how this twin dynamic between Alex and me will play out. I’ve often caught him looking at me as though he’s trying to see inside of me. Ican only imagine what losing his other half must have felt like, if what Trevor says about our bond is true.
Dr. Moody nods at Trevor and then looks at me. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Allyson? You know you’re more than welcome to stay at our facility as long as you feel necessary. The last thing any of us wants is for you to feel pressured into doing something that makes you uncomfortable.”
You see, just over a month before this little meeting, I woke up from a year-long coma. What’s better than that? I have amnesia. The two men sitting across from me are perfect strangers, yet I’ve supposedly known them my whole life. I was in a car accident with my parents the night of my high school graduation. I ended up with a banged up head, and they ended up in the ground. I should be sad about this fact, and I guess a part of me is sad at the idea that my parents are dead, but I can’t remember them to mourn them. That alone is a bit depressing. I’m not trying to be insensitive, I just don’t know how to feel about it, so I honestly try not to think about it.
Even though I didn’t die in the accident, I might as well have. I was in a coma for a year, just to wake up with no memory of who I am or who they are. Not only did my brothers lose their parents, but they practically lost their sister as well, first to the coma and then to her own head. In one of our earliest sessions, I once said that they would have been betteroff if Ihaddied, and that resulted in a twenty-four hour suicide watch, and my brothers FREAKING out, so I don’t dare voice those thoughts out loud anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suicidal. Yes, I’m sure many people who are suicidal may claim that they’re not suicidal, but I’m really not. I’ve just had many moments where I’ve felt so lost and confused, like I don’t know what to think or feel because I don’t know what my former self would have thought or felt. Dr. Moody says it’s not uncommon to be depressed and/or anxious when you have amnesia. Yay me! Looks like I have a lot to look forward to. She has also been a strong advocate of letting things happen naturally and not trying too hard to think about what the old Ally would do, the real Ally.
I’ve been in this rehab facility for about four weeks, regaining my motor skills through physical therapy and participating in various psychological therapies designed for individuals with amnesia. There are other people like me here, and it has actually been nice participating in the group therapies and having people to commiserate with. I’ve started to feel less lost and confused as I’ve participated in group. But today I’m going home.
To be honest, I am a little nervous about leaving. Not because I’m afraid of my brothers, because I’m not. I’ve actually grown quite fond of them during our time together at the rehab facility. I was introduced to themabout a week after I woke from the coma. When I first woke up, I was extremely confused and disoriented, and then I became quite hysterical when I couldn’t remember anything, even my own name. The doctors felt it was necessary for me to adjust to my situation a little bit before bringing them in. Something that, I later learned, broke their hearts. They wanted to be there for me, but they couldn’t. There really was no easy way to handle it, but when they realized it was what was best for me, they forgave themselves for not being there.
It took a few days for me to calm down from my initial freak out, during which time there were lots of scans and tests. Apparently they always knew amnesia could be a factor due to my head injury, but there was no telling until I was awake. And there was also no telling if the problem would ever correct itself. On the sixth day, I was properly introduced to Trevor and Alex. We had an hour long session guided by Dr. Moody. I timidly asked questions about my life and they answered as simply as possible, as advised by Dr. Moody. She didn’t want me to have information overload.
These sessions continued every other day for the rest of my stay, but after two weeks, and at Dr. Moody’s recommendation, we added free visits. This meant that Trevor and Alex could come and visit with me as long as any of us wanted, as long as it was within visiting hours, without Dr. Moody or any of the other facility staff monitoring us. It wasdesigned that way to make me comfortable with my brothers in a less structured environment. And it worked, I am comfortable with them.
The reason I’m nervous about leaving is because I have no idea what is waiting for me on the outside. I’ve been stuck in this little semi-microcosm, not having to deal with the real world at all, and all of a sudden, I will be in the great wide open. The wild, as far as I know. I know Trevor and Alex won’t just throw me to the wolves or anything like that. I know that they will take good care of me. I know it. But I can’t help but worry a little. I have to relearn how to be a productive member of society. Something no amount of therapy can prepare me for. Immersion is the only way to do it.
I give Dr. Moody a small smile. “Thank you, Dr. Moody. But I’m ready to go home.” The half-truth is worth the ginormous grins on my brothers’ faces. I can’t help but smile wider at them. Things are definitely going to be interesting with these two.
“Okay, then, I’ll go get your discharge paperwork ready. Why don’t you have your brothers help get your room packed up, and we’ll meet back up in the lobby?”
It doesn’t take long to pack up my stuff as I don’t have much to begin with, so the boys and I are out in the lobby in no time. After a bunch of signatures and more reassurances from Dr. Moody, we say goodbye, and I leave the only home I’ve ever known behind.
Chapter Two
As Trevor turns his giant SUV into a quaint neighborhood, I can’t help but be a little shocked. My two brothers, who are in a rock band (did I mention that?), live in suburbia. Like picket fence, 2.5 kids, golden retriever, American dream, suburbia.
“This is where you live?” I ask from the backseat, taking in the stone sign surrounded by colorful flowers that indicates we’ve now entered Pleasant Pointe.
“No,” Trevor says, looking at me in the rear view mirror. “This is wherewelive.”
I roll my eyes, “You know what I mean.”
“Don’t think we fit the mold of the rest of the residents of this fine neighborhood, baby sis?” Alex asks with a sarcastic smirk.
“You’re like four minutes older than me,” I grumble. He has used the “baby/little sis” line on me about thirty times in the past week alone, don’t get me started on the count for the month. “It’s just that you’re in a rock band, right? You said you went on tour and all that. I just didn’t imagine a couple of bachelor rock stars living here. That’s all.”
I look back out the window, taking in all the perfectly manicured lawns as we pass by, I swear one even has a “Yard of the Month” sign. There are kids riding bicycles and scooters, people walking dogs; it’s a picturesque summer day.
“It’s the house we grew up in,” Trevor finally says.
And I instantly. Feel. Horrible.
