𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     I know what I saw. There was a man behind that tree. Where did he go? Wait, what if I didn’t see anyone? Was I hallucinating? No. It can’t be. I’m not crazy. God, I’m not crazy. I swear I’m not crazy.

     Jeffrey stares at me. I can sense he’s noticed my surprise. He walks toward me and says in his gentle voice, “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

     I won’t tell him I saw a man behind that tree. He’ll think I’m hallucinating again and ask if I’ve been taking the pills Dr. Hassan prescribed. I hate those pills. It makes me very tired and weak, and I don’t want to feel weak.

     I feign a smile and say, “Nothing.” I smile wilder, exposing my teeth. I don’t want him to suspect something is bothering me.

     He nears me and threads his hand through my hair, while his other hand caresses my face. This is very therapeutic. It relaxes me and makes me feel safe.

     “Why don’t we go to bed?” He peeps outside through the window. “It’s late.”

     I nod consecutively, and he plants a tender kiss on my lips. I don’t feel anything, so I don’t kiss him back. I inhale his fragrance instead. He smells like white roses, and I love his flowery scent. I don’t know what I’ll do without Jeff. He’s my everything.

     I watch him step into the bathroom, and I turn to face the window. I hear water gurgling into the sink and bristles of brush against his teeth. While he’s in there, I peer into the street, hoping to see the shadowy figure again, hoping to prove to myself I’m not crazy, but no one is there. Maybe I’m crazy after all.

     Jeff returns and trudges toward our bed. I sigh tenderly and close the window, then I join him on the bed. He offs the light on the nightstand, murmuring, “Goodnight, honey. Sweet dreams.”

     I reply, my voice barely audible, “Goodnight,” and sleep on my side of the bed, tucking my hands under the pillow.

     I stare at the clock, listening to the steady ticks, and the whirring of the electric fan. Everywhere is dark, but I see a little. An hour has passed. I’m still not sleepy. I don’t know what is wrong with me. My eyes will feel sleepy, but immediately I hit the pillow, I’ll never sleep. I don’t have insomnia or any sort of sleeping disorder. I’m not afraid of nightmares because I pray before I sleep, so what’s keeping me awake? I wish I knew.

     Jeffrey is fast asleep, lost in his dreams. He slides toward me, and I feel his hand on my waist. I turn gently to my other side and look at his face. He’s beautiful as he’s perfect. His eyes are small, and if they are open, you’ll see that they are hazel. His pointed nose ridges into thin lips. His face is as smooth as a newborn’s. Apart from his physical beauty, he’s an angel. He’s got a heart of gold too. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve him.

     I don’t get tired looking at him sleep. I can do it all day. I’d love to have a replica of him someday, but I am scared of babies. It’s silly. I have this fear of them falling off and landing on the ground. I know babies are wonderful and are gifts from God, but I can’t control my fears. That’s why I told him we’d have babies when I was ready. Right now I’m not. With my current condition, I don’t think I will ever be ready.

     Another hour elapses, and I’m still not asleep. I have a feeling I’m not going to fall asleep. Maybe I need air. I gingerly move Jeff’s hand off my waist and with all the care in the world, I slide my legs to my side of the bed. When I have disentangled myself from him, I open the drawer and take out my dairy. Then I tiptoe out of the bedroom.

     Walking cautiously across the hallway, I go down the stairs, switching on the lights on my way. In the kitchen, I sit on the chair behind the center table with a basket of fruits. I open my diary to a new page, setting my pen into motion. Then I begin to write today’s date and continue:

Dear death,

I can’t sleep, so I’m writing this. I’ve been seeing someone through my window. I don’t want to tell Jeff about it because I’m afraid he’ll say I’m hallucinating. I know someone is spying on me. I can feel it.

If I tell Jeff, he might decide to place me in a psychiatric hospital and that’s the last place I want to go. I want to be home with Jeff and my neighbors. Ever since that accident, I don’t feel like Adrienne Styles anymore. I feel different in a way that isn’t a good sign of recovery.

I know that little by little, I’m remembering the past. And with time, I'll get my memories back—all of them. I need to remember my past to piece together my life that feels like fragments. Scattered fragments. To do that, I’ll need my memories. The familiar environment the doctor spoke of is helping. When I see old pictures of Jeff and me, some of my memories start kicking in. I’m positive that I’ll soon recover, and people will not think I’m a lunatic.

I want to prove to myself I am not hallucinating, but it’s difficult when my memories are incomplete. I want to be the Adrienne Styles I used to be, the exuberant lady who has a lot to offer the world. I want to continue with my work. I’ve missed my friends so much. But I can’t do any of them when I don’t even remember basic things.

Sometimes I want to kill myself and end this nightmare. I feel like I’m trapped in a castle, and my Prince Charming isn’t coming anytime soon to rescue me. The desperation kills me. But I know there’s light at the end of every tunnel. I also know no situation is permanent. Staying positive is what will get me out of this dark castle and I’m. . .

     I stop writing when I don’t know what to write anymore. I drop the pen in the dairy and close it. I dart my eyes around the kitchen, looking for nothing in particular. I’m still sure someone has been watching me. I don’t know who’d have the luxury of time to spy on me, but I feel deep within my heart I’m being watched.

     I stand up abruptly and walk toward the Venetian blinds. Looking through, I scan the neighborhood again. This time focusing on the tree I saw the man hiding behind. The picture is vivid now because of the proximity, but I don’t see anyone. Perhaps, the person is gone. I’m sure he’ll be back again.

     What if he’s just a random guy admiring the beauty of the neighborhood? It’s possible that the person wasn’t even watching me. Maybe he’s practicing artistry and was here to study the picturesque neighborhood. But then I wonder who studies a place in the night. It doesn’t sit well with me, and I can’t stop having this strange feeling of being watched. I don’t like guessing. It only confuses me more. I should probably let sleeping dogs lie. I’m making a big fuss out of nothing.

     Running my hand through my hair, I near the state-of-the-art refrigerator and take out a jug of orange juice. I walk to the sleek cooktop, where I grab a glass from the cabinet and set it on the countertop. Gently, I pour a reasonable amount into the glass and carry it with me to the porch.

     I don’t know why I’m outside at this time of the night. I’m not claustrophobic, and I don’t feel warm inside. I just want to sit outside. I turn on the front light as I walk to the rocking chair and balance myself in it. I recline after several sips, placing the glass on the nearby table. From my resting position, I see the minuscule stars. The constellation is beautiful. I can’t stop myself from smiling.

     It’s a starry night. A cold breeze blows, swaying the branches and leaves and carrying dust particles across the street. My hair starts moving, and I tuck a handful behind my ears. The air is balmy and relaxing. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to doze off on the porch. I continue to stare into the sky and enjoy the cosy night in my comfort zone. Outside is better than the bedroom, and if I were not scared of the dark, I’d have slept in the chair.

     I don’t see anyone by that tree, and I don’t know what to make of that. It’s difficult to accept I hallucinated, or maybe I didn’t. But there’s no one behind that tree now, so I hallucinated. My eyes get watery. I blink hard. A rivulet glides down my cheek, and I pull my hand to my face, wiping the teardrop.

     I’m letting my emotions get the best of me. I sometimes—most often—do that. When your worst nightmare suddenly becomes a reality, you start to see the world differently. Truth is, I never thought something like this would happen to me. I’ve heard news of normal people losing their memories after gory accidents, but I never imagined myself in that situation.

     After the accident, I realized humans are more vulnerable than we think. With just a snap of a finger, anything can happen. I know I shouldn’t wallow in grief too much. My psychotherapist told me it was unhealthy, but I can’t stop myself.

     The wind gets turbulent suddenly. It’s probably going to rain. I should go inside. I sit up slowly and pick the glass. As I rise to my feet, I hear rustles from the opposite direction. I swivel and realize the rustles came from my garden.

     Replacing the glass on the table, I grope my nightgown. My cell phone isn’t inside. I step into the house and grab a flashlight from the kitchen drawer. When I return, I switch it on and cast a beam of light on my garden from the porch. I can’t see much, but I can still hear the rustles.

     Walking past the chair, I climb down the short staircase and make my way across the manicured lawn to the garden, the flashlight helping me to see in the dark. I unlock the wooden door and apply a push. It swings open. I step inside the garden and shine the light over the ornamental plants I’ve been growing.

     I don’t see it at first till I walk some distance into the garden and there it lays, squirming out of the vines that have trapped its legs with no success. I pace toward the kitten with white and brown fur, then I crouch over. It tries to jump backward, but it can’t. I place the flashlight by my side and disentangle the vines. As soon as it is free, it scurries away, through the open door, and into the dark street.

     It’s probably afraid of me. I smile softly as I rise to my feet, picking up the flashlight. Since it is a stray cat, I’m sure I’ll see it again. I walk out of the garden and enter the house. I rejoin Jeff after using the bathroom. This time when I close my eyes, I can sleep.