𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

Eight Months Ago

     I’ve been seeing stains of lipstick on Jeff’s shirt, and he smells heavy of feminine perfume whenever he comes home at night. He’s been coming home very late too, and I wonder why. A secret phone call to his office some days ago revealed that he leaves work very early, so why is he always late?

     I’ve confronted him about the lipsticks I’ve been seeing on his shirts, but as expected he denied it. I don’t want to think that Jeff is cheating, but the evidence is too blatant for me not to think from that angle.

     We’re attending his parents’ silver wedding. If we don’t leave early, we’ll be late sitting in traffic. I’m done grooming myself after spending minutes behind the mirror. I have to look my best. Jeff’s family are first-class. They have the best of everything. I don’t doubt this silver wedding is going to be extravagant. All the dignitaries would be there to congratulate them for keeping each other company for twenty-five years.

     I can’t afford to look as simple as I always want to when I’m going to events. I’ve dressed glamorously in a backless cocktail dress with a pair of matching high heels. My apricot hair is straightened and looks sleek lying behind my back.

     I’m ready for the event and in a good mood too, if not for seeing the purple lipstick on Jeff’s shirt he wore yesterday. It’s not my lipstick. I don’t even use lipstick. At best, I apply lip gloss. I can’t just pretend everything is all right when it’s not. This isn’t the first or second time I’ve seen stains of lipstick on his shirt.

     Grabbing the white shirt, I walk briskly out of the room and slam the door. Jeff’s sitting on the couch in the living room, lacing his leather shoes. He’s dressed in an expensive suit and looking immaculate as always. When he looks up, he’s taken aback. I don’t know which one shocked him; my looks or the stains on his shirt.

     “You look stunning,” he gushes and walks over to me. He takes my hand and is about to kiss my lips when I push him back. I’m angry that he doesn’t see the evidence of his infidelity but my beauty.

     I thrust the shirt at him, exposing the portion with the lipstick. “Care to explain this?”

     His face fills with anger, and I’m surprised he’s angry when I should rather be in that state. He grabs the shirt and hurls it onto the couch, snapping, “We don’t have time for this.”

     I retort, “When are we going to have time for this then?”

     He stares daggers at me and turns to face the front door, grabbing his overcoat on his way out. I’m stupefied he just walked out on me when we were in the middle of something. I know this isn’t the appropriate time, but it’s disgusting that he’s cheating and won’t even admit to it.

     He’s out of the room already, and I have no choice but to follow him. If it were up to me, I’d have torn my dress into pieces and kissed that silver wedding goodbye. I stomp out of the room, picking up my purse on a nearby table and locking the door once I’m out.

     I join Jeff in the car. He’s still pissed, and I wonder what he’s pissed at. I can’t recall Jeff being so gruff. Something sure happened to him when I went on that business trip. I know he’s seeing another woman. That’s obvious, but why is he so annoyed? That he’s cheating on me, or that I’ve discovered evidence of his infidelity?

     He starts the car and pulls out from where he had parked it yesterday. We’re riding past a couple of blocks and I say, “You can’t keep the truth from me forever.”

     He steps on the pedal, takes a sharp curve, and for a moment I think we’re going to collide. “What truth?”

     So this is how he wants to play it. Okay. I retort, “Your cheating truth.” My voice is harsh and sarcastic to anger him. I don’t know why I’m being so mean today.

     He says, clenching his teeth, a jugular vein popping out, “I’m not cheating.”

     “Right, you’re not,” I say nonchalantly. “Care to explain why there’re always stains of lipstick on your shirts?” I can’t use his lateness as evidence against him because that will imply that I reveal my informant, and I swore to the person Jeff wasn’t going to find out.

     We continue to argue. He doesn’t see the car parked across the street because he’s talking back and looking at me. I scream, “Jeff, watch out!”

     He grips the steering wheel and steps on the brakes, frenziedly attempting to swerve the car, but that is futile. We skid onto the embankment and plunge into the electric pole. I jerk forward suddenly, hitting my head on the dashboard. I regret not wearing the seat belt as unconsciousness takes over my senses. I feel dizzy, and my head throbs a lot. Suddenly, memories of the day we got married flood my mind till I don’t see or hear anything.

*   *  *

     I awake in a hospital bed. A team of nurses look at my face. A female doctor holds a chart. She’s got a lovely smile on her face. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I know I’m in a hospital, but how did I get there? What happened to me?

     “How do you feel?” the doctor asks in a nice voice capable of sending me into a trance.

      Why’d she ask me that? Did I have an accident? If I did, why don’t I feel any pain in my body?

     “I feel good,” I say as I pass my hand through my hair and heave a sigh.

     “That’s nice. What’s your name?”

     My name? My name is. . . What! I don’t remember my name. What’s my name? Why can’t I remember my name? What happened to me?

     I’m curious and afraid too. Who doesn’t remember her name? That’s a basic thing even a six-year-old kid knows. Why don’t I know mine? This is so weird.

     I glance at the doctor. “I don’t remember my name.”

     The doctor stares back at the nurses. They share a knowing look. What’s happening?

     “There’s someone who wants to see you. He’s waiting outside,” the doctor says.

     Someone wants to see me? Is this some sort of an elaborate prank? I wake up in a hospital bed with no memory of myself and someone wants to see me? I’m overwhelmed to talk again.

     I watch, dumbfounded as a nurse steps out of the ward and returns. This time, with a tall handsome man clad in a flannel shirt and blue jeans. Before I can even blink, he rushes to my bedside and pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair and kissing my face, lips, and cheeks.

     He spills, “I’m so happy you’ve woken up.”

     He continues kissing my cheek. I get annoyed. Why did he say he’s happy I’ve woken up? Have I been sleeping for ages? And why is he kissing me like that? I don’t remember meeting this man. It’s very inappropriate for him to be manhandling me when I don’t know him. And those nurses won’t do anything to stop this crazy man. I wonder why they’re just staring at us, as though watching an enthralling romance movie.

     I pull back quickly, and he looks into my eyes like he knows me. “I’ve missed you, Adrienne.”

     Adrienne. He called me Adrienne. So that’s my name? It’s a pretty name, and I like it. But this man. Who is he? Why can’t I remember him?

     Although I want nothing but to know what happened to me, I’m curious as to who he is and how he knows my name, and I don’t know my own name. He kisses my lips again and that’s the last straw. I push him and ask the question I’ve been longing to ask since he entered and started acting so strange, “Who are you?”