What She Lost

Tessa struggled to open her eyes. She blinked as she focused on the unfamiliar room. Panic began to surge in her throat and every nerve in her body hummed anxiously. She pushed back the heavy gray comforter and glanced at the clock: 7:00am. Tessa felt a pang of familiarity that disintegrated a moment after she had grasped it.

Tessa swung her feet to the thinly carpeted floor and reflexively jumped as her right foot brushed a hard object laying on the floor, nearest to the head of her bed.

It was a standard white shoebox, smooth and shiny, as though it had just exited its life from a shelf in the back stockroom and found itself unceremoniously dumped on her bedroom floor. Stuck carefully to the box’s lid was a bright pink post-it with the words neatly scribed: Open Me. Is this box for me? Is this note for me? She glanced around the room, still not recognizing anything. The box might help her. Cautiously, she ripped the post-it off the box top and, crumpling it, threw it to the floor. She dug her fingers underneath the lip of the lid and lifted it off.

Money. Two packs of $100 bills. She lifted a pack and quickly counted. Closing her eyes, she forced her brain to do the simple calculation. $20,000. Twenty grand in cash in a small white shoebox on her bedroom floor. Looking in the box again, she found another post-it; this one canary yellow with the words: Little Black Book. She scanned the room and found it: a black notebook, bound tightly with an elastic closure. Tessa quickly closed the white shoebox and slid it furtively under her bed.

The little black book was laying on her nightstand. She crumpled the yellow post-it and dropped it to the floor next to the pink one. The little black book had another post-it on its cover, much of the wording obscured by the elastic closure. She slid the elastic aside and read the post-it, handwritten the same as the other: Read the last page. She crushed the post-it in her hand and tossed it with the others.

Tessa flipped open the notebook to the last page. A name was penned on the ivory paper in the same handwriting as the post-its: Tessa Ann Fortuno. Her name and information clearly about her: her age (39), a list of her doctors and medical information, and a description of her brain injury, attained from a car accident five years ago.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the little black book. Tessa noticed a double ribbon bookmark carefully placed at the beginning of the book. Before she could turn to the page, she heard the bedroom door behind her click and softly open.

“Good morning! How are we this morning?!” the woman who entered was bright and cheerful, her face glowing with a smile.

Tessa opened her mouth to answer. She carefully placed the little black book back in its seemingly rightful spot on her nightstand as she watched this young woman bend down to pick up the discarded post-its.

The woman peered into Tessa’s face. “Feeling okay? Do you need a few reminders?” Tessa nodded.

“Well,” the woman practically sang, as though she had rehearsed this many times before, “You are Tessa. You had a terrible car accident a few years ago and you suffered a bit of memory loss. I stay with you overnight because you often feel very confused at night and have nightmares. Do you remember last night?” This time, Tessa shook her head.

“Last night wasn’t as bad, honestly. You were screaming quite loudly but calmed down before I got to your room. I just need to check on you from the door at this point. Anything starting to sound familiar?”

Tessa tried to swallow this information and formulate a response. “You are?”

The woman smacked her head lightly. “Ugh, I am so sorry! Anya. I’m Anya. I’m here from 8pm to 8am. Sasha fills in the rest.” Anya stopped, seeing Tessa’s face. “It’s okay, hon. We do this every day. You are always better by lunch, but let’s start with breakfast, okay?”

Tessa glanced back at the notebook before taking Anya’s arm and leaving her bedroom.

“What about family? Do they visit me?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not,” answered Anya sadly. “At least, no one has since I’ve worked here.”

Tessa allowed this to sit for a moment before asking: “Friends?”

Anya helped Tessa sit down at the small kitchen table. “No. You really don’t have many visitors, hon. Sasha drives you to doctor’s appointments and physical therapy, but other than that, you don’t go many places.” She smiled and chattered as she spooned eggs onto a pristine white plate.

Tessa wasn’t hungry. Her thoughts traveled to the little black notebook and then to the $20,000 stashed safely under her bed.

~~

Anya left at 8 o’clock and as promised, Sasha took over. Unlike Anya, Sasha was quiet and busied herself cleaning. The T.V. played softly as Tessa sat on the living room couch but she wasn’t paying attention. From her vantage point, she could see into her bedroom, to her nightstand and the little black book. Tessa felt like she was sneaky, taking surreptitious glances into her own bedroom. Finally, she stood, striding into her bedroom with a confidence she didn’t imagine she could have in her condition.

Her condition. The little black book had to explain more. Snatching the book off the nightstand, she sat down on her bed and opened to the page marked by the pale ribbon. She began to read:

I asked him first. For a whole week, I asked Dad for $50. It’s nothing to him, really. He carries hundreds of dollars in his wallet so what is $50? He said no. Just no. No explanation. As though that word was enough. So when he was in the bathroom, I snuck over to his wallet and peeled away a crisp $50 bill. I snuck into my room and looked for a place to store it. I plunged into my closet and grabbed my new sneakers, dumped them onto the floor, and shoved the $50 into the shoebox. That was the first time I took what I deserved.

Tessa stopped. The shoebox! She dropped to her hands and knees, peeking under her bed. The shoebox was still there, seeming to glow with meaning.

She wrote in this little black book and the money was hers. Tessa smiled for the first time that day as she settled in and read.

~~

For a week, Tessa read about her exploits. She had amassed - although, the word “stolen” was probably more appropriate - and stashed away $20,000 over the years. Including her father, her victims had included her college roommate, several boyfriends, a couple coworkers, and various other friends and family. Tessa would accumulate smaller bills before upgrading to $100 bills and stacking them in the shoebox.

She would wake each morning confused by who and where she was, but by mid-day each day, she was filled with recognition and pride at the person she had been before her accident. A person who took what she felt was rightfully owed to her.

Tessa compensated for her memory loss. In her nightstand drawer, she found three stacks of post-its: a bright pink, a canary yellow, and a sky blue. Each night, before going to sleep, she would shut her door to the energetic watch of Anya. Only then would she write a note on each post-it: the pink reminded her to look in the shoebox, the yellow was strategically placed in the shoebox as a reminder of her little black book, and the final blue post-it guided her to the last page of the notebook, the remembrance of who she was. The post-its disappeared every morning, as Anya would breeze into her room as she read the last page of her notebook and dispose of the discarded post-its on her floor. Tessa always remembered to replace them.

Each day, Tessa would wake at 7:00am and find her shoebox and little black book. Her shoebox was securely stowed away before Anya entered her room. Sasha left her well enough alone, enabling her to contentedly absorb herself in the anecdotes of her little black book. And every night, she placed the little black book on her nightstand and positioned her shoebox near the head of her bed. She smiled as she slipped into sleep knowing that her post-its would be there in the morning to guide her to her most prized possessions.

~~

Tessa awoke the same way, casting aside her heavy gray comforter and glanced at the clock: 7:00am. She swung her feet to the thinly carpeted floor and sat, blinking. Nothing was familiar and she could feel the anxiety growing within her.

She waited, not knowing what she should do.

~~

That was the way Anya found Tessa: sitting stiffly on the bed, her eyes darting around the room as if trapped.

“Good morning, hon! How are we doing today?” Anya didn’t wait for an answer; she never did. Tessa always looked scared and lost, trying desperately to connect the pieces.

“Need a little help this morning?” she queried. She sauntered over to the nightstand and tapped lightly. “Read these. That’s why they are here. It’ll help you remember and you’ll feel better.” Tessa stood, picked up the ivory pages and started to read.

Anya busied herself tidying the bed. She watched Tessa carefully as she placed the papers back on the nightstand.

“Feeling better?” Tessa nodded. “Good.” Anya guided Tessa to the kitchen where breakfast was waiting. She dutifully answered Tessa’s usual questions: no family, no friends, solitary existence.

At 7:50am, Sasha soundlessly entered the house. As always, Anya filled her in about Tessa’s night before striding to the front hall closet and gathering her oversized bag.

“Have a good day, Tessa! See you tomorrow!” she called. From her seat at the kitchen table, Tessa turned her head towards Anya, eyes more glazed than usual. Anya smiled, gave a small wave, and pulled the front door shut behind her.

The air was warm and Anya hefted her bag up higher onto her shoulder. At the end of the driveway, Anya reached into her bag and extracted a white shoebox.

How fortuitous to have stumbled upon this two days ago during one of Tessa’s particularly violent nightmares that had required Anya to approach Tessa in bed. She had stubbed her toe on the shoebox, something she hadn’t ever noticed before in the otherwise sparse room. The post-its, similar to the ones she found on the floor every morning, connected the pieces. Imagine her surprise at discovering $20,000 and the little black book Tessa always had in her hand in the morning.

Anya was still debating how to use the money. It was unethical to steal, especially from a helpless soul like Tessa. Anya reasoned that Tessa woke each day clueless so there was no harm in what she didn’t recall. Anya had plenty of debts, not to mention a hefty wishlist. She also envisioned the accolades she’d receive for a generous donation to her church. She felt lighter and more cheerful than ever.

Fishing into her bag again, Anya glanced down at the black notebook. She admitted to having not read anything but the last page, which she had carefully plucked out and left on Tessa’s nightstand. She paused, pondering the rest of the notebook. Sasha had stealthily observed and reported that Tessa pored over it each day. What did it say? Should she read it?

Anya shrugged and tossed the little black book in the trash bin at the curb, waving and smiling at the sanitation workers as the trash truck rolled to a stop.