I remember it was my son’s wedding. It took place at a little church on the outskirts of a little town that was probably full of people that played with snakes on Sundays. The wounds on my face were still partial scabs, and still quite painful. I knew that if I wore dark sunglasses to hide my unmistakable eyes then nobody would notice me. I was counting on nobody noticing me. I’m sure every person attending the wedding had a picture of me in their minds as something to be deeply ashamed and afraid of.
I sat in a foldout chair on the farthest back wall in the darkest nook I could find. It had been five years since I’d seen my boy. When I caught my first glimpse of him over the seventy or so heads between us, I felt pride awaken in places in me I’d thought long withered. He had broad shoulders, and a resolute posture. He was for all intents and purposes, a man, although he was looking more and more like his father and less and less like me over the years. The rest of the guests were all very well dressed and appallingly well-mannered, upper class even. All but one.
“Jill?” The simple syllable, uttered out of turn, turned my heart to ice and set my nerves into a frenzy. I forced myself to turn and face the ominous figure that had guessed my identity.
He was dressed like a comic book gumshoe, that is, shabbily. One of his cuffs was undone and his hair was a windswept mess, he had a goofy expression on his face. “Jill Butler? Holy cow!” He took a seat next to mine.
“Shh! Shh!” I shushed him violently, and I must have made an unexpected move. He immediately stood up and raised his hands.
“Hey, you… don’t remember me?” He had a strange look in his eyes, a strange kind of curiosity I didn’t like.
“Be quiet and sit down.” I said in a hushed tone, looking to see if anyone had noticed our small commotion.
Taking up his seat again, he said, “It’s me, Freddy from college.”
I couldn’t remember my two years of college, let alone the four years after that, so I simply said, “Sorry.”
“We had abnormal psych together,” he said.
I tried to rouse my memory, but to no success. My gut told me that something in his words rang true, so I said, “Huh, maybe. Still, piss off.”
Freddy from college shook his head slowly. He said in a deliberately loud voice, “Wow Jill, you’ve changed.” I winced as he stalked off. A few guests near the back were now shooting glances at me. The damn fool had almost blown my cover.
I focused on my breathing and counted to ten. It was important that nothing ruin my enjoyment of the occasion. Now at the front of the crowd a young man was playing something vaguely happy on an acoustic guitar while the bride crooned something sweet and off key to the groom, my son. I couldn’t see his face, but I could guess that he wore an expression of amazed contentment. For several minutes I bathed in the ecstasy of parental pride. If only for a moment.
“So what happened to your face?”
My reverie shattered and fell around me. It was Freddy from college again, miraculously sitting next to me again, and asking the worst kind of pointed question.
“I fell,” I said, weakly. I wasn’t interested in getting him to raise his voice again.
He studied the etchings on my face, and for every second this happened my comfort increased exponentially. “Nah,” he finally said, “Too deep. Looks deliberate. Did you get in a fight?”
“Yes I got in a fight.” I said mechanically. It was a lie, but it was a better lie than the last. I decided it would be best to change the subject. “How did you recognize me?”
“Lady with a cut up face is more recognizable than you think, Jill,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling his stupid smile anymore. He was studying me in his intense way again, he looked almost concerned.
“What? What are you staring at?” God, how I would have given anything for him to just leave me alone. I felt trapped, and I didn’t know why.
“You did this to yourself,” he finally said, “Why did you do this to yourself?”
I stood up in something of a panic, knocking over my chair and drawing even more looks. He was asking all the right questions, which is to say all the wrong ones. My spider sense went off the charts. I tried to mumble something apologetic as I stalked past him to the door. I tried to maintain an aura of calm as I opened the door and walked out into the lobby. When I saw the two men waiting for me there, all calm abandoned me. I let the door slam behind me and made a mad dash for the stairs to my left. The two men were no amateurs. One of them tackled me to the ground and held me pinned with his forearm to my throat. Freddy from college walked in, looking more competent than he had when I first met him.
“Let her up, but hold her,” he told thug one. To me he said, “I’m sorry Jill. If you’re irrational we have to detain you.”
“You can’t take me back, not yet. I have to see this wedding.” I said, hoarse from my recent choking.
“First thing Jill, are you rational? Answer everything truthfully and you’ll receive fair treatment.”
“I am rational, you fuck!” I screamed.
“Why’d you cut your face?” he asked, ignoring the outburst.
“To… live vicariously through myself.”
“A disguise. Hmm, well it might have worked better if you were actually living through yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” I struggled against the grip of thug one. “Tell him to ease up.”
“Ease up Kline.” The oaf at my arm blessedly let go, and I straightened my jacket, giving Freddy what I hoped was a defiant look. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my son’s wedding. Just give me this and I’ll go back, peacefully.”
“Your son’s…? I though you said you were rational.” He gave an unmistakable look to Kline, and I knew I would have to make a break for it. I burst forth unleashing a roar that was meant to startle, shoving Freddy on his college ass. I burst through the doors and ran past into the startled crowd. The bride and the groom, my son, both looked up at me stunned. I tore off my glasses, knowing he could not mistake my eyes, one blue and one green, and cried out to my son. “Jimmy, my boy! I’m sorry, I did it because I love you!”
It was all I had time to say. Both Kline and thug two pounded up the aisle and wrestled me to the ground. Just as they were about to start pummeling my head, my son spoke up.
“Wait a minute.” They stopped for a moment. My son walked closer and squatted to peer deep into my unmistakable eyes. He said, “Who the hell are you?”
Upon returning to the hospital I’ve since realized the error of my ways. I’d been locked up so long I simply forgot what my son looked like. Dr. Leroy keeps saying over and over like a broken record, “You have no son, you have no son,” but he also says he’s Freddy from college. You can’t trust those mind probers. And besides, I have it on the best of local authority that Todd the arsonist on floor two has a photo of my boy.
