Insanity defense

[Diana Dumitrescu]

INSANITY DEFENSE

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A new morning

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My eyes fly open and dart around the unfamiliar room. Where the hell am I?
My startled gaze drifts to the other side of the bed.
And who the hell is that?

Panic wells up in me and my heart starts to race. I am in the wrong place, the wrong house. Though the room feels familiar, I know I’ve never been here before. Maybe I am not seeing correctly. Maybe my eyesight is failing me. There is a man sleeping with his back to me. His hair is dark, darker than my husband Mike’s. This man is too tan and too thin to be Mike and his hair is cut differently. But he looks slightly familiar. I think I know him. But that doesn’t answer the question, why am I here? Did I get drunk and pass out somewhere? Was I drugged? Have I been kidnapped? I don’t feel hungover, I don’t feel hurt and I don’t feel sick. But inside my head my mind is screaming, what the hell is happening!?

The familiar stranger starts to stir. Oh, God, Susan! - I think to myself. Run! Still asleep, he rolls over to face me. I stare in shock. My heart beats even faster. My hand finds its way over my mouth to quiet a scream. I draw in a breath...so deep it almost suffocates me. It’s my ex-husband, David. My body begins to tremble. David is still asleep, oblivious to the fact that he is next to a panicking woman whose world has just turned upside down. Why am I here? Why is he here? This has to be a mistake.

I tell myself to breath as I slowly and quietly inhale and exhale. I cannot wake him. I wouldn’t know what to say. My mind races, struggling to make sense of my circumstances. What happened last night? How did we meet up? I don’t remember any of it. I haven’t seen David in several years. He doesn’t even live in the same state as I do! So how did I get into what I assume is his house?

And where are Kevin… and Chris... and Sheila? Have they tried calling me? Are they worried? My cell phone...it has to be here somewhere. I have to find it. I have to find my things. I need to get out of here! I slowly lift the sheet from across my lap and step onto the plush carpet. There is a familiar scent in the room. My eyes have now adjusted to the low light. The room decor is simple, but has a feminine touch. His wife. Where is his wife? My heart starts to pound again. What if she comes home and finds me? I think, as guilt and fear wash over me. I begin my escape, quietly slipping out through the slightly open bedroom door and step into a long hallway lined by four more doors.

I tiptoe slowly down the hallway, in fear of stepping too loudly or hitting a creak in the floor of what appears to be an older ranch-style home. To the left is a small bathroom, with only a shower, toilet and pedestal sink. It looks recently remodeled. I ease my way down the hall past a linen closet and gingerly approach another door that is half open. It seems to be a guest bedroom, despite the fact it is light green and soft pink. I am almost completely past it when I hear heavy breathing.

I turn back to poke my head in the doorway and see a small child in the bed, her long brown hair gracing the pillow. But the small body is turned away from my view and the blankets are pulled up high, shielding her face. Oh God, oh God, it’s a child! How could I be in this house with him and some child? What kind of man brings a woman home while there is a child here? And who is this little girl? David doesn’t have any daughters with his new wife.

I shrug it off and try to pick up my pace. I have to get out of here as quickly as possible. I move away from the door frame, but my eye is immediately pulled back to something in the room. I peer in again. On top of the dresser is an item I have seen in my daughter’s room every day for the last eleven years of her life. How can that be? I whisper. I slowly make my way into the room. I am careful not to wake the child, who is sleeping with her head under the covers, as I creep towards the small silver figurine of two embracing cherubs. When she was a year old, I bought my daughter Sheila the same one while on a trip to the coast at a specialty shop where all the items were handmade and unique.

My fingertips lightly touch the cold silver wings. I gently pick up the figurine for inspection. My understanding when I purchased the piece was that it was one of a kind. I carefully place it in my left hand. Light from the sun is now peeking through the window. I can see the figurine very clearly. It is identical to the one I bought my daughter. It even holds the same correction mark where one wing was not molded properly and the artist tried to improvise.

Mommy?

I turn around quickly, startled by a small voice from the bed. Blood rushes from my head and my knees weaken. The child is my daughter Sheila, but she is young again. Suddenly the room goes dark and I feel the slam of the floor as my body meets it. Lights out.