Page 15 of Stay Awake
The phone disconnects with a click. I’m so annoyed by the woman’s rudeness that I take a pen from a container on the table and I write on my hand:DON’T TALK TO THE COPSEVER!!
It’s a childish gesture, but it makes me feel better. That police officer treated me as if I was nuts. I’m not. I’m certain there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for my confusion. Perhaps I’m feeling the aftereffects of a sedative that’s left me in a zombie state. Or maybe I really am jet-lagged. That might explain why everything feels as if it’s happening to someone else.
I put my head in my hands and try to focus on what to do next. If I’ve lost my purse then someone may have my credit cards. I need to cancel them.
I pick up the phone again and call my bank. After I’ve worked my way through the self-serve system, twice, my call is answered by “Brad” from customer service.
I tell Brad that my wallet is missing and that I’d like to block all my credit cards and access to my bank account. We go through a verification process of my name, social security number, and all the rest.
Brad puts me on hold while he checks my details. The tinny hold music rubs my nerves so raw that I breathe an audible sigh of relief when his officious voice returns on the line.
“Ma’am, there must be a mistake. You don’t have an account with this bank.” His tone is patronizing.
“You are Chase Bank?”
“Yes.”
“Then I definitely have an account with you. I’ve been banking with you since high school.”
“Ma’am, our records show that your account was closed more than two years ago.”
“Who closed the account?”
“You did.”
“That’s not possible.”
“There’s no mistake, ma’am. Perhaps you’ve forgotten? I suggest you go to a branch with your ID. Someone will help you further.”
“But I don’t have my ID. It’s in my handbag. The one that’s missing. That’s the reason for my call; to cancel my credit cards.”
“You definitely don’t have any cards or bank accounts with us anymore so there’s nothing to cancel,” he says.
I hang up the phone feeling physically sick as I consider the possibility that my bank accounts have disappeared, which means I have no money. In a panic, I take out the wad of cash I found in my pocket at the hairdresser. I count the money, note by note, making a pile on my lap. There’s over a thousand dollars in crisp notes.
My eyes well with tears. Everything has felt inside-out since I woke on the bench at Washington Square Park. My bank account at Chase has been closed, apparently for years. My desk at work has been taken over by bubbly Josie with her tartan skirt and legs that seem to go on forever. The office has changed almost beyond recognition. Almost everyone here is a stranger to me. They all think that I’ve been living in London, which is patently ridiculous. Who forgets relocating to a foreign city?
I look again at the message written on my hand.DON’T SLEEP! I FORGET EVERYTHING WHEN I FALL ASLEEP.
The sentence reverberates in my head. What else have I forgotten? I sense it’s something important. No matter how much I try, I can’t think of what it might be. The only thing I know for sure is that time has skipped ahead without me noticing.
“What’s today’s date?” I type into the search bar on Google.
“November 2,” says the search result.
That surprises me. My last memory is from July 31. I distinctly remember seeing the day marked on the calendar pinned to my cubicle wall when I reached across my desk to answer the phone.
Three months have passed.
No, not three months, I correct myself. I focus on the date on the computer screen.
Two years have passed, and I remember none of it. It feels as if I’ve been catapulted into the future.
Chapter
Ten
Two Years Earlier
