It's Explained (The Story of John Winston: Part 5)

“This is sick”, I yelled some more. “I have been in a coma for six months, Mary is out there at home probably crying her eyes out, and you’re here telling me that some strange woman is my wife! I demand you get Mary in here right now!”

“That woman is your wife. There is no Mary, John.” Dr. Song was trying his hardest to keep his cool. However, I could see his nerves going wild behind his eyes.  

“Get out”, I demanded. I was not going to be made a fool by this lot. The doctor nodded and made his way out the door. I slammed my head back onto my pillow. My fingers ran themselves through my hair. They got tangled between a couple strands for a moment. Breaths came and gone quickly and shakily. Anger stuck in my throat. Lips quivered under my suddenly stuffy nose. Tears blurred my vision. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started to sob uncontrollably. It was all too frustrating. I just wanted to see my wife. Why wouldn’t they let me? Eventually my crying had taken up whatever energy I had. Traces of sobs were still present as my eyes started to flutter shut. Within minutes I was fast asleep.

My sleep didn’t feel like it lasted long, but when I woke, the television was on the news channel for the next night. There was a little girl sitting on the chair by the window looking through the channel guide. In the chair next to my bed was a man who was writing something down in a notebook.

“Oh”, he said when he looked up. “You’re awake.” I just looked at him confused. “I’m Dr. Noble. I’ve been here to” he paused for a moment as he carefully chose his words. “Observe you”.

“Observe me? What in the world do you need to observe me for?”

“Mr. Winston, my field of study is psychology.”

“You’re a shrink?”

“Yes, I am a… shrink.”  Dr. Noble didn’t seem to like that term. “I’m here to help with your memory problem”. I just looked away from him, and shook my head. “Mr. Winston, what is the last thing you remember before you went to the store the day you got hit?” I took in a breath. I decided that I might as well play along for a little bit.

“I woke up on a Sunday. Mary had brought me a cup of tea to help with a headache I was having. She wanted me to go get ice-cream for our movie day, so I went to the store. You know everything from there.” The doctor just sat there and nodded.

“How long have you known Mary”, he asked.

“Well, for as long as I could remember.”

“And how long is that?” I wanted to say my whole life, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember meeting Mary, or even marrying her. The more I tried to remember her, the less I actually could. “Do you know anything about her childhood, or maybe her job?” Dr. Noble just kept asking questions about Mary I couldn’t answer. Eventually, He realized that I wasn’t about to answer, and left the room. I saw his shadow, plus some others through the frosted glass window.

The channel on the TV changed to Disney. A Mickey Mouse short was on. Mary loved Mickey Mouse. I remember that. Without looking at the little girl, I said, “I like Mickey. He was my favorite as a kid.” Out of the corner off my eye, I saw her nod her head as if to say that she agreed.

A couple minutes passed and both doctors and Tasha returned.

“Mr. Winston”, Dr. Noble began. “After running a few brain scans while you were a sleep, and a few hours of observation, I hate to inform you that Mary is just a figment of your imagination.” I opened my mouth to talk, but he cut me off. “Let me explain. While you were in your coma, the part of your brain that creates dreams stayed active. Your subconscious created a whole new life for yourself while you were under. That’s why it is so hard to remember things about her. It’s like trying to remember a dream.” So many trains of thought barreled down the tracks of my mind at one time. “Mary never existed, Mr. Winston.”

“You mean to tell me that the utopian life I had was all fiction?” the look on his face gave me my answer. I put my hands over my face.

“It will take some time to get used to regular life again. However, you have me and your family members to help you adjust.” The trains derailed.

 “I don’t want to adjust! I want my life back! I want Mary back!” my hands returned to my face.

“Tasha”, the voice sounded young and familiar. “Why does he keep yelling?” I spread my fingers just enough to see Tasha as she responded. She put out her hand as she said, “Clara, come with me.” That’s when I looked up to see the little girl from the picture (now in a purple flower dress) grab Tasha’s hand, and leave.