SHORT STORY - WHO AM I?

“ Pop goes the weasel.” “Pop goes the weasel.” “Pop goes the weasel.”

This tune would not stop ringing even as I crushed my face onto the soft reach of the pillow. It kept going on and on, on and on. Until it suddenly stopped.

“Babe! Wake up! It's 6 am; you've got to wash the kids and feed 'em,” spoke a manly figure whose view was blocked by my sleep-thirsty eyes. He went on to rant about how I did not bother switching off an alarm clock which almost deafened him.

Who was he? And what was he doing in my room, near my bed?

Before I could rise from my bed to fetch a clearer view of the man who took upon himself the liberty of schooling me, three tiny figures jumped onto my bed and stood bouncing on it as if it were a trampoline. I was enraged. This was an obstruction of property. MY PROPERTY! I rose from the bed like a devil from hell and screamed at these unconcerned humans who had no regard for the privacy of another.

“ Who on EARTH do you all think you are!”

“ What are you doing in MY ROOM? THIS IS MY HOUSE, and if you do not leave at this instant, I shall call the police and force them to drag you out!”

Instead of considering running away, this man and his 3 young children laughed. They laughed like witches. And they continued laughing for the next 10 minutes. The four of them – the man, 2 young boys and a young girl – looked at me hysterically.

I did not understand why they were doing that, and my emotions kept flaring up until one of the young boys, looking quite amused and content, looked at me and exclaimed, “ Mom! What are you doing? You used the police threat yesterday when we didn’t finish our mashed potatoes. Try something new, hehe!”

‘Mom.’ This word baffled me. He called me ‘Mom’. And after him, the other boy and a young girl referred to me by that name.

“Yeah, Mom, calm down and please make us brekkie!” said the man in a humorous tone.

They then slowly strided out of the room, confident that I’d follow. But I didn’t. Doubt took over my mind as it churned from the uneventful disclosure of the morning. I was still bewildered by the fact that three young children kept calling me ‘Mom’, and the man referred to me as ‘babe’!

To add to that stomach-churning sensation, all four of them loudly took up my name every five minutes, commanding me to come down to that hall instantly to make breakfast, clean the mess made by someone named ‘Bubblegum’, and pack their lunches. 

As they kept yelling, I continued walking around the room like an anxious dog until I saw it. A picture. A picture with me, this particular man and these 3 children, and in the corner of the picture was a dog with a crown on his head. The back of the frame read, ‘Bubblegum’s birthday. 17th August, 2002.’

Within a quick time frame, I realised that I was a mother, a wife!

I had never felt so isolated and alien to the atmosphere, for I could not recollect even a single memory that justified my role as a mother or as a wife. I could not, for the sake of my soul, remember the day I got married or the day I welcomed children. I could not remember the names of my husband or children! What on earth was this feeling, and why did God place me in such a predicament (if God ever existed)!

But one name kept penetrating my mind – Rick. The name ‘Rick’ kept swinging in my mind, as almost every thought included this name either as a whisper or a strong indication of something I was not aware of.

Mustering up all the courage I had, I walked downstairs to the demanding needs of these four people who relied on me, but not to first fulfil their wishes, but to ask them if they knew Rick, for I had to clear my doubt.

But their response was an even greater blow.

“Who’s Rick?” 

“Is he the new lawn mower you hired?”

“Wait! Is he the courier guy, Ma? My pen-pencils still haven’t arrived, and I think they’re going to be delivered today!”

“STOP! Do any of you know a man named Rick?” I asked them aggressively in the face of their incessant chirping and guessing.

“Ummm…..no, I guess?” whispered the man who was my husband.

All of them gazed at me as if I were a belligerent and drunk woman waiting to pounce on them like a hungry hyena. But that was an understandable feeling. What I could not digest was my spiralling paranoia, for it was never-ending.

Why was the name ‘Rick’ spotted everywhere in my thoughts? Ughhhhhh, I so badly wished to throw a chair across the French windows, and I was truly about to do that – until I saw him. A man wearing a hoodie, his face covered with a black mask, and his hands hidden by nautical blue gloves, stood by the windows eerily.

He did not do much, except glare at me and slowly move his hand inside his jacket to acquire a piece of a handwritten note. He positioned the note towards me, and it read, ‘Blink once. Breathe twice. And close your eyes.’ A weird sensation forced me to follow those instructions. And I did.

2 minutes later, I was turned back into an atmosphere that very closely resembled a circus. I sat in one of the stalls with my palms closely stuck to a crystal orb. A woman, sitting right in front, looked at me with almond eyes and exclaimed, “And you’re done! Hope you had a riveting experience. Bye Bye!”

I voluntarily rose from the coarse cushioned chair, only to be greeted by the same man and three children, but this time, I remembered their names – the man was Jack, my husband; the two young boys were my twin sons, Dustin and Carter; and the young girl was my daughter, Evelyn. 

A sudden feeling of comfort filled my body from top to bottom, and the anxiety and fluttering heartbeats vanished. It felt as if my soul had been brought back from a nightmare in hell. Slowly growing comfortable, I held onto my children’s hands, who kept on asking what life was like with me forgetting my identity and memory. Suddenly, my common sense urged me to go back to the stall and its name. And it read, ‘Looking to lose your memory for a while! Look no further! Welcome to Rick’s forgetful adventure!’

And I suppose you can figure out the events unfolding yourself!