Excerpt: My Name is Not Jane

The moment the alarm clock buzzed, I was awake. I immediately turned off the alarm and bounded out of bed. Today was my first day back. Today I would meet my coworkers all over again. Today I would be re-trained for my job and endure a million questions to which I still had no answers.

Sure, Cameron and Mindy had dropped by with flowers from the office and a big card signed by the whole staff. Tyrone Yilmings himself, our company’s president, had signed the card and offered his condolences. His wife Regina had signed as well. But something still didn’t feel right when I thought about returning to work.

A lot of people there care about me. Being there will help me remember. Memories will come back in time. And even if they don’t, it will be okay.

But as I buttoned my blazer and glanced at the time, the same sense of dread overwhelmed me. It has to be the driving. I’m just afraid to drive again. I pinned up my hair with surprising efficiency. I must know how to do this part pretty well. I checked the time again and started applying my makeup. But wait. I haven’t had a problem driving to the store. Or the park. Or anywhere else. What’s my hang-up with work?

I brushed off the question as I sprayed some perfume and began selecting jewelry to wear. Again, my fingers seemed to know exactly what to do. I watched in curiosity and wonder as I found the perfect black oval necklace to match today’s outfit. Within two minutes, I’d found the matching earrings.

Maybe I’m just not a morning person.

But I never seemed to stay in bed past the alarm clock’s second angry buzz. I seemed to get most of my work around the house done before 10am. That seemed to indicate I was a morning person.

I was almost ready to leave. I grabbed my bangle watch from the dresser. I thought I was done and turned away. I suddenly stopped. I checked myself in the room’s full-length mirror. Hair. Check. Makeup. Check. Jewelry. Check. Perfume. Check. What else?

I studied my reflection for a moment before turning back to my collection of jewelry. The first drawer of my dresser had been converted into a giant jewelry box. I ignored the large selection of necklaces. I paid the earrings no mind. I had both already on, and I couldn’t fathom why I was looking in the drawer again. I nervously checked the time, then turned back to the as-of-yet unanswered question at hand. What am I looking for?

Suddenly, I noticed a silver jewelry box in the corner of the drawer, nearly hidden by the assortment of bracelets. I pulled out the box and opened it. A sealed plastic bag was tucked inside the box. I instantly recognized the city hospital’s logo on the bag. I must have been wearing this at the time of the accident. Inside the bag was a diamond ring. I now remembered safely storing the ring in this box on my first day back at home. I’d barely looked at the ring. I hadn’t thought too much about it. I’d just stuffed it with all my other jewelry and went on with my life.

I’d seen my receipts. I shopped at Wal-Mart and Kohl’s. I was attracted to bracelets of the five-dollar variety. I had a very moderate income. I lived alone. I paid my bills. I had little spare change. A diamond ring didn’t seem to belong to the life I’d discovered that I’d been living.

It was as if I was staring at the ring for the first time. I stared at the single stone. I examined the rest of the ring. It looks like...an engagement ring.

I slipped it on my ring finger. I was immediately satisfied and suddenly ready to leave. But as I grabbed my briefcase and purse, I couldn’t help staring at the ring I hadn’t worn since the accident. So I’m engaged? Where’s my fiancee? Why don’t I remember him? How could I have forgotten I’m engaged? How come he hasn’t come to see me? Written to me? Why do I suddenly remember to wear the ring today? What on earth does this have to do with my work?

I still had the same questions by the time I’d parked in front of my workplace – New Ideas Advertising. The dread I’d been sweeping under the rug all morning came rushing back to me as I stared at the company’s logo. For some reason, this place gives me the creeps.