I Am Lily

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story of a girl who was given a second chance in life, a new start. But will this new life end just as tragically as the old one did? A beautiful love story of a Lily Life.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - I Am Lily

Submitted: January 29, 2008

Reads: 785

Comments: 15

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 29, 2008

A A A

A A A

I am anseventeen year old girl, and my name is Lillian Charlotte Duerre, also called Lily.

But I didn’t know all this until just a month ago.

Ok, I’ll start from the beginning again. I live in Liam, Connecticut, with my mother. It’s just the two of us, and although I’m still trying to adjust to everything around me, including the many people who keep telling me that I used to be their friend, I think I’ve gotten used to my home amazingly well. And my mother seems like a kind person.

So now let’s go back to a month ago. On April 16th, Friday, I woke up in the hospital and found myself lying on a white, starchy bed with tubes connected to my body and a monitor beeping steadily near my head. I looked around and decided I was in the hospital, but otherwise I didn’t know who I was, or why I was in the bed as though I’d just had a surgery. There was a woman sitting beside me in a little wooden chair, sound asleep. I could see her face from where I lay, and on her pretty features deep careworn lines of worry creased her otherwise smooth skin. This, I learned later, was Nancy Duerre, my mother. She awoke soon enough, saw me seeing her, and gave a shrill yelp, then started to cry.

“Lily,” she said between tears, which totally threw me into bewilderment. “Lily, sweetie, you’re alive. Thank God, you’re alive, you’re alive…and I thought you…you too…” Kneeling beside me she wept for a long time, looking into my face, touching my hair, then finally sinking to the floor with her face in her hands, her whole tiny body shaking with sobs.

A nurse came in soon, and found the two of us like that, and she too gave a little excited jump and ran out. She came back with the doctor, who was a middle-aged man with a pleasant smile. He saw me, and the smile widened.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Duerre. You’re daughter has come back to you.” He said, and moved over to check the monitor and jot down a few things into his booklet.

I opened my mouth and found my voice. It was a strange voice, quiet and clear, but I found it rather nice. “Excuse me,” I said.

The doctor and nurse turned to me, and my mother looked up, smiling through her tears.

“Can anyone please tell me what I’m doing here?” I tried to sound polite, but to tell the truth I was scared to death by the sight of these unfamiliar people, and was struggling to make sense of everything.

“What do you mean, Lily?” The person who was supposed to be my mother asked. “I know it still hurts, but you have to accept --- we have to accept it. It’s what happened, and only God knows how thankful I am to have you here.” She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

But the doctor was frowning. He held up a hand to stop my mother, and approached me. “There was an accident, Lillian,” he said in a firm voice. “An accident, and you lost your father. You were the sole survivor.”

“Accident?” I asked, getting more scared than ever. “Father?”

I saw the nurse whisper “no!” and the doctor shake his head. Only my mother was still looking from me to the doctor with a confused expression.

“Do remember the accident, Lillian?” the doctor asked.

“No,” I whispered. “What accident?”

“The accident concerning your father,” the doctor said clearly.

I shook my head. “What am I supposed to be remembering? And what did you call me? Lillian?”

My mother finally seemed to have grasped the situation. “Lily!” she practically screamed into my face, making me wince. “What do you mean, Lily? What are you talking about?”

“Please,” said the doctor. “Mrs. Duerre, please calm down. I did tell you something like this might happen: the accident was a big one, and such things are to be expected after a great damage touches the brain.” He turned to me. “Tell me what you can remember, Lillian.”

“Remember?” I asked in a whisper. “I can’t remember anything. I don’t know who I am, and what I’m doing here, and how old I am, and…I don’t know who you all are, and I don’t know what kind of accident you’re all talking about, and --- and…” I couldn’t stand it any longer. Looking at the strange faces in turn, I burst into tears.

“She’s just too shocked,” I heard my mother say. “The accident was too much for her…and the pain…still can’t shake it off…” Her voice trailed away as the doctor gave her a worn, sad look.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Duerre,” he said. “You daughter has no memory of what she has gone through. In fact, she has no memory of anything at all. The accident must have damaged her brain pretty thoroughly.”

“No,” whispered my mother. “No…Lily…Lily…”

I’d stopped crying by then. “So I lost my memory?” I asked the doctor.

“Yes,” he said.

“So…aren’t you supposed to be filling me in?”

“Yes,” said the nurse. “I’ll tell you the basic facts about you, and I trust your mother will tell you all the rest. Remember this, because you’re going to have to live a new life from now on. Your name is Lillian Charlotte Duerre ---”

“Called Lily,” interrupted my mother.

“Apparently,” said the nurse. “You are seventeen years old, and you were born on July 25th, 1991 ---”

“She can’t even remember her birthday…” moaned my mother.

“--- here in Liam, Connecticut, in this hospital. Your height and weight are as follows ---”

“I think I’ll find that out on my own once I get home,” I said.

“Lily hates discussing physical appearance with people other than her friends and family,” my mother explained.

“Well, yeah, I do,” I said. The nurse raised her eyebrows and nodded. I turned to the woman beside me.

“Are you my mother?” I asked, which made tears spring to her beautiful large eyes once again.

“Yes,” said Nancy Duerre, swallowing her sobs. “Yes, I’m your mother.”

“And…do I have a father?”

“No,” she said, the sobs uprising. “He died in the accident.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling pretty stupid. “Well, I’m sorry.”

My mother nodded. “Maybe losing memories have a good side,” she said to the doctor and nurse. “If she hadn’t, her poor heart would have been torn apart. She loved her father, more than anything, more than she ever loved herself.”

The situation was becoming more and more awkward for me, and I was relieved when the doctor and nurse made the final check-ups and let me go home. So from then on for a month until now, I lived in the little house in Liam, Connecticut, with the woman called Nancy Duerre. And although I’m still a bit uncomfortable when around other people who insist they know me, I’ve taken to everything unbelievably well, if I say so myself. And sometimes I feel something strange inside me, little flashbacks and memories that cross my mind from time to time. Faces of my mother have appeared a lot in my head, especially when I lay down to sleep, and slowly, I’ve grown to love the woman as I should, like a real mother. The friendliness and love in her eyes make me want to jump up and hug her every time she’s around. And I have accepted, finally, that I really am Lillian Charlotte Duerre, and that this really used to be my life. I feel comfortable in my bed, my room. Things look strange, but familiar at the same time.

But there is another flashback that keeps coming to me, appearing in my dreams and haunting my sleeping soul.

A beautiful house on fire…a handsome, laughing man appearing to be in his late forties…and a strange woman, frowning…a great anger filling my heart…fire…fire…the man and woman caught in the flames, screaming…crying out…and the fire…and pain…

The memory started coming to me just a day after I arrived in my new home, and it troubles me from day to night with a fright and sorrow I can’t explain. So I told my mother about it, and slowly, catching her breath and trying not to cry, she told me that it was the memory of the ‘accident’ everyone around me keeps talking about in whispers. The accident in which I lost my father and my memory. Here’s the story my mother told me.

My mother, father and I were one happy family, long before the accident. We lived in our home sweet home without a single worry or fear in the world. But as time passed and since just a month before the accident, my mother saw that my father often was uneasy about something, and sat for long whiles in his office thinking, not saying anything, or even leaving the house for a couple of days to take care of some “business,” as he called it. But there was something else, and she became worried about him, so agreed when he said he’d be gone for about a week to take his mind off of things and get himself into order. Just one week, he had said. She had agreed and let him go off alone on his little holiday. But I couldn’t stand not having my father in the house, so when a few days had passed, I’d left the house on secret to find my father and meet him, and bring him home. I was sure he was in the neighborhood, I had told my mother often. But I’d left secretly in the dead of the night while my mother was sleeping in her bed, but at nearly three in the morning my mother awoke to the sound of the telephone. It was a call from the hospital that her daughter and husband had been involved in an accident. Someone had set fire to his house, the caller had told her. The husband had burned to death, but the girl had not yet died. She had, fortunately, not had direct contact with the fire itself so her body was undamaged, but the chemicals in the smoke had hurt her brain immensely, and she had lost consciousness. Nearly having a heart attack my mother rushed to the hospital, and found me lying in a bed, eyes closed and hardly breathing, brain going wild and heart beating only a few times a minute. So she had feared the worst.

But I had survived, as my mother kept saying as she ended her story. It explained the fiery memory, but there was nothing in it about the strange woman I’d seen in my flashbacks. It wasn’t my mother, I was sure.

Luckily, the horrible memory hasn’t come lately, so I am a little relieved, but the thought that one night in my dreams the sickening image might come back is something I hate to think about.

So, I guess by now you know all about me. I’m a girl who lost her father and her memory in an accident involving fire, and though my father died I survived and am now living a content, new life.

Oh, but there’s one more thing I forgot to say. It’s something I learned from my mother, and something that keeps nagging at the back of my mind whenever I think about my strange life and the about the accident. When I lost my memory from the accident, and when I forgot everyone around me, including my own mother and father, there was someone else who I forgot. Actually, two other people I forgot.

One, I forgot the face of the person who caused the accident, who set fire to my father’s holiday house. I’m sure I saw his face, and the image is there, somewhere at the back of my forgotten memories, but I can’t ever seem to catch it to take a good look. The culprit, the killer of my father, I can never know. And second, I forgot the one person I loved with the whole of my heart. There was a boy, as my mother says often, there was someone who I’d loved more than anything, more than even my father. Someone I’d loved with everything that I’d had. But of his face or name or anything about him, I can’t remember a single thing.


© Copyright 2018 Aryanne. All rights reserved.

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