Family Fugue

He wrote to her often and often cried when he did; So much so that the tears would soak the paper. The salt in the tears grounded him away from his pain but to his reality. He often tore up the letters agreeing with himself that crying was its own reward – the letter need not be received by her. 

He figured that she never read the letters anyway. She probably just put them right into the trash. He thought she might return to sender but knew this would not hurt him as much as not knowing.

                Dear Rochelle,

My sheets ache for you, I ache for you. Our dog, yes the one we got together and named BeeBee aches for you. Back to the sheets. They ache for you because you aren’t laying on them (or is it lying; I miss your grammar lessons!) If only you would come back and lay on the sheets. Then I could be happy and make you ligonberry pancakes again. Remember the time we went to Ikea and imitated that Seinfeld episode? How can you not miss that enough to come back to me? BeeBee can’t be happy without you feeding her the way you do. I can’t be happy because you are with him now. What is so special about him? Ask yourself if his sheets ache. I bet they don’t. I bet he can’t make a pancake to save his life. I know he’s successful and good looking but he won’t love you the way I do. He won’t let you embarrass him at a pet store the way I would. Why on earth would you throw a lizard on me inside a pet store? You know about my gecko phobia! But I only love you more. He’ll never do that for you.

Anyway, have to go now, BeeBee needs walked and I have to run out and get a new hot rock for the gecko. Probably going to run me about 20 bucks!

Love you, waiting.

P.S., please let me know you are getting these letters.

P.S.S., did you watch the Benny Hill discs I sent to you?

Rochelle was a newly engaged woman in her mid to late twenties who suffered bouts of identity loss. Some call them dissociative fugues. Correction, Rochelle, only suffered one bout of identity loss. It was during this loss, or dissociative fugue, where she wound up in northern Minnesota with no memory of who she was or how she got there. Open bus doors and there she is: Rochelle in Minnesota. She met him at the diner by the bus stop and he was more smitten than a kitten with new mittens. Her glazed over look and buttery paranoia rubbed him just the right way. Like a massage with wet rice bags. Who knows where she slept (or, maybe once, bathed) that first week but her disheveled, odorous reappearance at the diner only sealed his fate. Love at first fugue. Though she never said much he fell harder than a Motley Crue groupie; During Motley Crue’s heyday of course. Her rants about ice fishing and periodic losses of consciousness and loss of consciousnesses only endeared her more. So she didn’t talk much, so she was inappropriate with elders and children, maybe she couldn’t hold a job or help with chores, and maybe she was confused about up and down and lacked proprioceptivity after 8pm, she was his and he was going to keep her.

One day Rochelle found herself in the Emergency Room for trying to steal a bag lady’s bag and suffered a broken nose to rival an underdog on the undercard. She then found herself with a psychiatrist; what after a conversation about ice fishing from the water with the nurse. She then found herself on a “ward” of certain sorts that provided certain medications that might help one that suffers from fugues, musical or otherwise. Rochelle got better and discovered who she was. She called home:

                Mom, it’s Rochelle.

                Oh my god honey, are you alright? Where are you?

                I’m ok and I’m in Minnesota.

Well you aren’t ok if you are in Minnesota. Those people like winter. What have they done to you?

I had a fugue Mom, a dissociative fugue. 

What the hell is that? Are you mad at us for something? A fugue??? Do you mean you blew a fuse? You are mad aren’t you? Are you mad we made you retake that psychology class? Honey repeating a course you’ve done poorly in is the best way to raise your GPA quickly. Your father and I just want what is best for you. Is this why you fused in Minnesota? Honey we want you to come back home; you don’t have to retake the class if you don’t want to. Why can’t you fuse here where we don’t have winter? You can fuse in your room right? Is this some sort of new thing, this fusing? Maybe I’m getting old but I don’t know why a person has to go where it is cold to fuse. I mean it seems to me you need heat to fuse. I didn’t major in chemistry but I know a little something about fusing and you need heat to do it…

Mom, mom, mom, MOM!!! I’ll be on a bus today and I’ll be home next week.

Oh goodie goodie gum drops! What should I do so you can fuse here?

Bye mom. Tell Dad I’m ok.

               

She left Minnesota, went home to Florida, put her fugue behind her and met a lovely young man in her psychology class –Abnormal Psych, her parents didn’t make her retake Intro. 

He kept writing letters to Rochelle -Rochelle from Lake City Minnesota. Same first name same last name. Rochelle from Lake City Minnesota has been trying to explain to her boyfriend, who intercepted the first letter, that she “don’t freakin’ know anyone from Lake City and that even if I did, it wouldn’t be this dipshit.”