Many people told me I didn\u2019t need to keep Valerie. That it was a fake identity. I ignored them. Fake was the signature. Fake was the marriage. Fake was the story of my orphanage. But Valerie wasn\u2019t fake. Valerie was the woman who survived when Lucy was lost.<\/p>\n
My mother took a while to accept that name. It hurt her, because it had been forced upon her daughter. One afternoon, while we were drinking coffee in her kitchen, she said: \u201cSometimes I feel that calling you Valerie proves them right.\u201d I took her hand. \u201cNo. It gives me all my pieces back.\u201d<\/p>\n
She cried softly. I did too.<\/p>\n
Marcus\u2019s house was emptied out. The white room remained as evidence. The first time I walked back inside accompanied by the prosecutor, I thought I was going to break. I saw the gurney, the monitors, the photos of me sleeping. I saw the closet that swallowed women and spat out patients.<\/p>\n
Then I found my notebook. The one with the phrases I didn\u2019t recognize. I turned the pages. \u201cDon\u2019t drink the water.\u201d<\/i> \u201cCount the cameras.\u201d<\/i> \u201cDon\u2019t let Marcus know you remember.\u201d<\/i> And on the last page, in shaky handwriting, was something I didn\u2019t remember writing: \u201cIf you wake up and you\u2019re scared, don\u2019t hate yourself. Your fear kept you alive.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
I sat on the floor and hugged the notebook as if I were hugging another woman. Myself. The one who didn\u2019t know who she was and still fought to come back.<\/p>\n
Months later, I defended my thesis. I titled it: \u201cMemory, Violence, and Control: Imposed Forgetfulness as a Form of Captivity.\u201d My mother was in the front row, with a scarf covering her scars and bright eyes. When I finished, she stood up before anyone else and clapped with a strength that seemed to come from the years that had been stolen from her.<\/p>\n
As I left, the press asked me what I would say to Marcus if he could hear me. I thought of his black notebook. His gloves. His voice saying \u201cher memory still hasn\u2019t returned.\u201d I answered: \u201cThat enough of it came back.\u201d<\/p>\n
That night I slept in the new apartment I rented on my own. Small. With plants in the window. No cameras. No secret hallways. No capsules on the nightstand.<\/p>\n
I made tea and let it cool while I looked at the bed. For a long time, sleeping had been disappearing. Handing over my body. Trusting someone I shouldn\u2019t have. That night, however, sleeping was my choice.<\/p>\n
I lay down with the open notebook next to me. Before turning off the light, I wrote one sentence. Not for Marcus. Not for the judges. Not for my mother. For me. \u201cMy name is Lucy Valerie. I was erased many times. But I learned to write myself all over again.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
I turned off the lamp. I closed my eyes. And for the first time in two years, the darkness didn\u2019t come to take my memory. It came to let me rest.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Many people told me I didn\u2019t need to keep Valerie. That it was a fake identity. I ignored them. Fake was the signature. Fake was the marriage…. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15737","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":false,"total_views":0,"today_views":0},"yoast_head":"\n