©2025 SammyC

.

The moment I walked into the house, the lights came on. Sure, it was almost 1 o’clock in the morning. Way past my curfew of 11PM. But I was shocked to find my parents waiting on the couch for me, stern, angry looks on their faces. Tom had just dropped me off, driving away in his mom’s ancient SUV. I’m sure he was sporting a mile-wide grin as he leisurely navigated the short distance to his house. On the other hand, I felt like the convicts in a 1930s jailbreak movie suddenly spotted by blinding searchlights as they cautiously inched along the exterior walls of the prison.

“That’s it! You’re not going to the dance with that boy.” Nick rose from his seat, steam seeming to exit from his ears. “I told you he was bad. You’re going with George or you’re not going at all.”

Mom took me by the shoulders. “Listen to your father, dear—”

“He’s not my father! And you promised to talk to him about this, mom!”

“He’s right about this, Gigi. Tom’s just too wild to get involved with. Too irresponsible. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you. Go with George. He’s going places and he’s a nice boy—”

“I’m going with Tom!”

Arms akimbo, Nick stood between me and mom. “You’re going with George and that’s final! We’re responsible for you. I’m responsible for you. You’ll do what we say, or you won’t go to the dance—”

“Then I’m not going!” I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom and tried to stifle the tears I knew were coming.

“Nick, she can go by herself,” pleaded mom. “She could be voted Homecoming Queen. You wouldn’t want her to miss that.”

I buried my face in my pillow after launching myself onto my bed. After a few seconds, I realized Regina wasn’t lying under the blanket next to me. I turned in the dimly lit bedroom and saw her sitting at her desk, her head face down inches from her open laptop. She was snoring lightly.

“Regina,” I whispered, chancing waking her because I needed to vent to someone. She grunted and gradually woke, raising her head from the desk. Peering into the near-darkness, she scolded me with a hoarse voice.

“Gigi, where have you been? Mom’s been calling you every five minutes since…” She stopped to collect her thoughts. “Well, what time is it?”

“It’s almost one. Tom turned off our phones. We…uh…lost track of time—”

“They’re both mad as hornets, Gigi. But at least you had a good time, it looks like. So…did you and Tom...?”

“Almost. He kind of cooled off when I told him I just had my period yesterday. Then we sat there and looked at the moonshine dancing on the lake.”

“That’s all?”

“Well,” I giggled, “we played some tonsil hockey—”

“Dad’s right about you. You’re a bad girl.” She laughed with me and climbed onto the bed. We hugged.

“Of course, I would have done something special for him to make up for it,” teased Regina.

“You’re the bad one, Regina. Nick and mom said I have to go with George instead of Tom. Would you be upset by that?”

“Oh, hell no. George and I are not a thing anymore if we ever were. At, on his part. We’re just back to being good friends.”

“Is that why you’re writing his English first half term paper for him?” I nodded at the screen of her laptop.

“He asked me to…nicely. If he doesn’t pass all his classes, they won’t give him athletic scholarships at Syracuse or UConn. He’ll have to go to Rutgers or even a Division II school…”

“You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

Regina didn’t answer. She just nodded.

---

“Ready to go, squirt?” I looked up and saw Artie clomping down the stairs, his roller hockey jersey flapping in the breeze his rapid descent created. When he came forward to hug me, I made sure he had his complete outfit on correctly and smoothed down his cute little shorts.

It was a little after 2:30 on Saturday and I was taking Artie to his weekly hockey game at Petruska Park. Nick was playing golf with some guys from work and mom was working weekends again. Artie and I had just stepped out of the house when we came face to face with a smiling George Parker.

“George. What are you doing here?”

“Well, good afternoon to you too, Gigi.” He laughed and then waved his arm in the direction of his car, parked at the curb. “Your carriage awaits. I’m taking you and junior Sidney Crosby here to his hockey game.”

“We were going to take the bus like we usually do.”

“I’d rather ride in George’s car, Gigi. Can we?” Artie smiled up at George.

“Did Nick put you up to this?” I asked, annoyed at the thought.

“Well, yeah, but I was thinking about doing it anyway. I wanted to see if you’ve changed your mind about me taking you to the Homecoming dance.”

“You mean if Nick had changed my mind—”

“He’s right about Tom, you know. I never kept Winnie out past her curfew. I respected her too much to do that.”

“Also, Winnie’s dad is the Deputy Sheriff in town.”

“That too. So, will you be on my arm come Saturday night?”

“I guess I really have no choice—”

George let out a loud woo-hoo and exchanged hand slaps with Artie. We walked to his car, Artie’s hand in mine and my hand in George’s.

I told everyone at dinner that evening that I’d agreed to go the dance with George. Nick took a big gulp from his Disney beer mug (like the one I’d bought for the Nick in my universe when the family went to Disney World a few summers ago) as a victory toast. Mom smiled.

“Your dad and I will feel more secure in your safety, Gigi. Tom’s a charmer but George is the better match for you—”

“I’m not marrying either of them, mom. I just enjoy Tom’s company. He’s a cool dude.”

Nick put down his ginormous mug and put on a serious face. “Too cool for school, apparently. He might not even make it to graduation. That’s what I’ve heard.”

“You know, Nick, ever heard of Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg? They both dropped out of college. Did pretty well for themselves.”

“Well, for one thing, they got into an Ivy League school in the first place. Tom’s not even applying to a state school. I think he sees you as his meal ticket. That reminds me. Don’t oversleep tomorrow. We’re going to see your adoptive parents’ house in Summit. I’d like to get it over with before noon. The Jets game is on at 1.”

“Don’t worry about missing your game, Nick. I already asked Uncle Richie to drive me down. We’re meeting up with my attorney Bernie Frishberg and the LeClercs’ lawyer at the house.”

Tom’s mom told me he and his band were playing at The Crypt in the basement of St. Elmo’s Chapel on the campus of Parsons State University, so I punched in Tom’s cellphone number. A couple of rings in, he picked up.

“Gigi, I was going to call you, but today’s been hectic. I was jamming with the guys from the university this afternoon and, right now, my band’s got two sets here at The Crypt. Sorry, but I just didn’t have the time to call. I had a great time last night. The view out over the lake was beautiful and so were you—”

“Tom, I had a great time too. Sorry if you were a bit…uh…disappointed—”

“Maybe after the dance…”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’m afraid my parents won’t let me go to the dance with you. They want me to go with George. It’s not my call, Tom. Really—”

“I guess your dad believes all that shit about me being an underachieving loser. Not everybody’s on that boring middle-class drone track.”

“We can still see each other, Tom. My parents don’t have to know I’m dating you. I could get Regina to cover for me.”

“You mean lie for us?”

“I really, really like you, Tom. We just have to be careful about staying out too late. Once I turn 18 next March…”

“And after graduation, we can hit the road together.”

“You want me to come with you on the road?”

“If you want, Gigi. It’s like making music. We’ll improvise. Make it up as we go along. You can always go back to school if you choose. Or not. The important thing is your life is your own. We only get one shot at it. That’s the world we’re born into.”

“I wasn’t born into this world—”

“Gigi, they’re setting up. I’ve got to go. We’ll talk Monday at school. Bye, baby.”

He disconnected.

The white trim on the front exterior of the large colonial-style house on Beekman Road in Summit gleamed through the soft drizzle of a late October morning. This was where Gigi LeClerc grew up. I imagined the real Gigi peering out the windows below the twin gables on the second floor. Where is she now? Where am I?

Uncle Richie and I got out of his car and walked toward the small mob waiting for us at the front door. Standing under three umbrellas, I recognized my attorney Bernie Frishberg , my therapists, Doctors Navidad and Loving, here to observe memories being coaxed out of me, and a man I assumed to be the LeClercs’ family attorney, John Ralston, a set of keys in his right hand.

After a round of introductions and pleasantries, we stepped into the house. It was roomier inside than you would think.

“Genevieve, you’re as beautiful as I remember you but Doctor Navidad tells me you remember very little of your life before that awful helicopter crash,” John Ralston remarked as we stood in the middle of the living room, furnished in what Uncle Richie tells me is French Modern style. I learned later on that Gigi’s parents had purchased everything from Meubles Ikea in Paris. So, yeah, it’s still Ikea.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Mr. Ralston. Felice says looking through my old house will elicit huge chunks of lost memory. I…I hope so.”

“Especially your bedroom, Gigi,” Felice pointed out. “All sorts of personal items like clothing, books, computers, toys can open the gates of recollection—”

“Yes, Felice and I had a patient who had a breakthrough when she came upon a pair of shoes she had worn some years before,” Dr. Loving interjected.

“It was the smell of old leather, I believe,” noted Felice.

“Hmm, it did have a particularly piquant odor.” Dr. Loving unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth. “Anyone for gum? Believe it or not, I used to smoke. This helps.”

“Well, Genevieve,” Mr. Ralston explained, “your parents’ will stipulates that title to all property and assets will revert to you when you reach majority next March. Until then, as the administrator of their estate, I’m handling all debts and expenditures in trust. For instance, monthly mortgage payments on this house are still being paid. However, any personal items you wish to take with you now, you can. After all, as their sole surviving heir, you’re entitled to them.”

“There’s a wall of family photos here in this hallway,” Dr. Loving announced. “Come, Gigi, see if these photos stir up some memories.”

If I had been born correctly accoutered with the appropriate girl parts, this is what I would have looked like. There were baby pictures of Gigi being held in Delphine LeClerc’s arms. In a stroller pushed by Marcel LeClerc. Petting a puppy dog, curled up together on a living room rug. As she grew, a photo of Gigi trying to blow out the candles on her birthday cake, a photo of a six- or seven-year-old Gigi frolicking on a beach in South Jersey, laughing in her polka dot bikini, a photo of ballerina Gigi in a dance class for 8- or 9-year-olds, a photo of a middle school age Gigi holding a first prize ribbon for a New Jersey science competition. One of the most recent photos showed Gigi in a prom dress, proudly displaying her wrist corsage, a resplendent smile on her beautiful face. (Am I really that pretty?) The young man standing stiffly, albeit smiling, next to her was her date. A handsome lad who seemed nervous facing Gigi’s parents, as if unsure he was worthy of this genius ingenue on his arm.

“Anything?” Dr. Loving asked.

Uncle Richie shook his head covertly. I understood and hesitated for a long moment before also shaking my head. “Well, there’s something. I just can’t snatch it out of the air. Like it keeps slipping out of my grasp.”

“You were greatly treasured by your parents, Genevieve. I’ve never seen a more close-knit family. It would be a shame if you can’t regain your memory. Your parents weren’t just my favorite clients. I considered them part of my family. As I do you.” Mr. Ralston seemed to choke up and looked away from the wall of photos.

“Let’s take a look around your bedroom, Gigi,” Felice prompted as she placed her arm across my back, gently nudging me toward the stairs.

I tried to display some reaction if not true emotion when I went through the items in Gigi’s closet. She was a bit of a clothes horse. Not unexpected, considering the relative wealth of her corporate executive parents. Shoes. She had at least two dozen pairs. Dr. Loving gave me an expectant look as I bent down to inspect a particularly cute pair of trainers. I think he wanted me to sniff them. I demurred.

Her bookcase was filled with science and math textbooks. Hardly any fiction or popular non-fiction. No Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, or Chronicles of Narnia. I looked at her laptop but, of course, I couldn’t “remember” my password to open it. There were similar photos on her desk and vanity, including one of her holding hands with her prom date, in his graduation cap and gown. But the one that made me stare with genuine emotion was a head shot of her dog, the puppy in the photos on the wall downstairs. I picked it up and traced a finger along the dog’s forehead, petting a memory…the memory of my Mr. Tubbs. I must have sighed loud enough for Felice to notice and place a sympathetic hand on my wrist.

“He was a good dog. The best dog,” I cried out in a voice choked by tears.

“That’s wonderful!” Dr. Loving exclaimed. “I mean it’s sad that your dog has passed on but it’s a breakthrough moment. Oh the walls come tumbling down. Gigi, let’s explore this. What was your dog’s name?”

“Mr. Tubbs!” I blubbered.

“Mr. Tubbs? Your dog was named Titou. Marcel named him after his favorite rugby player, Titou Lamaison,” Mr. Ralston assured us.

“That’s strange, isn’t it, Per?” Felice continued to hold my hand. Dr. Loving shrugged his shoulders.

As I was trying to compose myself, the front doorbell rang. “Who could that be? Everyone’s here, right?”

“Maybe a nosy neighbor?,” Uncle Richie offered.

“I think I know who that is. Excuse me. I’ll go downstairs and let them in,” Mr. Ralston said mysteriously as he walked out of the bedroom.

“I’m okay now, Dr. Navidad. You can let go of my hand.”

Two sets of footsteps came up the stairs. Mr. Ralston entered the room first.

“Genevieve, there’s someone here who’d like to talk to you.” He moved to the side and revealed the young man who was Gigi’s prom date, standing in the doorway.

“Gigi, Dieu est bon, il t'a ramené à moi!” He rushed forward and crushed me in his arms, lifting me several inches off the floor.

“Who are you? Put me down!”

“Genevieve, it’s your fiancé, Noah,” Mr. Ralston exclaimed. “Don’t you recognize him?”

“No, I…I don’t. Why do you speak with a French accent?”

“Well, I’m French. You know I only moved here with my parents four years ago.” He turned to Mr. Ralston. “John, I thought my accent wasn’t that thick after four years living in Joisey.”

“Noah, you speak the King’s English as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Ralston laughed.

“Gigi, Mr. Ralston got in touch with my parents and told them the unbelievable, miraculous news that you’re alive! When they relayed that to me, I took the first plane out of Orly. Dad drove me here straight from Newark!”

“I’m sorry…uh…Noah. I don’t remember much of my life before the helicopter crash. I don’t even remember the name of my dog!”

“Genevieve, you and Noah have an understanding. The two of you are practically engaged,” Mr. Ralston declared.

“Gigi, you’re not wearing the friendship ring I gave you.” He held out his left hand to me. “I still wear mine. Even when we thought you had…had died. Did you lose it? I’ll get new ones for us made. There’s a place in Paris—”

“You live in Paris?”

“Of course. Dad always wanted me to study at The Sorbonne like he did. I was looking forward to you visiting me over the holidays. But then the accident happened…”

“We’re engaged?”

“We’ll make it official once you turn 18. In March. During Easter break, I was planning to pop the question when you visited. You’ll love Paris, Gigi. You’ll love The Sorbonne!”

“But I can barely pass my high school French class.”

“You’re joking. You’ve been speaking French since you were a toddler. Your parents were French! English is really your second language…like me.” He grabbed me again and wanted to kiss me. In front of all these people! I practically beat his hands away from me.

“Uncle Richie, I want to go home! This is…just too much for me. I need time to process all of this.” I took Richie’s arm and pushed him out the door. “I’ll…be in touch, everyone. Nice to meet you, Mr. Ralston, and you too…uh…Noah.” I hurried down the stairs so fast, Uncle Richie almost went head over heels trying to follow.

“Gigi! Wait!” Noah shouted from the top of the stairs. “I’ll come by later this week. My parents want to see you! I’m only here for a few days. I have to get back to my classes. Gigi!”

---

In the car, after I had calmed down enough to speak intelligently, I tried to explain to Uncle Richie what I was feeling.

“I feel like the walls are closing in on me. My parents are dictating who I should go to the dance with. They hate the boy I really, really like. I’m close to flunking my classes in school. I’m being forced to conform to people’s expectations of me. But it’s not me. It’s Genevieve LeClerc, girl genius. Now I find out I’m practically engaged to some goofy French kid who expects me to live in Paris with him.”

“Paris in the Spring. Sounds really romantic.”

“Not to me, Richie. I thought being a girl would be everything I’ve always dreamed of. But this is beginning to look like a nightmare! At least in my original universe I could have transitioned on my own terms, however difficult it would have been.”

“I guess Regina got a better deal than you did in your universe.”

“And I’m stuck here!” I punched the dashboard. “Oww! I broke a nail!”