©2025 SammyC

9:30 Saturday night. I was lying across my bed, Regina’s tablet flat on the bedspread, looking at photos I had discovered on Genevieve LeClerc’s Instagram. The “real” Gigi? It was strange to think that. But, in this universe, I was her unexpected substitute. Perhaps not unwilling though.

The last images posted were dated from June. Gigi and her adoptive parents, the LeClercs, posing in front of a road sign on Route 66 that read: Welcome to Arizona. The Grand Canyon State Welcomes You. It must have been shot by an obliging passing motorist or was there someone else along with them on their road trip vacation? Gigi was a doppelganger for Regina and whomever I am now in this universe. The three of them had wide smiles plastered on their sun-splashed faces. It looks like they were a happy little family unit. The next day would be their last on earth.

Downstairs, the front door slammed explosively. Regina was home early. Instead of the usual “Hi, mom. Hi, Dad,” there was only a scuffling of feet before a stomping first step on the stairs.

“Regina! You’re home already? How was your date?” Mom asked, sitting with Nick, watching the Mets game.

Regina burst into our bedroom and shut the door emphatically behind her. Before I could even utter a word, she dove onto the bed beside me and started banging her fists on my shoulder.

“Oww! What? Hey, you’re hurting me!” Actually, her punches weren’t that hard. They got weaker and weaker as her whimpers grew stronger.

“Did George sus you out? Did he hurt you?”

“Yes! No! He didn’t hurt me. But he knew two minutes after I got into the car who I really was.”

“I take it he wasn’t happy.”

“Duh, no. He thought it was my idea to trick him like that—”

“If he’s angry, he should take it up with me, not take it out on you—”

“He…he was nice. He didn’t yell at me or anything. We went to the plex and sat through the movie. I didn’t really pay much attention to it because I was watching George. We barely said three words to each other. I tried to hold his hand, but he slipped it out of my grasp.”

“So, he didn’t kiss you?”

Regina side-swiped me with a pillow.

“It’s not funny, Gigi. We practically ran out of the theater to his car after the movie ended and he drove like a demon to drop me off. The second I got out of the car and turned to say goodbye, he burned rubber—”

“Like a bat out of hell. Yeah, George always had issues expressing his emotions.”

“Well, if you see him anytime soon, I’m sure he’ll be very expressive.”

“I intend to speak to him, alright. I’m going to read him the riot act. After all, the two of you have been best friends forever. How can he throw you over for that ditzy cheerleader?”

“To be fair, George was dating Winnie before I started transitioning…”

“Hey, the team has practice on Sundays, right?”

“Yeah, they review game film first. Right after noon. A lot of the guys attend church so…”

“I’ll talk to George tomorrow, Regina. And talk some sense into him.”

“You actually think it’ll make a difference?”

“I like to think the George in my world would see the light if I had transitioned.”

“Things are different around here, Gigi. But, whatever, I’m going to shower and get the smell of hot buttered popcorn off me. Then, I’m going to go downstairs and make myself a sandwich. I thought George would at least take me to Baldino’s Pizzeria after the movie…”

I peered through the chain link fence surrounding the football field at Rossington High School, waiting for the team to emerge from their game film review. One of the track team guys who had been stretching nearby before starting his daily 5K run told me the review session usually took an hour, so expect the team to emerge for practice a little after one o’clock. That was ten minutes away. He stared at me while I kept my eyes on the exit doors of the gym. Unwrapping a protein bar, he broke it in two and offered me a piece through the fence. I shook my head and declined.

“I haven’t seen you in school. Are you from Rossington or just visiting town? Relatives, maybe?”

“I’m hoping to start school soon. I just moved here last week.”

“On second thought, you look a lot like Reggie…uh…Regina Tolliver.”

“I’m her twin sister. Gigi LeClerc. I was adopted as a baby—”

“Sounds like a long, complicated story. A story I’d very much like to hear. I’m Tom Verlaine. I’m on the track team. Middle distance runner.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“So, anyone in particular on the football team you’re waiting for?”

“George Parker—”

“Our star quarterback? You’re aiming real high, Gigi. He’s dating our head cheerleader, Winnie Schlitter.”

“I’m not interested in dating him. I’m here to talk to him about Regina. He wasn’t very nice to her last night at the cineplex.”

“Don’t tell me he…uh…she tried to start something with Winnie. Who can forget last Spring when Winnie tried to stop Regina from trying out for the cheer squad. I thought they were going to pull each other’s hair out. Like two wildcats clawing and scratching at each other—”

“Did she pass the audition?”

“I heard she did really well but…well, you know, she’s not really a she, and the rules are the rules. Coach Mason tried to fight for her with the administration…” Tom shrugged his shoulders and held his palms out at his side. “Maybe you’d be interested in joining the cheer squad. You’re certainly pretty enough.”

“I look exactly like Regina. We’re twins, remember? Anyway, I’m not the cheerful type.”

The football team flowed like a human torrent out of the gym, spikes, pads, and helmets in regalia. I spotted George and shouted to him. He hesitated momentarily before strolling toward the fence behind which I stood. Tom popped the last bit of his protein bar into his mouth and made himself scarce.

“See you in the hallways…soon.” Tom and George passed by without acknowledging each other.

“Gigi? I was going to call you tonight—”

“Can we talk now?”

“Sure, coach can wait a few minutes before starting practice. But make it quick. He gets snippy if he sees us talking to girls during practice.”

“George, why did you act so cold to Regina last night?”

“I don’t like being tricked. Or pranked. I thought you wanted to go out with me.”

“I hardly know you, George. But Regina’s been your best friend since forever. If you’re attracted to me, why aren’t you attracted to her…anymore.”

“Anymore? I was never attracted to Regina when she was Reggie. We were buddies. We played sports and video games together. Just like any other two boys—”

“Admit it, George. It’s okay. You’re not gay for liking Regina. You kinda always knew she was a girl, didn’t you?”

“Regina’s telling tall tales, that’s all.”

“You always protected her from bullies, spoke up for her when other kids teased her about her voice, the way she walked, her ‘delicate’ nature. She was awful at sports. You were always great. Yet you always insisted she could play or else you wouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“The summer Regina broke her arm trying to copy one of your skateboard tricks. She couldn’t play football or baseball or basketball all summer. Her mom had her stay home because she was scared, she’d break something else, she was so fragile in her mind. You came by her house almost every day for weeks to play video games with her. You even lugged your PS4 console back and forth because Regina owned an old PS3.”

“I felt sorry for her. Being stuck in the house all summer. She didn’t have any friends—”

“She had you.”

“Look, what’s the point you’re trying to make?”

“Give Regina a chance…”

“Call me shallow but I’m more interested in real girls…like you, Gigi. Can we have a real date this time? Next Saturday? We can do whatever you want. See another movie. A dinner at a restaurant of your choice. Or we could just hang out. Go driving around town. Stuff is going on Saturday nights…”

“Parker! Get over here! Practice now, girls later. Okay?” Coach blew his whistle in our direction.

“I’ll call you!” George ran off, putting his helmet on.

We arrived at Parsons University Medical Center in separate cars. Mom and I in one car, Uncle Richie in his. It amazes me how quickly Richie was able to arrange everything. Here, on a Monday morning, about to undergo a complete medical exam and provide DNA samples. Uncle Richie assured me these procedures would prove my identity. Once executed to the satisfaction of New Jersey legal requirements, I would quickly be allowed to assume my rightful place in this universe…as Genevieve LeClerc, twin sister of Regina Tolliver and biological daughter of Sara Perrin Tolliver.

I always disliked hospitals. To me, the heavy atmosphere of human frailty and mortality far outweighed the salutary presence of dedicated medical practitioners. In short, it gave me the willies. But Parsons Medical was almost brand new, barely half a decade in existence. All bright, gleaming corridors, the latest diagnostic devices, and smiling, efficient staff in clean white uniforms. There was an optimistic sheen to all the activity in the hallways. Even gurneys were being pushed with hopeful energy. Mom sensed my state of mind and patted my shoulders, whispering assurances to me that everything was going to work out fine. She would only stay long enough to have her cheek swabbed for a DNA sample. The retail business in New Jersey, she explained, was rather dicey nowadays and she couldn’t afford to take too much time away from work. Neither of my parents were professionals; we weren’t a two-income family by choice. I nodded to convey I fully understood.

“Uncle Richie will stay with you and drive you back home. Regina agreed to pick up Artie from school today, so you needn’t worry about that.”

“Sara, our girl here has no worries. These procedures are mere formalities. There’s no doubt who Gigi is, after all. I’m doing my best to make the wheels of bureaucracy turn as quickly as possible. Tomorrow, Gigi and I are going to see my attorney friend, Bob Lester, to start the process of having her identity and inheritance confirmed. He tells me we can petition the court to have you and Nick appointed her legal guardians until she reaches the age of majority next Spring.”

“You work fast, Uncle Richie.”

“You have to know the right people, Gigi.”

“Or date them?”

“Bob tells me you could be allowed to go back to school within two weeks—”

“You’ll like that, won’t you, Gigi?” Mom asked, a mischievous smile creasing her lips.

“Oh, yes, mother,” I said, making a show of rolling my eyes.

It took the better part of an hour to complete my physical examination. They were surprised to discover no evidence I had ever fallen out of a helicopter and somehow survived being dunked in a lake. No bruises or scars from traumatic injuries. No broken bones healed or otherwise. No signs of any physical harm whatsoever. They were especially puzzled by the absence of any head injury, given my pervasive amnesia.

Without a word of explanation, after telling me to put my clothes back on, they ushered me out of the exam room and had me sit in the waiting area while the brace of doctors who had worked on me carried on an animated discussion with Uncle Richie, out of earshot. After a few minutes, Richie sat down next to me.

“Okay, champ, this is the game plan. To quote our esteemed medical savants here, you’re a remarkably healthy teenage girl. They can’t believe you suffered no physical consequences from your misadventure in that Grand Canyon helicopter crash. Miracles do happen I told them. I referred them to my chapter on miraculous survivors of catastrophes in The Strangeness Beyond. I don’t think any of them has read my book—”

“Uncle Richie! Can we go home now?”

“Unfortunately, no. They’re very interested in your amnesiac state. Something about having aspects of two different types of amnesia that aren’t usually combined…except in cases of brain injury or neurological disease. Since they don’t see evidence of either in your case…they want to “study” you for a bit this afternoon.”

“Study? What kind of studying?”

“Some tests they give to amnesia victims. To probe the depth of their memory loss. It’s a series of diagnostic tools. Frankly, I think they see a publication opportunity with your…uh…situation. You know, a book, at the very least a paper in a prestigious medical journal—”

“Like The Annals of the Society of American Headshrinkers?”

“You’re funnier than Regina, Gigi. And smarter. How were you stupid enough to go vortex hunting with your Uncle Richie?”

“George had to go to his cousin’s wedding in Bergenfield.”

“George Parker? You know, I can’t see why Regina’s stuck on him. Just another dumb jock.”

“He cared about me.”

“Your George must be quite different from our George. Anyway, let’s go and have lunch. They won’t be ready to see you until 1:30.”

“I saw a Greek taverna-type restaurant a few blocks back in that direction—”

“Oh no, I’ve eaten at the commissary here. It’s quite good.”

“Oh, great, hospital food. What a day I’m having.”

In the afternoon, fortified by a chicken parmesan sandwich and a chocolate milkshake, I met with a pair of neuropsychologists, Dr. Felice Navidad and Dr. Per Loving. It turns out they’re married…to each other. Cute but also a bit tacky. They interviewed me in their office. No, I didn’t lie on a couch. Just sat in a comfy armchair. One of them sat behind a desk (Dr. Navidad), the other (Dr. Loving) annoyingly paced back and forth. They posed a barrage of questions to me. What they didn’t realize was I genuinely didn’t remember all the details of my life before the accident. Because this Gigi had never lived that life. Nor did I remember the three months that passed before Nick Tolliver picked me up on the road a few miles from Parsons State Park.

Finally, after an awkward silence that seemed to last longer than the few minutes it actually did, they escorted me into a small room with a solitary metal table and three chairs. There, for the next hour, they administered every diagnostic test they could think of. There were verbal tests, written tests, tests with picture cards, even dissociative identity disorder questionnaires (my middle name surely wasn’t Sybil). I don’t know who got wearier as the tests cascaded, me or them. Whatever these tests were supposed to reveal, they didn’t. The frustration on the good doctors’ faces was reaching critical mass. They conferred at the window and returned to the table with what, hopefully, was the final test. Later, much later, Uncle Richie googled what they gave me: a Test of Memory Malingering, the TOMM. Basically, it’s a 50-item visual recognition test designed to help distinguish malingering from genuine memory deficit. People who are faking amnesia will intentionally perform badly, expecting the lowest scores to be proof that their amnesia is real. Real amnesiacs who are not suffering from a brain injury or pathology score within a normal range. In a veritable throwing up of their hands, they escorted me back into their office and Dr. Loving went to bring Uncle Richie in for a discussion of the consultation.

“Gigi, Professor Perrin,” Dr. Navidad began. “Thank you for consenting to undergo this afternoon’s consultation. I must say, and Dr. Loving will concur, Gigi’s case is the most unusual one we’ve come across in all our years of clinical practice. I don’t think we’ve seen a case like yours, Gigi, in any textbook or research paper either.”

“Will I ever regain my memory, Doctor?”

Dr. Loving jumped in. “Rest assured, Gigi, you’ll get your memory back, most if not all of it, in time. In cases of dissociative amnesia brought on by a traumatic event…like yours…time heals all wounds. Gradually, as your life normalizes and the trauma’s effects lessen and recede, your memory will return. That’s the good news—”

“There’s bad news, Doctor?”

Dr. Navidad tapped in. “It’s not bad news, Gigi. But there is a real mystery with your situation. The dissociative amnesia that you’re suffering from also involved a three-month long episode of dissociative fugue. You lost all sense of personal identity and wandered impulsively from place to place, fortunately for you, ending up in the home of your biological mother.”

“What you were doing, where you were, who you stayed with,” Dr. Loving mused, “are questions without answers right now. Are you not curious about what happened in that three-month period?”

“Not really. After all, I’m here. Safe and sound. I guess it was just dumb luck.”

“That’s an interesting response. Dr. Loving and I would really like to work with you further. You may be a boon to neuropsychological science. Exploring your unusual amnesiac pathology would help us understand the ways the brain heals itself from severe emotional trauma. Can we set up weekly sessions? Don’t worry. The cost will be entirely borne by the hospital. We won’t even charge your uncle’s health insurance.”

Before I could answer, Uncle Richie adroitly interjected, “We’ll think about it. Thank you for your time. It’s been a long day, Gigi and I should head off.” He stood up and shook hands with the doctors. I followed his example and did the same.

“They seemed genuinely flummoxed by me.”

We had just walked through the front entrance of the Medical Center, on our way to the parking lot. Richie smirked as he guided me to the right.

“They smell a book. You’d be this generation’s Sybil. The amnesia case of the new century!”

“You’re saving my story for your next book, right?”

“No, Gigi, your story is too unbelievable…even for my next book. I’m afraid you’re stuck in this universe as Gigi LeClerc. Telling people the truth would just make your life unbearable.”

“Well, to tell you the honest truth, I couldn’t be happier about it. It’s like a dream come true. I’m a girl. I’m a girl!”

The screech of ambulance tires made us turn our heads to the left where the emergency room doors were swinging open, and a pair of orderlies were standing ready. The ambulance backed in and they rushed two stretchers out of the rear. It looked like two teenage girls in cheerleader outfits, securely strapped in with traction splints on one leg each. They were moaning and quietly crying. I recognized the one nearest to us. It was Winnie Schlitter, head cheerleader and George’s “casual” girlfriend. Then Coach Mason jumped out of the back of the ambulance, a distraught look on her face. Richie and I ran over to her.

“Oh, Regina, strange coincidence seeing you here—”

I was about to correct her when she grabbed my shoulders.

“Winnie and Dolores were doing the pyramid thing. You know. I think Winnie slipped and fell, falling on Dolores’ leg. They both have broken legs. Poor dears. What am I going to do?”

“Coach Mason, I’m not—”

“No, yes, I mean, of course, you can. We need you, Regina! You know all the routines. I’ll talk to the administration. They won’t turn you down this time, those bigots! Girl, welcome to the cheer squad!”

She kissed me on both cheeks.

“Thanks, Coach. You won’t regret this!”