My Name is Ann

Hello, thank you for taking the time to read this. It's a little long-winded perhaps but it is the first draft and opening to a novel. Before we begin let me just say that France is a wonderful nation and one of my favorites if you can have favorite nations. It has the best health care in the world and amazing art, among other things not the least of which are the citizens. This is a little foray into my "what-if" land. I hope you enjoy and please don't forget to review! And if you're offended by anything, feel free to scorch my ears with your keyboard!

-The Author

         "What is your name?" The psychiatrist was bored with me; I knew he was so I played along with his game.

         "My name is Ann."

         "Do you have any idea who you are or where you came from?" Jeez, just because I'm six doesn't mean I'm stupid! Oh brother, this is never going to end!

         "No."

         "I see, well Ann, I am releasing you to the state. There is nothing wrong with you other than a classic case of amnesia. There are no records for you and no one has come looking for you. Good day."

         "Good day."

***

         "Ann don't you want to do anything with your life? Don't you want to be somebody?" Enter my guidance-counselor. As a graduating junior I had to sit down and talk with this woman several times through the upcoming year. I was obviously overjoyed at this prospect. Oh wait, no I wasn't. Miss. Valcome; pert, perky, and pretty, the essence of the
American dream, everything I'm not. I guess.
         "No." Maybe if I kept my answers simple she would give up and let me leave.
         "Well, there are several options open to you.” Valiantly she smiled anyway and pressed forward in the face of my teenage angst. “You can begin University immediately, or you could spend a semester abroad, or well anything you can dream you can do." Actually the mention of my dreams set me on edge. I knew that my dreams were windows into my past but I could never seem to look back when I was awake. I wanted myself back.
         "I'll look into it." I said instead of everything else brimming to spill out. She sighed and I swear the top button of her sweater threatened to quit.
          "Here are some pamphlets from some of the Universities in the state."
          "Thank-you. May I return to class now?"
          "Yes, of course." She stood to shake my hand but I was already out the door.
          I am nothing like my guidance counselor. I am not tall, I am not short. I am average. I have black hair. I wear it short; just past my earlobes and I don't bother to try and curl it since it would just fall flat five minutes later. I wear heavy black eyeliner and red lipstick, the geniuses of the school called me the 'Emo Snow White'. I suppose I look punk but really when I dress like this no one looks at me, at least not for long. And I like it that way.
          My birthday is next week, and it isn't. When I was maybe six I was found by these fishermen off the North Atlantic sea-coast. I was taken to a hospital and tested for a couple of weeks. The psychiatrists determined I was fine, I was about five years old and that I had a severe case of amnesia. All I could tell them was my first name, Ann.
          Everything about that whole first year is real fuzzy, I honestly don't remember anything else. I've spent my life moving from foster home to foster home. I don't make friends, I don't touch people and I don't talk to people. Something inside me warns that anyone could be someone dangerous and its better to just trust myself, so I do. I study to fill in the empty hours, and if the state had allowed it I could have graduated last year. Instead they insisted I wait till at least my junior year. I'm taking two classes; advanced calculus and ceramics.
          I'm good at math and I couldn't bear not taking a class, and then the guidance-counselor informed me that I had to have at least one other class. I closed my eyes and pointed hence ceramics. I was actually done for the day and I should have called for my foster-mother to come get me, but I didn't. I walked aimlessly by my locker and opened it. I emptied my shoulder bag, grabbed my sweater and headed off-campus.
          There were several easy ways to walk to the foster-home. I never used any of them. I stepped off the road immediately into this kind of wood, since both the high school and the Home were on the edge of our little town. I walked on a shady path for a few minutes until I reached the brook. This led more or less to the home and I followed it. Running water reminded me of something, or someone and I sought it out whenever I could.
          I thought for a moment and realized it was Friday. That meant cleaning in the home but I didn't mind. I found a kind of novelty in cleaning, though I couldn't tell you why; it was like the running water. The home I was in currently housed no less than seven 'transit' children. The foster-parents were run-down and I tried to help out where I could.

          I was lying in bed that night not really thinking any thoughts at all while I waited for sleep to come when I noticed how scratchy the pillow was. It was not a new pillow but for some reason the feel of its scratchy old cotton against the back of my head made tears spring to my eyes. As the other children fell asleep that night, I cried.
          "My name is not Ann. My name is not Ann. My name is not Ann."
          I wish I knew what my name was.

          “Ann, come here and give me some love.” My eyes sought out the woman on the deck of the luxury yacht. Her hair was long enough to tickle my nose when I snuggled my head against her shoulder. Everything was alright as long as she held me in her arms. But when I saw the woman sitting on a chaise lounge, all I saw was an animated corpse holding out her arms to me. There were several large bullet holes in her chest and I knew without seeing it that the back of her head wasn't all there.
          In terror I fled away, not understanding what was going on around me, only that the world was crashing down around me. I could here them coming after me and I ran for all I was worth. Without realizing it I had come off the boat into a grassy hilly area. There was someone standing just out of my sight, and he was yelling for me. I was terrified because I knew they would catch up to me any minute. If I led them to him I wouldn't never be able to forgive myself. They would kill him too and I would really be all alone.
          “Ann why are you scared? Where are you? Come to me, please?” His soft words challenged the terror for control of my heart and managed to win by a small margin. I ran into his safe, warm arms. “Ann why can't I find you?” His words were strained with tears and I held on for all I was worth, I could feel daylight pulling me away, again.


          I woke up the next morning feeling like I was missing something, and I stared at the plain white ceiling for a few moments. The dream had splintered away beyond the grasp of my conscious mind as soon as sleep had left. I listened to the sounds of my childhood right outside of my bedroom and sighed with exasperation as the last few clouds cleared from my head without revealing anything. I got out of bed, noticing as I did that the three younger girls I shared the room with had already gotten up. They would be in the living room with the four boys watching Saturday morning cartoons. As I pulled on a pair of jeans and a ratty t-shirt, I could hear their mingled laughter.
          The foster mom, Mrs. Drew would be cleaning up the breakfast dishes. I knew she would be put out if I didn't help her. She enjoyed talking to me every morning, telling me everything I did wrong was the high point of her day. I smiled as I walked into the kitchen, it was my high point too. You couldn't stand anywhere near Mrs. Drew and not feel the love she radiated off her solid curves. I had been with the Drews since high school started, and I counted myself as lucky. Mrs. Drew was the best foster-mother I had ever been placed with. She never yelled at the children, and her cooking was amazing. Her husband, Mr. Drew was a real handy-man kind of a guy, and like his wife he seemed to radiate peace and well-being.
          “Good morning Ann. I love seeing your face in the morning.” I smiled and nodded, her morning monologue was not to be interrupted. I put on an apron and joined her at the sink to help her rinse. “I don't know why you put all of the junk on your face, you're so beautiful. All you're doing is hiding though from what I don't know. If you would just let people see you for you are they would love you as much I do. With your big brown eyes and beautiful bone structure you should be the most popular girl in school.” Since this had been her topic of discussion for well over a year I nodded along with the cadence of her speech, not really listening to the words.
          When the dishes were done, I was sent out to the living room to gather the younger kids and start them on their chores. I was the oldest in the house, the rest of the seven children ranging in ages from five to eleven. The children groaned of course but they went off to their weekly chores obediently enough. They knew that if the house looked good, after dinner there would be ice cream sandwiches for everyone. My chore was to follow behind and make sure everyone was doing their jobs and to help out when needed.
          Ella; the youngest in the house at only five was having trouble making her bed so I helped her first and then she broke down into sobs blubbering about how much she missed her mom. I pulled her into my lap and held her while her body shook with her sobs. Ella's father had gone round the bend a few years ago and shot Ella's mother and then himself. Even though Ella had been alone in the world for nearly two years now she still broke down almost every morning like clockwork.
          After Ella's face was clean again and she had run out to play I walked through the house to make sure the other chores were done and kissed Mrs. Drew on the cheek as I walked out of the house. My mask firmly back in place she shook her head at me, which I ignored and made the walk to the library. I didn't have friends, but if I had the librarian would have been the closest thing to one. She smiled warmly when she saw me and pulled a large book out from under the desk. I returned her broad smile and took the text book to a study nook. Every weekend of my life for as long as I could remember had been spent in libraries. I don't remember learning how to read I just did it. I never spent time with the kiddie books either, skipping instead straight into the realms of adult fiction and non-fiction.

          If my life during the last months of high school were boring and predictable, I liked them that way. No one looked too closely at me, not even my teachers. And I liked it that way. I sent applications to a half a dozen colleges and got accepted to all of them. Mrs. Drew was ecstatic for me and helped me choose one in the city. A week after graduation, Mrs. Drew helped me pack my few clothes in boxes and bought me a fold-out couch for a graduation present. We made the drive into the city in Mr. Drew's old Ford truck and moved me into my one bedroom closet of an apartment in a little over an hour.
          Mrs. Drew cried and I promised to call often to let her know I hadn't been mugged, and she made me promise that at least some of the time I wouldn't put so much makeup on my face. I hugged her tight, this woman who was almost a mother to me and then I watched her drive away. I sighed and flopped onto the couch for five minutes.
          I had an interview at one of the classier restaurants in the city in half an hour so after catching my breath against the tears I put on my only skirt and a nice shirt and boarded the bus. I kept my chin held high and refused to let the tears escape, it was good that I was on my own. I liked it that way, even if my heart didn't.
          I didn't even get lost on the metro as I set my brilliance to figuring out the schedule and how to get to the better side of town. In ten minutes I was through the front door and waiting patiently at a table to be interviewed. The ambiance of the place was very glamorous, and I suppose it should have put me off my comfort levels but instead I breathed a sigh of relief and sat up a little straighter improving my posture before I could realize what I was doing.
          A pot being flung through the door of the kitchen with considerable force made me jump. I got up to investigate not seeing anyone else in the medium sized dining room. I pushed the port-hole door slowly out of my way only to realize that a very heated argument was taking place in the kitchen. Some misunderstanding had taken place between two of the chefs. One was talking with an odd accent, but I understood it immediately and couldn't understand why he was so upset until I realized that the smaller man seemed to be calling him disgusting names. Not to mention the things he was inferring about the larger man's mother.
          “I think everyone needs to take a deep breath and calm down.” I said in my sternest voice that I usually only used on the boys in the foster home when they were arguing. My tongue felt weird in my mouth but both men looked at me, the smaller in confusion for a moment but then his face radiated relief.
          “Would you please tell this man that I'm sorry for whatever I did say. I'm new to this job and I wanted to make a good impression, so I studied some french phrases. I must have gotten them wrong.” He shrugged and with confusion on my face I turned to the larger man as the shorter one left through the door I had just come in.
          “He said that he's sorry.” I shrugged and began puzzling over the problem when suddenly it came to me and I felt my jaw drop. I was speaking a different language. I was speaking, and understanding French as if I'd been doing it for my entire life. I sighed and blew a piece of hair out of my face. “You can understand me right?”
          “Of course, your accent is a little odd but at least you seem to know what you're saying. Stupid American.” He made a rude gesture in the direction of the door. I moved farther into the shining kitchen. “I'm Pierre by the way. Who might you be, pretty lady?” I hadn't worn makeup in the hope of scoring the job and hadn't remembered that when I had come in earlier.
          “I'm Ann.” And I didn't get to say anything more when the little man from earlier came striding back into the kitchen.
          “Are you the interview for three?” It felt weird to listen to English again but my brain made the switch without my conscious effort to do so. I nodded. “Great you speak French, you're hired. I'm the manager for the waiters but I only took over a week ago. While you learn the ropes you can be my ambassador to the kitchen. The other chefs speak english but I can't understand my head chef and that is a big problem.” I nodded to make him think I was following him. I couldn't believe I actually had the job.
          It was going to be a hard job, but I was no stranger to getting my hands dirty and at least now I wasn't going to starve. There was something to be said for going to bed with a full belly, too many nights when I was younger I hadn't had that privilege. If I never had to go to bed hungry again it would be too soon. Too my boss' surprise I learned how to waitress quickly and was very good at it. I was never sick and often covered for my fellow workers. After all I was trying to put myself through college on this money so it had better just be enough.
          Over the rest of the summer I made money and saved as much as I could, I had a few scholarships to help with tuition and other costs but I knew I would need more saved up. I worked hard at the job, keeping to myself as much as I could and serving the affluent of the city without really looking at any of them.
          All too soon summer was over and school was beginning. I managed to start college without stepping down my hours at work so that my paychecks wouldn't suffer. Not that that's where the money came from, really it was the tips that was helping me pay my way. I was lucky that I had managed such a great position in the French restaurant. And my friend Pierre made certain that I learned about “real” food, as he called it. He might have been a snob but it felt really nice to be able to speak French with him.
          In my classes and with my fellow students I kept my head down and to myself. I didn't make friends but that was hardly anything new and I surprised all of my teachers with my straight A's. After a year and a half and an associates degree in general studies under my belt I began searching for what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. It was actually Pierre who prodded me into thinking about diplomacy.
          “You are so good with all of your customers, you have tact by the spade-full. You should be a diplomat. The first man I ever cooked for was a diplomat, a good man too even if he was an American.” His soft words were spoken while I violently punched down a bowl of rising bread. I chuckled to note the differences but took his words to heart.
          I studied up on diplomacy and told my advisor I had decided what I wanted to major in for the remaining two years I would be with the college. He looked at me with an odd look in his eyes but gave me the appropriate paper-work and wished me good luck . The school was a large one and I had been lucky to get as much time as I had with one of the school's advisors and I knew it. I sighed and walked out again determined to do my very best. It was the least I could give to whoever had given birth to me. I wondered as I brushed my hair before going to bed if anyone had looked for me all those years ago. But even I knew that after some fifteen odd years, whoever I had left behind would think I was dead. Maybe a Parisian mother had given birth to me, that would explain my fluency in a language I had never heard before.
          I shook it off and fell into the makeshift bed of the pull-out sofa that gave me back aches when I got up from it every morning. My eyes closed slowly and I let myself drift into dreamland. I knew the minute I had fallen asleep, a man was waiting for me on a veranda I knew I had played on as a young child. “Ann I wish I knew where you were. I get tired of being the only one who knows you're alive.” He held his arms out despite the venom in his words and I stepped into them. We stood on the veranda, facing out over a vast garden and watched the sunrise. “I miss you Ann, more than I would miss my own heart if it were to go missing.”
          “I miss you too brother. I wish I knew where I was. I'm so confused all of the time.” My words brought tears to my eyes, why couldn't things make any sense. “I know they're not looking for me anymore but I'm still scared.” The men who had killed momma. I turned and burrowed my head in my brother's chest and let myself cry.

          “Hey Ann why don't you come out with us tonight?” One of the waitresses was unloading some dirty dishes while I stood against a wall trying to catch my breath. I had awakened hours before my alarm had gone off holding myself while I sobbed. I hadn't been able to stop crying either until I was physically out of tears to shed. Even then I felt empty and so alone I only wanted to cry some more. There was another week of winter vacation but I wished school was back so I wouldn't have so much time to think. She touched my shoulder softly, Ashley her name was Ashley. “Hey kid you ok?”
          “I'm too young for wherever you girls are going tonight, besides I have some studying I need to do.” I shrugged off the invitation like I always did. Ashley was new and she couldn't know that I simply never went out, not with any of them. I hurried to pull some food away from the ready table and scurrying from the kitchen to deliver it to my table. The night was going to last forever.
          When I could finally catch my breath and start cleaning up my section for the night, I felt like I had done battle on the fronts. My breath was catching in my chest and I felt so damn close to tears it was pitiful. What the hell was wrong with me anyway? Why couldn't I just remember what had happened all of those years ago? I sat down in a chair and pulled a calculator towards me to start figuring up the night's money so I could at least go home and cry. Again. The front door opening startled me into looking towards whoever had come in. I tried to tell him we were closed but the words got stuck in my throat. There was something about his face that had me squinting in confusion. Had I seen him somewhere before?
          He was talking to the hostess, I was surprised to see the girl still here. Usually she was out of here as soon as the doors were locked. She had the situation in hand so I tried to shrug off the odd feelings in my chest and turned back to finishing my work for the night. It didn't take me too much longer but when I looked up, I noticed the man was still there. He was looking at me with an odd look on his face too.
          I moved up to him, pushing the money and slips of paper into my apron pocket. “Can I help you with something?” I bit my lip when I realized I had spoken in French. By the look of surprise on his face I had surprised him, I tried again and got the phrase out in English. He looked at me in puzzlement and was going to say something when the hostess came back up to him.
          “I'm sorry but no one has turned in a PDA, was it very important?” The woman was older than me but she was fawning over the man like he was a prime choice cut piece of meat. I slanted her a look but let it go.
          “Marie, why don't you go ahead and get out of here. I can help him from here, you must be exhausted.” She looked mutinous but turned on her heel and left. “Well so you lost your PDA huh? Did you look anywhere else?” I turned back to the man hoping I could help him before the crushing confusion and panic caught up to me and I collapsed. He nodded and I pursed my lips, “you might as well come in. I'll help you look for it. Do you remember where you were sitting?”
          “Yes, it was in that corner.” It was Ashley's section of the restaurant and I knew she would still be here. I nodded and motioned him to start while I went in search of Ashley. She wasn't super happy to be called, she had just been about to leave but when I explained she brightened and took me to the office. There had been a PDA and she had just put it in the safe. We retreated it and she left for the night.
          “It isn't here.” His voice sounded slightly disgusted, and accented.
          “That's alright your waitress found it. Is this it?” I extended it and he took it. He also took my hand and twisted, grabbing my elbow in the same move. Slowly he traced the light scar he found bisecting my right elbow with his finger. The little bit of technology vanished and he pulled me into a tight hug. I was in the process of complaining and pushing him away when the heat from his body radiated through me and I relaxed.
          Then the dam burst and sobs wracked my body for several long minutes. He crooned an old French lullaby in my ear but made no move to stem the flow of tears. When I finally hiccuped and pushed myself away from the wet spot I looked into his eyes, oddly on a perfect level with my own. They looked very familiar and I wondered why that would be but then Pierre was hustling from the kitchen with a large glass full of wine clutched in his meaty hand.
          “Cherie, what happened? I knew something was wrong from the minute you walked in. Sit down and drink.” Wine was his solution to everything, it didn't matter that in this country it was illegal for me to drink anything. I obediently sat down but noticed that the man pulled a chair so that he could stay right beside me and he held my hand while Pierre sat down and stared at the man.
          “I'm glad someone recognizes me.” Now he spoke French, so that was the accent I'd heard earlier. I continued to drink while the two men held their own weird version of a pissing contest in front of me. “Please don't feel like you have to be formal with me.” He nodded at Pierre as if conferring a great honor. Pierre didn't look impressed.
          “I know who you are, and you have my loyalty. But if you've harmed Ann I don't care who you are I'll put my fist in your face.”
          “She calls herself Ann?” He sounded excited and I felt slightly nauseated. I had just balled my eyes out on some strange man's chest and now my friend and this stranger were talking about me like I was some kind of bug who wasn't even in the room with them. I put the glass of wine down on the table, half of it lying in my belly and calming my frazzled nerves.
          “Of course she calls herself 'Ann'. It's my name what else should I call myself.” I shrugged eloquently and the stranger looked at me in confusion.
          “But you don't know who I am. How is that possible?” He sat back to ponder this question and I took the opportunity to gaze at him. If someone had taken my features and fit them to a man he would have looked like this man. I had recognized his eyes because I saw them in the mirror every morning. And though his face looked nothing like the one I saw in the mirror every morning I had seen myself often enough in pictures to realize that he looked like me. We shared the same nose shape, though on him the sharp eagle nose looked regal. His chin was even shaped as mine was. Who was he? A relative who had recognized me despite the years I had been away? If that was the case, why didn't I recognize him? I had always assumed that if I ever ran in to someone I had once known that everything would come crashing back but there was nothing.
          Pierre was grumbling but he picked up my hand and chafed it in his own. “Poor darling, with the whole world on your shoulders its no wonder why you broke down. Would you like a hug?” He was looking at me with nothing more than compassion in his eyes, and he was old enough to be my father. With an insight I hadn't had until that moment I realized that the man had come to care for me. I nodded and he pulled me tight.
          When we were done the stranger put his arm across the back of my chair and moved his head closer. “There can't be any mistake, I'd know those eyes anywhere.” He paused and shook his head, and then turned to Pierre. “You musn't say anything about what I'm going to tell Ann to anyone. This must stay between the three of us.” Pierre nodded his agreement and the man turned back to me. “Ann, my name is Jacques and I know this is a little strange, but I'm your brother.” He waited to see if anything kicked my memory into gear but nothing did. I bit my lip, he was waiting for me to say something. They both were.
          “I believe you.” His breath let out on a ragged breath and he looked down. “But I don't remember. I know that there is a past somewhere buried beneath my subconscious but I've never been able to remember anything at all. I'm sorry, I wish I could remember you. Are you my twin?” I heard the longing in my own voice and bit my tongue but it was too late. Anyways he pulled me into his arms again and held me so tight I thought he would break me. It felt so nice in his arms, so right. I only wished I could remember, I thought I might almost remember hugging me this tight but it proved too illusive to pin down.
          “Incredible, I almost don't believe it. But any idiot looking at the two of you would know you're brother and sister. Your highness, this is cause for celebration I have a wonderful vintage, I'll be right back.” I pulled back in shock to hear Pierre happier than ever before and as he rushed off into the back his words sunk in a little bit.
          “Your highness?” My voice begged for an explanation.
          “I'm the heir to the French throne, you're after me.” His fingers had a firm hold on my chin so I couldn't look away from his green eyes and I found myself captured by his gaze. So powerful it should have knocked me off my feet but I was soon too caught up in a memory so powerful it shuddered through my memory with such force that I found myself gasping for breath. Eyes the same shade held me in their glare to make certain that I listened very carefully, she was going to help me escape. Nothing was more important than seeing that I survived through the next few