My sister and I holding hands, walking to a school bus, dancing to the radio, and trying on each other’s clothes; pictures in a make-believe album; memories that never happened, so sweet in their imagining. My sister and I holding hands, waiting for my breath to stop. Down the hall my family sitting, standing, pacing in a room with other people’s families, praying, weeping, waiting…waiting.

The credits are over, but the film keeps rolling.

Emme and I breathe in rhythm as I flow weightlessly in and out of the room.

This is the spot where X is marked, here where Emme touches my heart.

I beg my heart to pump my blood to the spot where we are connected. To tell her before I leave her this time, with just one tiny throb, that she hasn’t been forgotten, that I love her too. That she will always be with me in the great wherever. I launch my missive from my heart, up the veins of my neck, down the passages of my arteries, through the vessels in my arm and into my fingers.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, my God.”

She squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

“Oh!” Again, she turns my hand over and takes my pulse, resting her fingertips on my veins.

We do this together a few more times, and then Emme lets go of my hands.

“Don’t move. I mean… I’ll be right back.”

She runs to the door, flings it open, and dashes out into the hall.

FADE TO BLACK

FADE IN:

HANALEI BAY, HAWAII

JANUARY 15

2006

JACKIE GOLD VOICE OVER:

Today is my thirty-seventh birthday. I was born on the same day Liliuokalani was crowned Queen of the Hawaiian Islands almost two hundred years ago. In my honor, all the towns on the North Shore of the island come together, preparing for a giant luau replete with roast pig and hula dancers. The whole fuss is for Lili, of course, but I like to pretend it’s for me.

People on Kauai don’t limo to premieres or even watch much television. We drive rusty cars corroded by the salty air. The Hurricane of ‘94 blew down the only movie theater on this side of the island, so most of the locals here don’t know or care who I am. Children sometimes point me out to their parents and giggle, but that’s because I walk funny, not because I’m a movie star.

Recovering from a brain injury is a slow process; in some ways like being reborn. I am still discovering who I am, and more importantly, who I am not.

Here is what I’ve learned so far:

1. I don’t like large groups of people. I get overwhelmed and I’m lousy at small talk even without my speech impediments.