My sister took me to the hospital, as expected, where they ran a series of tests and determined that I was fine; in fact, they even told her that my brain activity was above average. She spoke with the doctors about the problems I'd been having at school, at home, my shift in personality, the neglect of my routine, and the glaring differences in my behavior. The doctor explained that after the accident, the physical scars—like the burns on my face and body, the small yet noticeable scar on my cheek—weren't the worst part. The real damage was the psychological trauma, possibly unconscious, that had been taking root.
And so, here I am, spared a couple of days of school on top of my suspension, sitting in front of a psychologist who's waiting for answers to questions I obviously don't have—because I'm not Daniela.
The psychologist looks at me, and I stare back.
She doesn't smile, but I do. It amuses me how we haven't even had a full session, and I already feel an intense transference. Damn it, a little girl in primary school falling in love with her psychologist at first sight.
How ridiculous...
She's stunning—black wavy hair, striking emerald eyes—watching me with carefully curated facial expressions, meant to seem neither hostile nor overly cheerful, just neutral, as she waits for my response. Meanwhile, I make a silent promise to myself: if I ever get my body back, I'll come back and ask her out. Because that's just how it is—when the odds are zero, we make promises that, under different circumstances, would be our wildest aspirations.
She wants an easy answer, or at least one that should be easy. But the complexity of the question excites my thoughts. How do you ask a child—well, a little girl—if she's happy? Seeing my silence, she repeats the question, and I'm grateful, though I was just about to say "yes" simply to say something.
"Daniela, in this little drawer, we're going to keep some toys just for you, so you can use them whenever you visit me, okay?"
"Thanks."
She hands me a small doll that looks remarkably like Daniela, and I hold it for a moment, inspecting it, before placing it on the floor beside my chair—like setting down a beer can while watching a soccer match on TV. I cross my leg and stare at her. Then it hits me—Dani would never act like this. I quickly pick up the doll again, apologize, and tell her it's very pretty. She smiles because, after all, the doll looks just like me. She jots something down in her notebook, and I feel like I've just screwed up somehow.
"Ay, Dani, they're going to lock you up in a psych ward because of me."
"So, Daniela, what makes you smile the most?"
This one's easy, I think.
"Mint chocolate chip ice cream."
"Excellent choice, Daniela. I love it too."
For the first time, I get to say it's my favorite ice cream without feeling embarrassed. I don't know why, but when a grown man says that, it's oddly frowned upon. I had a couple of exes who made fun of me for it. I chuckle, and she tilts her head slightly, trying to understand why. I dodge the moment and wait for what's next.
"How old are you?"
Damn. I'm sure this is just another warm-up question, but I hesitate as I do the math.
"Okay, Dani was born in... God, this is a nightmare."
More questions followed, deceptively simple, yet I kept fumbling the answers: Who do you spend the most time with in your family?How do they treat you?What's your favorite school subject?Which teacher makes you feel safest?How do you feel when you wake up for school?What's your best friend's name?What kind of punishments do you get?
"What's the funniest thing that's ever happened to you?"
"Oh, doc, if I told you, you'd send me straight to the psych ward."
I thought about asking if she was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. I assumed she was, but since I was a minor, she'd probably tell my sister everything.
"My uncle took me to a fair."
"Your uncle—the one from the accident?"
"Yes, Joaquín," I answered, slightly annoyed. I didn't like how she asked it, refusing to say his name—my name.
"Can you tell me a little about that day?"
I knew I had no say in any of this. I was completely at the mercy of the adults.
"My uncle had to go to Querétaro for work," I tried to sound as childlike as possible, imitating my niece's voice, but every word probably gave me away. "He asked if I wanted to come, and I said yes. We asked my mom for permission, and the next morning, he picked me up really early. It was vacation time, but I didn't mind waking up so early. We drove off in his car, listening to music and singing along. He'd play a song and sing it, then I'd pick one and sing along. We tried to pick songs the other person would like so we could share them."
"Sounds like a nice day."
"Very. It's one of my favorite days ever." I said it the way Dani would, but I meant it. That truly was one of my favorite days. "After accompanying him to an office and waiting outside a conference room, where I could see him talking with some other men—every now and then, he'd glance at me and throw me a smile, and I'd smile back—we left. He bought me an ice cream and asked me to go with him somewhere else. I had no idea where we were headed, but I went along. We arrived at this huge parking lot, and it was obvious that he was taking me to a circus or something. It didn't look very promising—it actually looked kind of lame."
The psychologist laughed, and I laughed too.
"I'm serious! And it's not just me saying it," I added, pulling from how Dani had told this story before, "but the people there were weird, and it smelled different. Not like the places my parents would take me. Anyway, we walked around and went on some rides, and then we got to this one with round little boats. I told him there was absolutely no way I was getting on. It looked gross, scary, and there was no way I wanted to get wet. But he really wanted to, and since it seemed like the park's main attraction, he kept insisting. In the end, he convinced me by promising me another ice cream and a trip to Reino Aventura. So, we got on, and the ride started. It wasn't too fast, and we were just barely getting splashed. It seemed like a calm ride—until we saw that we were headed straight for an unavoidable waterfall."
"Do you know what 'unavoidable' means?"
Shit. I felt like I was back with that pretentious ex who thought she was so cultured and always questioned my vocabulary and how I used it.
"Of course."
"As we saw the waterfall, Dani started screaming—"
"Dani?" she asked while jotting something in her little notebook. Suddenly, the story that had been making us both laugh lost all its humor. I thought about stopping, but in honor of my Dani, I continued. For the first time in so long, I was feeling happy again—despite everything. "Sorry," I said, laughing, trying to recover. "My uncle started shouting, 'Dani!'" I made it up as I went, while the psychologist squinted at me. "'Dani!' And I was screaming like crazy, trying to figure out how to position myself so I wouldn't get completely drenched. In the end, we were both soaked and doubled over laughing. We couldn't stop laughing," I added, actually laughing so hard that my eyes watered. "And people around us started laughing too, just from seeing how happy we were. When we got off the ride and finally calmed down, he bought me a Maruchan soup. My first Maruchan ever. We ate and laughed together. That was one of the best days with my uncle. One of the best days of my life."
In truth, it was one of my best days ever.
My vision blurred, and, overcome with longing for my little niece, I broke down crying. The psychologist handed me a tissue, paused, and then continued the session.
By the end, it wasn't so bad. It actually helped me get some things off my chest, and I hoped I hadn't made Dani look too bad. Hopefully, when I manage to put her back into her little body and she has to come back for another session, they'll see she's been miraculously 'cured.'
"I'm the crazy one," I thought, smiling.
And that's exactly how my sister saw me as I walked out of the office—smiling. She smiled back, relieved.