That sound, the echoing, was still going in Emily’s head, as she blinked over and over again, unable to focus her eyes. What was this information she had just been given? How was she meant to process this? Actually, how was she supposed to believe such a completely mad statement coming from a complete stranger? Husband? There was no way that this man, this unknown person sat across from her, could possibly be her husband. There’s no way that she could be married, and not recall that fact. She wasn’t that far gone, honestly, she wasn’t, there’s no way. She sat there, staring at her plate, at those damn potatoes, how destroyed they were. She twisted her hands together in her lap, and suddenly raised them up in front of her face, and decided to give them a look. She knew everyone’s eyes were on her, this woman, this strange creature observing her hands as if they were someone else’s, as if she had never seen them before, she knew she looked mad, and maybe there was a reason for that. That’s when she saw it. She saw the reminder, the little thing that made her mind snap back to some kind of reality that was choking her, suffocating her, as soon as she entered it; it was the thin gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. It was just there, this little piece of evidence, this little tiny ring that somehow validated this man’s claims. How? She didn’t remember ever wearing a ring on that finger, a finger meant for only one type of ring, yet here it was, wrapped around her, and she couldn’t escape the haunting feeling that maybe it was meant to be there. But why? Why was she so confused about her identity? About where she was? About who she was married to? Why was this happening? Emily cleared her throat, prepared to speak, and ask some questions that needed to be answered.
“I’m so sorry everybody, I seem to be struggling today, my mind seems to be in some kind of haze or something…I don’t seem to understand where I am, I mean I know I’m in North Yorkshire, in England, at a dinner party, but whose party? Why am I here? Why can’t I seem to remember my own husband? I just…I don’t know. Can someone help me, please? Who are all of you? How do you know me?”
Everyone sat and stared, unsure of who should speak, and what should be said, in all honesty. Everyone was acting rather uneasy about the whole situation, and Emily couldn’t really blame them to be fair. She truly could not remember why she was there, or what the date was, the year even, and she certainly didn’t recognize anyone’s face, not even her husband, William’s face, and that frightened her, very much.
“Darling, please, you must stop this silly game. I don’t understand if this is part of a performance, or if you’re trying to be funny, but it’s not funny, not at all, so please. Can we move on now?”
“Stop speaking to me like that, William. I asked a simple question, several actually, and I’d like some answers. Now.”
“Fine, let us share ourselves, so that Emily can rest, and calm herself. Go ahead, we’ll start at the head of the table and work our way down, if that’s all right?”
Emily shook her head in agreement.
They all introduced themselves, one by one. David, Margaret, John, Lillian, Sarah, Christopher, James, Rebecca, Andrew, Catherine, Scott, and Elizabeth. And adding William, that accounted for the 13 sets of eyes she had first noticed staring at her from across the table, what seemed like a century ago. The problem was, even with names, she couldn’t see to place them, she couldn’t seem to place any face with any name, and she realized that maybe she was too far from reality to actually return. The grandfather clock struck again, and she turned to face it, noticing it was 15 minutes past the hour. That’s when she saw it. She saw that the clock said 13:15, and she remembered that the clock had struck 13 earlier, when she’d heard that loud sound her head. How was that possible? It was not a 24 hour grandfather clock. It only went up to 13, that’s the number it simply stopped at. She turned around and saw out the window, and noticed that the sun was till setting. This was impossible. It made no sense. None of this made any sense. She couldn’t understand how, or why, this was happening, and also why no one seemed to notice, or care that the clock had struck an impossible time.
“Why did that clock just strike 13? How is that possible? Why did it happen? The sun is only now setting. And your names, now that you’ve told me, mean nothing to me, it doesn’t make any of you seem any more familiar to me at all. Who are any of you? Why do none of you find this strange? Why are you all just staring at me, dead eyed and blank faced? Look alive! Talk to me! Explain yourselves!” Emily cried, her frustration building to a head.
Everyone just stared, blankly, empty and unmoving, and she knew, in that moment, that something was terribly wrong, and not with her. With everyone, and everything, all of it was wrong and off, and just inexplicably upsetting. Not just her lack of memory, or connection to anyone at the table, but the fact that it seemed as if everyone else didn’t notice, or find it odd, that all of this happening in the first place.
“Emily, you and I were invited to dinner this evening at this home, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jones, or David and Margaret, as they introduced themselves. You know them, you do, truly, and I just don’t understand how you seem to have forgotten your entire life since we sat down at the table to eat. You were fine a half hour ago, when we were all in the sitting room, sipping on our cocktails, having a chat, and now it seems as if something has changed. When you sat down and began to eat, I noticed you held the fork to your mouth, filled with potatoes, but you never actually ate any, and instead set the fork back down, as your eyes went all empty and glassy and unfocused. I didn’t say anything, because I assumed you’d had one too many cocktails, but now I’m concerned, because I don’t understand. None of use do. Emily, this is an annual dinner party, we came last year, and the year before. Two years ago is when we were married, don’t you remember? We were married on April 15, 1942, at a little registry office in Chelsea, down in London, where we live. You remember that darling, don’t you? We live in a lovely flat in Knightsbridge. We came up here for the dinner party, and to get away from the bombing for a bit. I’m back on leave, you know, from the war, and I thought this would be a nice evening, a chance for us to get out and see our friends and spend time together, since I know how hard it’s been on you since I’ve been gone for most of our marriage, fighting several countries away. I know all of this has been a lot for you, but I’m here now, we’re together. It’s October 13, 1944, and it’s a lovely night, here, in North Yorkshire, England, where you are, we are, together. Now, let us enjoy it, please?”
Emily was stunned. None of that, not one thing, seemed to be real. She felt like she was in a waking nightmare. The war? Why was he going on about the war? She felt like the war was so long ago, so far removed from her, yet he was talking about it like was happening right now. 1944, yes, it was happening right now. Why did it feel like it was of the past? She suddenly felt very sick, and confused, and upset. She felt like that girl from The Bell Jar again, as she had earlier; stuck, trapped, uncomfortable. It was a book she loved. She even carried a small copy of it in her purse. She felt her purse next to her, and felt the book inside, and it made her feel comforted for some reason.
“Emily, how are you feeling? What’s in your bag that you were touching just now?”
“A book, a book that I love, by an author that I admire.”
“Oh yes? What book is that darling, let us see?”
Emily removed her copy of The Bell Jar from her purse, and handed it to her husband, so that he could see. He held it in his hands, and looked rather confused by it.
‘I’ve never seen this before, never heard of it actually. Have you read this? I don’t remember you talking about it before?”
“Well you must not have been listening, because I’ve read it several times, and talked about it nonstop. It was only published last year, rather new still.”
William opened the book, and turned to the publication page. His brow furrowed, and he suddenly looked surprised, and rather uneasy.
“What is it?” Emily inquired, unsure of why his face went like that.
“Is this a trick book? I don’t understand…”
“Understand what?”
“The publication date. You said it was published last year? This page says it was published in January 1963. I just don’t understand, how have you read this? Where did it come from? How was it published in January 1963, if it’s currently October 1944?”
Emily tried to swallow, but choked on nothing, and suddenly felt another tight string in her head snap, accompanied by a booming echo that reverberated long after she had fallen off her chair and hit the floor.
A journey from inside my head, out into the world 
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