Erica had shown her Facebook and something called a page. On Dora's page, she had 4,800 friends.
"I have 4,800 friends?" She'd asked Erica, staring up at her, confused. "That's, like, choke people. How could I have kept up with all of them?"
Erica explained it to her, how social media worked, but Dora still didn't quite get why she would want to friend so many people. What was the point?
"You've got your online business and your blog and podcast…" Erica's words faded away as she saw the look of incomprehension sweep over Dora's face. "You don't know what that is," she’d said, and Dora had shaken her head, no.
Facebook Dora seemingly liked to have her picture taken all the time. Facebook Dora was always laughing and smiling and asking friends’ advice about her clothes and hair. This Dora person posted reams of photos of trips she took, food she ate and makeup she bought. She wasn't shy about letting everyone know what her political views and affiliations were. Dora liked to share, share, share. There were videos of her talking about all manner of things. Dora couldn't watch them for longer than ten seconds without feeling slightly dizzy, as if she were coming apart at the seams. She could not watch this loud-mouthed woman with her shiny face, sleek hair and big laugh, talking at her from the screen, this stranger with her face.
A woman jogged by Dora with her phone strapped to her hand, short Bluetooth earbuds firmly lodged in place. It was a sunny day and the people walking dogs all seemed to favor small fluffy dogs. Some breeds she'd never seen before with thick shaggy brown and reddish fur that reminded Dora of Muppets. As she got to Culver Boulevard, several young people flew by on motorized scooters. Two of them were black girls with thick kinky hair worn out proudly. That was another thing she noticed: diversity everywhere. When she turned on the TV, commercials with mixed race couples and their children were abundant. Once, Dora counted five ads in a row that featured black people only. This had shocked her, the TV shows and commercials with black and Asian actors. Ads that showed off women of varying shapes and sizes modeling the latest fashions. And it seemed that in almost every show, someone was gay or in a same-sex relationship. Another thing she noticed was that no one seemed to smoke anymore. Instead, they sucked on sleek pen-like devices called e-cigarettes. Apparently, according to the ads put out to dissuade young people from using them, vaping caused asthma and lung disease. She'd binged on TV when she was at the clinic, mostly because there wasn't much else to do there, and she wasn't a reader. What Dora missed most of all, though, was being active. She missed skateboarding, surfing and bike riding. She smiled wistfully to herself, thinking about the top mount skateboard with the skull and bones deck that Dylan had given her. All those hours spent at the Santa Monica Courthouse, pissing around.
She'd browsed Facebook one afternoon, looking up her friends on Maui. The pictures were distressing. Everyone had turned old and fat. Pono Boy had developed a bowling ball belly with round Santa Claus cheeks. He'd been so skinny and wiry. She'd tried to find Steve Bates while snooping through the lives of people she no longer recognized, heart in her throat. Please don't let him be an old man. Her search was unsuccessful. Apparently, Steve Bates didn't do Facebook.
Dora lingered for a moment, debating whether to continue into town or turn around and go back to the house. A woman in a black sports bra and sleek shiny black leggings with little slits in the fabric that showed off bits of her tan flesh was speed walking in her direction. The wind fluttered her honey-blond hair that fell in loose tousled waves to her neck. She waved and Dora glanced over her shoulder.
"Hey. You're back home," the woman said and gave her a hug. She smelled of wicker furniture and something citrusy. Dora fumbled to return the gesture, but the woman was already letting her go. She flashed Dora a puzzled smile, cocking her head. "When did you get out of the hospital?"
"Today." Dora licked her lips. The woman looked familiar, but Dora couldn't seem to place her feline features into any recognizable memory. She ran her hand over her hair as the woman assessed her.
"It's good to have you back. God, the kids missed you, especially Jesse. But don't worry, they had their favorite aunty at hand," the woman grinned, apparently waiting for Dora to add something.
"Aunty," Dora whispered.
"You okay?" The woman reached out a hand, grazing her fingers against Dora's.
"You're Steve's sister."
"Yeah," her brows drew in tight, face crumpling in that way that was so common now when Dora spoke to people, like they'd suddenly realized that she wasn't who they thought she was after all. "You, uh, you remember me, right? I know Erica said you had some amnesia."
Dora nodded and forced a smile onto her lips. "Yes, Carrie."
Carrie didn't smile back.
"It's the hair. You used to have long hair."
"Ages ago. When we were kids." Carrie cocked her head to the other side, her stare hard. Dora felt naked. "You don't seem like yourself." She shook her head slightly as she spoke. "Are you walking on your own?"
That tight feeling was coming back, her throat closing in.
"Should I take you back to the house?" Carrie asked gently.
"I know my way around." The words came out snappish, even to Dora's ears. Carrie pulled her neck in, needles of red spotting her cheeks and blotching her chest.
"Okay," Carrie said softly, but Dora was already turning away from her and heading east toward the post office.
Carrie.
Carrie had barely had breasts and looked like a Skipper doll the last time Dora had seen her.
12
Steve - April 1996
"So, you knew my grandma?"
Steve glanced at Serene. She
