Autobiography of a Life: Ana M. Lee
Biography of a Life: Ana M. Lee (5/15/2001)
Chapter One
I was walking in a bright field, I remember my parents were behind me. Maybe a sibling too? A brother, maybe a sister.. They were cheering me on, probably some of my first steps- I must have been really tiny. I stumbled and fell into the grass a few times like babies tend to do, but the last time I got up, they just.. weren't there.
One of my earliest memories. Might not even be real, could just be a dream I had for all I know. I never really knew my real parents, being adopted when I was young. That's part of the reason I think it's a dream, some strange kind of manifestation of my subconscious fear of abandonment.
I was raised by my late adoptive parents Carol and Richard Lee. They were unable to have children of their own so they turned to adoption, Mom would always joke that I was enough to handle and that's why I was an only child. They were incredible parents, of course- they nurtured my creative spirit from a young age and made me feel like I could do anything. If it wasn't for them I likely wouldn't have been so proficient in writing at a young age; releasing my first story (A primitive version of my bestselling novel A look into a Faded Mirror) locally in seventh grade. Throughout high school, I would continue my pursuit of writing by participating in as many writing clubs as I could from Newspaper to Creative Writing to even Yearbook. I strived to get my name out there, to make connections; and it was in one of these clubs that I made my most important connection.
I met my then girlfriend Jennifer in Newspaper club, junior year. We seemed to click instantly; bonding over admiration for doveland films and dreamy nights at the beach with shared aspirations of being accomplished writers one day. I still remember our first date.. being the dork that I was, I invited her to the arcade with me (and being the geek that she is, she agreed.) We graduated in 78- She went to the local college studying journalism while I continued to hone in on my craft and search for a publisher. After many rejections and lack of responses, my manuscript for "The Quiet Mystery of Clover Meadows High" was accepted by Abject Pangolin Press in the summer of 1979. To celebrate, Jenny took the night off from studying and brought me to the beach like we would when we first started dating. Just as the tide started to roll in, she proposed under the full moon as the waves crashed against our feet, wet sand under our soles.
June 16th, 1979- Best day of my life. Our wedding in the spring was small, intimate, cozy. Nothing too garish, especially since we were both too busy to plan a big ceremony: Her studying and working as an editor with the local paper, me working with Pangolin Press on finalizing the release of Clover Meadows and beginning talks on the second book.
The first book was a moderate success when it first released in 1981, as dedicated fans likely know. It wasn't a big enough hit to put my name on the map or anything like that, but it sold enough copies for Pangolin Press to approve and release my second standalone novel, "A look into a Faded Mirror" the next year in 1982. AliaFM seemed to be an instant hit, undoubtedly due to the recently renewed demand for existential horror with releases of blockbuster hits such as Windowcreepers and Shardslayer II: Beyond the Vanity. AliaFM hit the top of the York City Press bookseller list just a week after hitting shelves, prompting Pangolin Press to eagerly attempt to schedule a book signing tour- Jenn was 8 months pregnant at the time, however, and I didn't want to risk missing our daughter's birth.
This led to some talks with Pangolin followed by a hasty release of "Shadows of Longing", a collection of short stories I had been workshopping in my downtime. I still look back on it with disdain but it satiated the fans at the time and allowed me to be there for the birth of my daughter (Khloe, you are the reason I released that garbage and I'm sorry, love you lots!) while adjusting to the rush of suddenly being famous like i'd dreamed. I think the most striking moment, the moment where it really set in how far I'd come was when Doveland Films reached out offering to do the movie adaptation for AliaFM. I grew up watching Doveland's flicks as a kid, watching them grow from a low-budget independent studio to one of the biggest names in the horror industry. To say this was an honor would be an understatement.
The next few years were hectic, to say the least. Between overseeing production for the movie adaptation, raising Khloe, and trying to work on a proper follow up to AliaFM, my life became kind of a scramble. I remember getting carpal tunnel from all the scribbled notes I was taking, having to switch to a tape recorder to get my thoughts down without permanently destroying my hand. Nevertheless, after diligent efforts and many sleepless nights: the movie entered post production successfully, the workings of my next entry were finalized, and Khloe turned 3. The more tangible nature of Lingering Strands' (1985) horror was largely due to the occasional bouts of insomniatic delusion I'd slip into during the writing process: I'm quite happy with how it came out, though! I tried replicating the conditions a decade later while writing Sunless Summer (1996) but had become more or less immune to sleepless nights after 13 years with Khloe and 5 with Jason. (Lots of love, Jay<3)
After the release of Lingering Strands, I stepped away from the typewriter for a break. (Note: Iâm not going to talk about the making of AliaFMâs adaptation anymore, there are plenty of books on that subject out already) I decided to spend the next few years with my family, giving back the best I could. Better home for my parents as a way of showing my appreciation for them stepping up and taking a chance on me. Taking Jenn and Khloe to Iwerksland, getting a dog, spending a lot of time on the beach, the good life. Things were getting almost too cushy for a time, thankfully a surfing accident left me with a fractured collarbone and confined to bed rest for a few months. (This is why I was not in attendance for the premiere of A look into a Faded Mirrorâs movie adaptation in 1988- a widely circulated piece of trivia / rumor that I can confirm to be true)
It was during this period, more or less helpless, that I returned to the writing desk, the writing cot at least. Little else to do, I took it as a sign that it was time to get back to work (though the countless letters, phone calls, and representative visits from Pangolin press could have sufficed as well.) I took inspiration from the immobility and wrote "Fight, Flight, Fawn, Freeze." In just a few months, returning to the more existential helpless type of horror that brought me that initial success. Released in 1989, the existential trend had long since died down, but I had since established something I once only fantasized about: A fanbase. FFFF brought not only those fans out of the woodwork but amassed many new ones, as well- sometimes, a life threatening injury is just what you need to reinvigorate your inspiration.
I hit save on the text file and save it to the floppy disc.
âFirst draft of the autobiography done, Jenny!â I call out, getting up from my desk and walking towards the bedroom. Jen looks up from her proofreading and nods with a warm smile.
âThatâs awesome! Planning on sending it to your editor, then?â she asks, eyes back to scanning the report diligently with a sip from her earl gray. I sit down next to her and lay my head on her shoulder, her cheek warm from the tea. Giving her a quick kiss, I respond-
âYeah, Iâll pick up Jason from school afterwards. Might have some time to kill- need anything while iâm out?â
She tilted her head to the side and stroked her chin like some bearded old man while she thought, one of her cutest quirks.
âStop by the record shop for some fresh tapes, maybe? Both of our jobs are dead silent and Khloeâs off at college, the house is too quiet during the day. Other than that.. hmm.. No requests.â
I nod diligently, give her another kiss and rise from the bed as she adds: âOh, right! Remember that since itâs Sunday, the main post office is closed and youâll probably have to go to the secondary one a bit farther away. Donât get lost on me, okay?â
Leaning against the door, I smirk and put on my best smoulder voice to reply âDarling, the only thing I can get lost in are your eyes.â
She snickers and shakes her head, rolls her eyes.
âLove you, dork.â
âLove you, geek.â I reply, turning to head towards the front door.
I slip into my coat, walk outside and get into my car. Iâve got my keys, wallet, and of course the floppy disc in my breast pocket- Off to the mailroom. I begin the route out of the neighborhood as it suddenly dawns on me that I only have a vague idea of where the secondary post office is. I havenât really been down in that rural part of town since I was a kid, strange as it is. I figure that iâll drive around a bit to see if I can find it before consulting a map, instinctual self-reliance.
For fifteen minutes, I drive to the southwesternmost part of town where the secondary post office is supposedly located. Dense forestlike environment with the occasional cabin or clearing- how is it so radically different to the rest of sunny Bloomberg? Seeing a sign marked Post Office -> down a dirt road, I grit my teeth and pause for a moment. Should I just wait until tomorrow? I figure âWell, iâve come this far, I guess.â and turn onto the street. I only make it down the stretch of road for a minute- if that!- before my shitty geep (Why do I keep forgetting to replace this thing?) comes to a grinding halt. I get out and kneel to find a thick, bent up branch jutting out of the tire, air escaping from the cracks in the rubber. I sigh and stand up, resting my arm on the roof with an âUgh, dammitâ about to lead into a âShouldâve packed a spare tireâ When I noticed⌠It. Right-well, left- on the passenger side, there it is.
The field. The clearing. The space from my dream. Illuminated- no- shrouded in an overwhelming sunlight, my mind races. It wasnât a dream, just buried in my memory too well. Iâm filled with an overwhelming magnet-like urge to follow the path once more. I donât even bother closing the car door before taking my first steps back towards the clearing.
And once again, I trip and fall.
I feel myself fade in and out of consciousness like someone flicking a light switch on and off and on and off until I just fade .
I awake in a bluish.. Bright white room.. My vision is blurry, like everything was shifted an inch away from me or something. I canât focus on anything in particular, so I just follow the sound of the voices.
âMiss?â
âSheâs waking up, give her some space-â
âMiss? Are you okay?â
Sluggish, I respond the best I can.
âDizzy⌠Whereâs my car? Who brought me here, Jen?â
Coming into view, the doctor clicked his tongue and shook his head.
âMiss, uh- Ana? You werenât brought here by âJenâ, no. A good samaritan found you face down in the park and brought you in.â
The man next to him, a nervous looking kid maybe 20, 21ish scratched the back of his head and stammered out:
âYeah, uh.. I saw you in the park. The park. I know that it can be kind of a.. Hotspot for.. Accidents so I got worried. Didnât want to have an overd- Death on my conscience.â
Utterly confused, I tried to retort.
âPark? I was in the woods, there werenât any parks-â
âFurthermore,â the doctor continued, âI have some questions about your ID.â
Admittedly a bit pretentious of me, I assumed he was a fan or had heard about me in the news recently. I didnât even get to offer an autograph before he continued on, âIâm assuming itâs a fake, but iâve never seen one this high quality. And all this money must be prop, no?"
According to him, my drivers license didn't match anything in the system.
They claimed the town I lived in didn't exist.
They couldnât even find an âAna M. Lee" anywhere in this state- a state iâve never heard of in my life, for the record.
The initial assumption was that the ID was a fake and that I was just high, which I was almost questioning myself. A couple drug tests proved that assumption wrong, The Samaritan had darted by this point, I guess too freaked out to stay. I wished I could leave. It was just me and this doctor old enough to be my dad in this obnoxiously bright room. He pricked my finger to prepare a DNA test- and started a more interrogative probe to see what he could learn about me.
âWhat do you last remember about your day before passing out in these⌠Woods?â
Being reminded of that awful outing, I shudder and gag, but my stomach is completely empty so itâs just a flailing dry heave.
I tell him about my wife, my son and daughter off in college, I tell him about my autobiography. I tell him that doveland studios released an adaptation of one of my movies in the 80âs, to no avail. Never heard of me! Never heard of the books!
âWere you in contact with your family- biological family?â
I pause, bite my lip for a moment.
âNo⌠I was adopted when I was two.â
A look of dread sprawls across the doctorâs face.
âTwo years old⌠The date of birth on your license is true, right? Year, at least- You were born in 1959?â
His dread seems to hit me second hand, crawling over me like a swarm of fire ants as the already enlarged pit in my stomach seems to drop further.
â1959, yes.. Why?â
He mulls it over in his brain for a minute, eyes darting back and forth as he seems to recount some far off memory he doesnât like to remember. Deciding whether he should share it or not.
âAna.. Lee⌠AnnaliseâŚâ he mumbles to himself before whipping around to his computer and typing in something I can't see..
As he types, his previously cold and clinical tone has melted into something more warm, more frightened.
âAna. I remember seeing the newspapers back in the day. If my suspicions are correct.. You were headline news for a good period of time. You are the answer to a decades-long question, an answer that comes with countless other questions attached.â
The webpage loaded, and five links to archived news articles have appeared onto the page.
Search Query: 1961 Rodgers Missing
New York Times: May 15, 1961- Two-year-old Annalise Rodgers goes missing on family visit to scarlettville park
Washington Post: July 17, 1961- Infant Annalise Rodgers still missing, authorities suspect foul play
L.A Times: November 11th, 1961- Rodgers missing infant case: Parents file for divorce
New York Times: April 14th, 1962- Cheryl Paine & Jackson Rodgers charged with child endangerment, ten years in prison each
New York Post: December 21st, 1962- Death of Jackson Rodgers, parent of missing child ruled apparent suicide
My home for over forty years and everyone in it, my wife, my children, my.. My everything. My everything was ripped from me. And it wasnât even the first time. All I have left is this floppy disk, a story that I doubt anyone will ever believe, an echo of a world I thought I belonged to.