gaia_angelleft cat_blaugh gaia_angelright
There is a difference between knowledge and memories. Knowing something and remembering something. I have no memories. I have plenty of knowledge. I know everything taught in school, but no memory of learning it. I know the lady that runs the flower shop on Bakers St. just had a baby, even though I don’t know her. I don’t know why I know these things. But I do know why I don’t remember. I was in an accident. The building I was living in exploded. I was the only survivor. Clinically I died. I should have lost everything, but I didn’t. Just like I didn’t stay dead.
“How are the headaches?” she readjusted her reading glasses, as she did with every medical question. She was nervous about my condition. As was every other therapist I saw.
“They happen less now.” If only the voices would leave.
“Pain?”
“Tolerable.” Sometimes.
“Level?” Everything has a level.
“About a four. Maybe a five.” More like a ten, but I'm done with pills.
“Less than last week.” She took her glasses off. “I’d take you off, but I'm assuming you already stopped taking them.” She smiled.
She was right.
“No anxiety? Panic attacks? Confusion?”
Every night. “Nope. I'm fine.” Lies. Always lying.
She placed her clipboard on the table next to her. “Anything come back?”
Memories. If only. “No.” I slid down in the chair. I noticed her eyes start to well up. She was about to cry.
But why? I'm just another name. Another face.
Her sister
Sister?
She lost her memory.
Ahh, that makes sense now. Wait. Why am I talking to myself?
No answer. I couldn’t help sighing. Mentally of course.
“Well it’s still early.” She sighed and leaned back. “How much longer is the support?”
No one knows what happed that day, whether it was a bomb or a gas leak that ignited. The shelter that ran the building took up donations to get me an apartment, paid my medical bills and my medication. They even gave me an allowance for food and transportation. “Until I get back on my feet.” Whenever that was. “It’s hard to get a job with no memory of any skills. Places don’t want to hire unless you have proof of skills. According to shelter records, I didn’t even have a job.”
“Well, I’ll ask around and see if I know anyone needing help.”
“Sounds great.” I guess.
She looked at the clock. Five minutes till the end. “So, off the record, how are you really doing?”
Well this is different. “Scared. Lost. Confused.” Why did I just say that?
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“Being unable to help regain your memories.”
“I’m the first patient you’ve never been able to regress. You said that. Remember?”
She smiled sadly and nodded.
“You’ve helped me plenty.” Times up. “There is only so much one person can do.” The clock chimed once. One pm.
She looked up at the clock and sighed. I could tell she was searching for a way to get me to remember something. Anything. It didn’t matter what it was. At least that was what my instincts told me.
“Well, same time next week?” she always has a sad smile when I leave.
“Right. Oh.” I almost forgot. “I was thinking about changing my name.”
“Oh Really.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“Well, seeing as how I beat death and was given a second chance, I might as well take advantage of it and reinvent myself. Start from scratch.”
A happy smile, finally. “Sounds like a good plan. Have a name in mind already?”
“Chastity. Or something like that.” I haven’t decided yet.
“Sounds like a stripper name.” she laughed. I have never heard her laugh before.
“Then I guess I’ll become a stripper.”
“Let me know if you do. My brother is getting married next year.”
We said our goodbyes and she closed the door softly. It was like she was afraid the noise would upset the other patients.
A jumpy old man sat in the corner; he threw a fit if anyone else sat there, from what the voices tell me, he is a war veteran plagued with memories of the war. Mary, a mother with Munchausen Syndrome by proxy, sat between her brother and her probation officer. I think it was her daughter she abused for attention. Maybe her son. Poor Billy sat near the entrance with his social worker. He witnessed his father rape then murder his mother then he blew his head off. And then there was me. Susan Graham. Or so I've been told. I have no memories of my name or my life before I woke up in the hospital.
Every Tuesday is the same. I wake up and eat breakfast. I go to the doctor then eat lunch. After lunch I head to the therapist then go home. At dinner I order a pizza and eat in. That was my ritual for weeks. Two weeks? Or three? I can’t remember. I forget small things. Not that I care per say.
The bus ride home was uneventful. Usually I see a drunk or two. Not today. I had just kicked off my shoes when my head tingled.
He’s coming.
“Who-wait…why am I talking to myself?”
He’s coming.
I decided to humor the voiced “Does he have a name?” I must be going nuts.
Trust him. A male’s voice. How refreshing.
He’s here.
She was right. He knocked hard door seconds after her voice faded. I didn’t want to answer. But I did always.
His green eyes stood out vividly as if they would suck in your soul. It looked like he needed a haircut. His black hair cut out portions of his eyes. My eyes were drawn to a small scar over his eyebrow, it was hardly noticeable. But then again, I was staring at his eyes.
“Excuse me,” his voice was deep and smooth. I couldn’t help but think of a coffee commercial. “Are you Susan Graham?”
My heart jumped in my chest. “Who are you?”
“Justin Byers,” he held out his hand. I was hesitant to take it, but the voices where never wrong. His hands were rough and dry, working hands. “It’s nice to be able to talk to you.” He did smile, but the pain in his eyes told another story.
“Talk? Wait, are you the one who visited me in the hospital.” His voice does sound familiar.
“Ah, yes.” He shuffled around. “I would love to treat you to dinner.”
My suspicion must have been written on my face.
“To talk of course. I have plenty of questions for you, as I am sure you have some for me.”
Go with him
“Pizza? My treat?” he flashed a smile. It must have swooned hundred of women.
“Fine.” I locked the door behind me and let him lead the way.
We ended up at small pizza place I've never been to before. After the accident I mean. I think. At least I don’t remember ever seeing it there much less eating there. It was nice. The atmosphere was warm and inviting. Classic colors for a pizza place covered the restaurant. Justin chose a booth in the corner; he took the seat facing the door.
“So how did you find me?
“It’s what I do.”
What you do? What does that mean? “Oh…well that explains it.” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m a locater.” He smiled again. I could get used to seeing that.
“So, why did you locate me? Did we know each other? I don’t owe you money do I?”
“No, we’ve never met.” He laughed and ordered us a large pepperoni with two waters. Creepy.
“Well now I don’t feel bad.” I laughed. Awkward.
“I was hoping that you knew what happened that day.”
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I have no memories.” I took a sip of my water. “No memories from before I woke up. In fact, I don’t even remember the few days after waking up.”
Sadness crept into his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Why is everyone apologizing?
“It must be painful.”
“What one doesn’t remember…That doesn’t work. What I mean, is how can something hurt if one has no memory of it.”
“Having no memories of memories?” he looked confused.
“Having no memories, past memories, is normal to me. I just overcame the obstacle of being unable to retain new memories.”
Our food arrived with perfect timing. I could tell the air between us was getting a little…tense. We ate in silence no know what to say. I think we both thought we had offended the other. Afterwards we walked to the park. It was practically empty, a few joggers, two kite flyers, and I think a tai chi group.
“You never told me why you’re interested.”
I could sense the hesitation. I though he wasn’t going to answer.
“My sister was killed in the explosion.”
Sister? “I thought those in the home didn’t have any family?”
He nodded and sat on the bench “She was kidnapped after her third birthday. She’s the reason why I became a locator.” He took a deep breath. “I found her less than a week before the explosion. I was debating on what to say to her. How to introduce myself.”
“What was her name?”
“Melody Griff. She was your friend.”
What? “My friend?”
I have a brother?
“Yeah. You two were inseparable. That’s why I never approached her. You went everywhere together.”
“That’s where I first saw you.” I know that, why can’t I remember?
He nodded “ You caught me staring at her. Like a big sister you always herded her away.”
My real name…?
“What was her real name?”
“Natasha Byers.
I’m Natasha?
“You never had a chance.”
“No.
