Who Am I? by Hailey Helmke
Beep. Beep. Beep. The incessant sound of the monitor filled my ears before I had the chance to open my eyes. At first, the light in the room was almost blinding. After my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, it was clear I was in a hospital bed. My initial scan of the room was so abrupt that I missed the man sitting in the corner. I check for cameras everywhere. The second he realized my eyes were open, he darted to the side of the bed and latched on to my right hand like he was about to fall off the side of a cliff.
“You’re alive.” he muttered.
“Nope, I think you must be dreaming.” I stated.
The doctor strutted into the room when the mystery man started to chuckle with relief. She said that my scans were all clean and that I could go home after we signed the discharge papers. I still had no recollection of the man at my bedside, but I assumed the memory loss was only temporary. I asked him to get me a quick snack, so I could talk to the doctor alone. Whoever this man is, he must be immensely important to me. I want to make sure this isn’t some trivial problem before I tell him that I have no clue who he is.
I told the doctor what was going on. She said it could come rushing back by the end of the day or in the worst-case scenario, never come back at all. I begged and pleaded for her to let me stay a little bit longer. She informed me that they cannot keep me here and that I must go home with him. I frantically told her all the reasons I should not be sent home with a stranger. Her dark eyes filled with sympathy after hearing my distress, but it was useless to me at this point. I asked if she would at least tell him for me.
He came back with some cookies and a bottle of apple juice from the cafeteria. At least he will have some cookies after his life gets turned upside down. Dr. Avery took him outside the room to talk to him. I strained to hear their conversation, but all I could see is the solemn look on his face, until she told him. I could see the pain seep into his face as she told him everything about my amnesia. It was excruciating to watch. Tears rolled down his face like the flood gates within him had burst open. He looked so strong on the outside, but this seemed to have broken his facade. I couldn’t bare it any longer. Dr. Avery attempted to console him. Even after his tears were dry, the sorrow clung to his stoic features.
He stumbled into the room and tried to fill me in on what my life was like. His name was George. He has been my boyfriend for three years. He went on to tell me everything about myself. It was like his whole life was dedicated to figuring me out. I told him that and he laughed again. I felt more comfortable after talking to him and decided it was probably safe to go home with him. He could be lying, but what he said is all I know.
On the drive back, something sparked in my memory. It was a tall oak tree with two crosses next to it. It had a few low hanging branches and there was a tire swing dangling from it. I remember sitting under it and having a picnic. I can almost picture the layout of the food still. There were turkey sliders and dark crimson grapes. The blanket was a red and white plaid with black writing. When I asked George, he seemed clueless. Apparently, I have never had a picnic with him before. I thought I was finally getting my memory back, but I will just have to settle for making new ones for the time being.
We walked inside of the house slowly. I tried to remember the leather couches and the rustic decorations. You know that feeling when you come home after a long trip, aching to sleep in a bed that’s familiar and the safety that comes with a home? None of those feelings are even remotely close to what I am feeling in this moment. Something about this place puts me on edge. It’s like an aura of darkness inside these walls. I see a picture of myself and a little boy. I can’t explain it. As soon as I get the lay of the land, I start to feel dizzy.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Not Again! This time I know exactly where I am. I search for George, but he isn’t there. When I look to where he was before there was someone else in his place. Someone much smaller, I might add. He turned to face me and it’s the boy from the picture.
“Mom?”
I have a son? Why didn’t Dr. Avery mention this? Why didn’t George? Right then, a nurse walks in, she said to call her Nurse Ivy, and tells me I have amnesia. I informed her that they told me the same thing yesterday. I asked her if she would call in Dr. Avery. She swiftly looked through the records and said there was no Dr. Avery in the system. I snatched the tablet right out of her hands and looked for myself. There really wasn’t a Dr. Avery at this hospital. I was starting to get frustrated and screamed at her to get George here now. She stared at me blankly.
“Who’s George?” she inquired.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I said, “Call him.’’
She came back and said I didn’t have a boyfriend named George, but a husband named Ryan. I am almost convinced this woman is insane, when a man walks through the door and hugs my son. That must be Ryan. Am I a cheater? Am I crazy? Does George even exist? Once again, a medical professional comes in and tells me that my scans are clear. I sign the discharge papers, for the second time. We head home and I ask Ryan about the same tree. The oak looks different today. It isn’t as tall or as wide as it looked just yesterday, and the swing is gone. There isn’t even a mark where it used to hang. He also had no clue what I was talking about.
The house was the same, other than the fact that the fireplace is much cleaner than it was. Everything seems much cleaner, like brand new. I already know the amnesia is messing with me, so I don’t even bother asking Ryan. I looked where the picture of my son was, but it is a different one. This one doesn’t have me in it. It’s a baseball picture that says, “Lucas Wright, First Baseman.” I traced my hand along the edge of the dresser and caught a jagged splinter. The small cut started to bleed a little and I had another flash of memory. I was sitting on the ground in a pool of blood. There was a small figure laying next to me lifelessly. I can almost feel the pavement beneath me at this moment. Tears in my eyes for some unknown reason, I snapped back into reality. It was like I was there. Ryan noticed that I was trembling. He walked over and engulfed me in the warmest embrace I can imagine. His strong arms seem to wash the pain of my vision away. Just then, I feel dizzy.
Beep. Beep. Beep. This time, I lose it. I jump out of the bed and rip the tubes out of my arms and sprint down the nearest hallway. Nurses are struggling to contain me, and I just keep screaming until I reach the end of the hall. For once, I recognize this face on my own. It’s my mother. I stop in my tracks, and she comes toward me. She places both hands on my face and presses her forehead against mine. This is the feeling of home. I follow her back to my room. On the way, I realize this isn’t a normal hospital. It is a psychiatric ward. I know I am not crazy. They must be drugging me to get money from the government or keeping me here to spy on me with their suspicious little cameras.
My mother told me that they diagnosed me with a mental illness. They must be lying to her, too. Poor woman, my mother would believe a roach if it could speak. She always said I was paranoid, but I call it cautious.
I asked where Lucas was, and she went silent. After a few seconds, that felt like years, she started to speak.
“Lucas died in a car accident,’’ she said, “Along with your husband, Ryan.”
I cannot believe they would deceive my mother this way. The people running this place are crazier than those who are imprisoned within its walls. There is no way that could be true, or could it? I do remember that scrawny figure in the puddle of blood. It could have been a dog for all I know. It wasn’t my son. They must have him somewhere.
I asked for George this time. I didn’t really want my mother to know if I was a cheater, but this is important. She eyed me like I called her ugly. She was either ashamed because I am not the daughter, she thought I was, or she really despises George. Then he walked in, wearing a white coat. George is my doctor. I asked how long I have been here. The answer startles me. Three years. This can’t be true. My mother tells me over and over. I just can’t seem to trust her. She stops trying to reason with me and reaches into her purse. The thing she holds up is an obituary. It’s the picture I saw at the house. “Lucas Wright, 2008-2020.”
I remember everything now. I had a picnic with Lucas under the oak tree. Ryan came to pick us up after. It was around noon, and we were already leaving the park. It had been so hot that day Lucas didn’t even want to play. I forgot to bring his water bottle. The whole thing was my fault. I am right back in that second. The massive truck was like a wrecking ball to our car. I saw Ryan’s body. The very sight of it crushed my soul. Then, I saw Lucas. I sped to him and fell to the pavement. Covered in his own blood, he looked up at me. I watched as the life left the eyes of my own child. That is enough to make anyone go insane. I have been hallucinating for three years. Now, I remember everything, but I still don’t know who I am.
Feather in a Storm by Justin Whittington