Memories From Last Year

Chapter One

They say that the strongest link to sparking a memory is through one of the six senses - not sight, taste or touch, not even sound, but smell. Walking past Newman's Bakery, I was suddenly reminded of the night of New Year's Eve. Fireworks burst through the dark night, fiery blooms amongst the stars. The air had a tincture of gun powder, a smell that took me back to every bonfire night I went to as a child. And then at the most perfect moment, a tall, broad figure approached me. In my memories, his face remained a blur. Only recognising the fedora hat, the man appeared to have short, coarse-looking dark hair that reached his neck. He had a long overcoat which complimented his tall & slim figure. I couldn't hear anything. I should be able to hear the loud, blaring sounds of the fireworks but everything remained silent. His lips were moving, as he reached out for something from the paper bag he had brought along.

I was aware that he was talking to me – but... what was he saying? Why couldn't I hear anything?

He pulled out a beignet, which looked like powdered sugar pillows. Newman's Bakery was famous for their powdered beignets, a cross between a rich and dense egged-based French pastry (such as profiterole) and a classic American yeast donut.

As the taste of sweet powdered sugar and soft, thin layer of crispiness and soft layer of interior moulded into my mouth, I looked up to the man before my eyes, still unable to make clear of his face. But... I knew I loved him. I knew he meant something to me – but... who was he?

One thing I was unsure about was whether this was a memory or a dream.

-

My clothes weren't right and I didn't know the room. It looked like a hospital, a nice one. There were flowers, fruit baskets, clean sheets and soft music playing. What was I doing here? I stretched my legs which seemed to look perfectly normal and sat up from the bed. As I go to leave the bed, an alarm sounds and in comes a nurse. She was probably in her mid-fifties, a bright small stretched on her lips as she ushered me back to the bed.

"Mila, there you are. Remember me? Nurse Maria?"

I shook my head. She wasn't the least bit familiar. Her smile falters a little.

"That's fine. Do you need the washroom? Come now."

I shook my arm.

"Get off. I don't know you. Don't touch me. I'm leaving."

She wasn't surprised. Quite the contrary. Instead, she wore an expression that implied that she'd heard all this before and a level of confidence that suggested that she knew what to do and say next. She calmed me down with a hot cup of chamomile tea, as she helped me to get comfortable in bed.

"Just relax. Know who brought these flowers for you?" she asked.

"No." I answered abruptly. I appreciated the small talk to distract me but I couldn't care less about anything, except for where I was and how I ended up here.

"Where are my parents,? Are they here? Can I call them?" I put the cup of tea away.

"Sweetheart, I-" she paused, as the doctor entered the room, alongside a tall, well-built man.

"Ms Heinrich, I see you've woken up," the doctor spoke, as his eyes quickly scanned through my vital records.

"How long was I asleep for?" I raised an eyebrow. The unidentified man looked concern.

"Not too long. About five months."

Never before have I noticed how time was so much like water; that it could pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rushed by in a blink of an eye. The clock was measured and constant, part of an orderly world; the clock lies. The past five months had passed like thousands of camera frames per second shown one at a time. In this slow time-bubble the birdsong was louder, coldness was colder and colours were brighter. But to me, it felt like a short slumber. However, a long dream while I was at it. They were short, fragments of different situations, some I've completely forgotten about. Faces I didn't recognise, names I've never heard of. But one thing remained constant. A warm feeling, a sense of belonging, every time the same figure approached me. Still, his face was a blur.