The Disappearance of Samantha Mourey

FIVE

FRIDAY CONTINUES.

When I opened my eyes again, I was looking up at Jason and Andy.

"Sam! Sam?? What the hell, Sam. Are you okay?" Jason asked, reaching his hand down.

I flattened my hands beside me on the ground to steady myself, taking deep breaths and looking around, then evaluating my body that seemed to still be as it should. I reached up and received Jason's hand, standing up to unsteady feet.

"Whoa there." He said, coming closer so he could help hold me up. Andy on the other side approached, looking like he was ready to catch in case I went down again.

"Yeah. I think I'm fine." I said, my head throbbing as I stood. Instinctively I rubbed it near my temples where the pain was the worst. "I guess I didn't eat enough today." I said, still confused.

"Did you see the flash?" Andy asked.

"Must've been another transformer going." Jason said. Sirens seemed to confirm his thoughts.

"Oh good... I thought that was just in my brain." I said, relieved that the loud bang and flash came from an outside source. "Perfect storm, I guess."

"You wanna go check it out?" Andy asked, smiling.

"Nope. I'm ready to go home." I said, his smile fading.

My head felt as if it were splitting in two. Jason and Andy walked me back and then took over the set up duties as I found myself back in my room, alone. Squinting, blocking anymore light from entering my head, I fumbled for the Tylenol and swallowed them, waiting for it to work.

My body ached at the same time, my head like someone had a chisel to it, and yet as I crawled into my bed, hugging my pillow against me, I still questioned if this were real or not. Was I actually sick or was this literally just all in my head? Would this be my life? A couple good moments in between the bad ones, and then lengthy periods in bed... I imagined a woman from the 20's, diagnosed with hysteria and sent to her room until she came out of it. I rolled over and found the clicker to flick on the tv to the local news. No report of another power outage. But I guess that might not make the news, I told myself. No sirens either? I turned it off, replaced by the radio on as quiet as I could stand as I waited for the Tylenol to kick in. Jeremy by Pearl Jam played on the radio, sounds from the outside of cars arriving for the final set up as I drifted off to sleep.

Saturday, October 19th, 1991. The Party

11:40.

I stare at my clock from my bed.

11:41.

11:42, 43, 44.

I stare at it, lying motionless, until it's 11:59 and I know I need to get up.

I feel sick. I still feel sick. If a doctor asked my symptoms, I'm not sure what I would say. Just un-well. I wonder if I maybe a brain tumor. Or if there's a slow carbon monoxide leak in our house. Something to explain the days I've spent in this room.

12:01.

My body feels like it is recovering from something and my brain races again with every worry about the day, about yesterday, about the next year, about life...

My head is spinning already, and I shove it back into my pillow to make it stop. I talk to myself, over and over, telling myself that I'm lucky. That my problems are nonsense. People are starving, and dying in wars, and homeless, and I'm comfy in my bed, in my nice little town and I can't even handle this life. It doesn't help. I just dig my head deeper and deeper into my pillow. As uninvited guests do, more worries joined in.