Sometimes, you remember your dreams; they’re vivid and clear in your mind long after you wake up. Then, other times, you don’t even remember your dreams at all; you feel like you haven’t dreamed. And sometimes it feels like you close your eyes for a second, then open them, and it’s morning.
That’s how it was this morning. I felt like I’d only just shut my eyes for the night, and then I was blinking in the bright morning sun. Which was very bright this morning. Once my eyes became adjusted to the light I glanced to the window, noticing my curtains were parted. I couldn’t remember opening them at all. Maybe I was still a little tired.
Suddenly, my stomach grumbled. A little hungry, too.
I threw the covers off me and stood up, yawning. I stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen to see my father.
“Dad?”
His warm face beamed at me. “Hi bunny! How are you?”
“G-good, but, I thought you had a work thingo,” I raised an eyebrow shakily.
“That was yesterday hun.”
“Wh-what? You were here yesterday, and I could’ve sworn your work things are always on Saturdays.” I crinkled my forehead. I wouldn't miss something as important as an appointment change, surely.
“They are. Yesterday was Saturday, hun. Today is Sunday.” Dad stopped for a second gave me a concerned look. “Are you alright?”
What? Sunday? If today was Sunday, then what did I do on Saturday? I remembered going to bed on Friday and then... Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing after that. Why and how would I forget a whole day? If yesterday was Saturday, that meant yesterday was my date with Jack. I would never forget something like that. Why didn’t I remember?
“Oh right, I remember now,” I smiled, choosing not to voice my internal spasms to my dad. He worried too much already. I didn't want to give him even more reason for concern. I worked on trying to make my face more convincing. “And I’m fine.”
Dad gave me a funny look for a second but shook his head and smiled at me. When I smiled again it was easier, thank goodness. I didn't like lying to my father.
Once I was sure he was satisfied with that, I walked into the living room, plonking myself down on my favourite leather couch distractedly; I couldn’t trust my legs to hold me up much longer. What was this? A new stage in my disease? Major memory loss? Was I rapidly becoming even more insane? Was I dying?
NO, I yelled at myself. Stay calm. Don't work yourself into a tizz over something that's probably nothing.
“Dad?” I called to the kitchen.
“Yes, sweetie?” his voice echoed through the house.
“What time did you get home last night?”
He paused for a second before replying: “The meeting ran very late last night and I wasn’t home until nearly one o’clock. When I got home you were fast asleep, but I still came in to give you a goodnight kiss.”
That was good, at least. “Ok, what time is it now?”
There was another pause as I assumed Dad checked his watch.
“11 AM." he called back. "You must’ve been tired, it’s not like you to sleep this late.”
I frowned. "Yeah," I replied, my voice shaking slightly. "I was-s."
So I couldn't remember anything that had happened since 10pm Friday, and it was now 11am Sunday. That’s 37 hours of my memory, gone. What did I do for those 37 hours? Obviously not something good. If it had been something good, my memory wouldn’t have disappeared into thin air!
