prologue
I felt stuck in a deep, empty sleep. Each corner of my mind was captivated by nothingness and not even a blurry dream decided to present itself. At first, I presumed I was dead, but if my experience was eternal death, then we’re all doomed to an everlasting existence of boredom. No, I wasn’t dead; I was on the borderline. In the middle of my nothingness, though, the black that engulfed my figurative vision began to grow grey, then white. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, my eyes were physically squinting at a bright beam’s projectile. Second came in the blur of cavernous voices, all seeming to say the same thing. Then I realized, it was the same voice.
“You’re awake, oh my God, you’re okay,” they would say triumphantly. I didn’t understand the accomplishment behind opening my eyes, but I glanced at the person nevertheless. They had a birds’ nest of hair on their head; hay-like blonde strands were sticking in all directions. It took me while to notice the mud brown eyes this woman possessed, and took me longer to figure out who she was. Her complexion was foreign, and that scared me.
She began shrieking for a nurse, a doctor, anybody, that could assist her in this moment of such ecstasy. My mind pounded as I tried to fish out any memory of her, but as my attempt took off, I realized something else. I didn’t remember anything. Not about her, not about how I got here, not even my name.
The next couple events were a blur of faces, sounds, and actions. I could feel my body being examined and a shining light poking both my eyes, but most of all, I felt numb sorting through my storage memory. I looked intensely at the woman by my side, which was now across the room from being shoved out of the way. I tried to fathom a name, an event, a feeling that would connect our existences together, but I couldn’t find any. Finally, my mind was on overdrive and I felt my sanity slowly withering away.
“Who are you?”
My voice was airy, barely audible. I wanted to shout it across the room, but my windpipe was clogged with dust and cobwebs; I couldn’t get a word in above the chaos. Finally, I let my mind relax. With the prodding, examining, and analyzing over my state of health, I couldn’t afford anymore forced thinking. Instead, I focused on the smell of rubbing alcohol and rubber gloves.
She was my mom. We lived in a small home right on the outskirts of an extremely small town. We had a small family. We had small things. We were small people.
Coming home, I was enlightened by the smell of cheap furniture and chipped paint. I remembered this. My mom kept a vigilant eye as I took a 360 degree scan of our humble abode. I could see her small frame grow even smaller as I examined the place we sleep, eat, and bathe. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“Do you remember where your room is?” She asked. My fingers brushed over a picture frame with the photograph of someone young. I turned around to look at her, and then I thought. I nodded slowly, just barely having a glimpse of an organized mess. She smiled delicately and nodded back. I assumed the right thing to do was to show her I remembered, so I walked down a corridor a slide into the last room in the hall. This house was one story, and I think it had two bedrooms, one bathroom.
Walking in, I collided with a wall of memorabilia. The post-it notes of random scribbles I dare call art, quotes I singled out from philosophical novels, and words with definitions I had learned that day. My backpack, beaten to the bone, sprawled on the floor with its contents pooling out. Assignments I was supposed to finish, but never found the will to were all crammed in there, along with other sketches, quotes, and definitions.
My wardrobe seemed to emerge from the floor, because that’s where it all laid. My bed was a squeaky symphony as I sat on it. To my surprise, I found a laptop right on the edge of my bed. It looked used, nothing state-of-the-art, but functioning. I lifted the screen and blinked as it took form of a page. It was an old version of Microsoft Word (I found it odd I could remember software programs, but not my favorite color). The title was, “In The Midst of My Duty To Complete This Assignment, I Really Don’t Give A Shit”. It was only a paragraph worth of information, but it was something from my past, and maybe something I wrote straight from my thoughts. I then remembered the assignment, it was to write something to your future-self. I put it off because I didn’t believe I had a future, and the act of pretending was giving myself false hope. I began to read.
The future isn’t certain, so I don’t understand why this assignment makes it seem like it is. I wasn’t going to write this, you know that, but lately I’ve actually been thinking. I know where I’ll be after school ends, in fact, I’ll place a bet with you right now. If I can pin-point your exact state, kill yourself. If I can’t, congratulations. Let me see… You’re at a dead-end job, possibly unemployed, trying horribly to pay for mom’s medication, still thinking your sketches are worth something, and hopefully, you still feel guilty for something I’m about to do next.
I try to remember what I did next, but I can’t fathom a single thought. I stare at the words like one might stare at a picture of them; you know it’s you, but it’s a horrible, and startling depiction of you. I got off my bed, rounded towards the hallway, and found my mom cleaning the kitchen. I stopped hesitantly by the doorframe.
“Um,” I said, trying to grab her attention. She looked up and immediately dropped her rag on the counter.
“Are you okay? Did you remember something?”
“I’m fine, and nothing important. But, when did the accident happen?”
My mom seemed to be uncomfortable with the usage of “accident” but I was too curious to care. She rubbed her palms on the fabric of her jeans, something I remember being a habit of hers.
“About a week ago,” she answered.
“No, exactly.”
“Last Friday.”
“What was last Friday?”
“The twentieth.”
“Of?”
“March.”
It was still a blur, I couldn’t remember anything. But the date that the assignment was written was the twentieth. It was something.
"Do you know what happened?" I asked her. No one told me anything, and when they spoke, questions of my memory where the only things to utter from their lips.
"I got a call that you got hit by a car, that you weren't looking when a stoplight went red, that's all I know."
"You don't know where I was headed? Where I had come from?"
"You left the house without a single word, I have no idea."
I nodded politely, but couldn't help but feel like my insides caved in. I didn't know either, and that frustrated me.
