The Book of Short Stories

Remember Me

Nothing made sense anymore; I didn't know if anything ever would after what happened to me.

The thing is, I don't even remember what happened to me. There's just... nothing there. As I stared up at the stars, I tried to make sense of the jumbled mess that was my life.

I'd woken up in a hospital not more than a week ago with no idea who I was or how I'd gotten there. They told me my name was Damien Smith, aged twenty-eight, and that I'd been in a coma for nearly two months.

Car crash, they said. Apparently the airbag was defective and hadn't deployed on impact. They told me that because of that, my face had collided rather violently with the steering wheel, leaving me with a long, jagged scar that ran from my right eyebrow and down across the bridge of my nose, making it seem almost miraculous that I could still see out of the eye. It's what caused me to lose my memory. Massive head trauma. Nasty business.

The doctor's eyes had been grave as she listed my injuries: ruptured spleen, caused by the collision of the other vehicle to the front of my car; broken leg, resulting from being pinned between the seat and crumpled dash; cuts from broken glass; and massive head trauma, among other things, which was the cause of my amnesia.

A moment later I heard the approach of soft footsteps. I turned to see a girl about my age walking slowly towards the bench on which I was seated. Her head was down, headphones in, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. I followed her with my eyes until she had passed me, afterwards lifting my gaze to the night sky above me.

I sensed her stop, her light tread coming to a halt only a few feet from where I sat. She turned to face me; I could feel her eyes boring into my profile.

"Damien?''

Her query seemed to float through the air, the sweet sound of her voice tickling my ear.

"Is that you?"

I finally turned to face her, absorbing the details of her pretty face: large bright green eyes, a small nose with a spattering of freckles, and soft pink lips. She really was something to behold....

Which is why I immediately felt terrible. I knew she would only be asking me this if she was someone that I had known before my accident.

"Yeah?" I mumbled.

"D-do you... remember me?"

There it was. Her question hung in the air, so heavy that I could feel my heart begin to constrict from the earnestness on her face and the pleading look in her eyes. She'd removed her headphones and was nervously tying them in knots while she awaited my response.

Well, better to give her a quick answer than to leave her suffering.

"No. No, I don't."

My words seemed to hit her like a freight train. The light drained from her eyes, instead replaced by a film of what appeared to be tears.

"Oh. I... I'm sorry." She turned and began to hurriedly walk away, but not before I saw a silvery droplet trace its way down her cheek.

I watched her go for just a heartbeat before rising from where I sat.

"Please, wait a minute," I said to the back of her head. I didn't know if she'd stop or not, but I had no intention of letting her go while she was crying.

Surprisingly enough, she froze in her tracks.

"What's your name?"

She hesitated before replying.

Then, finally, "It's Quinn. Quinn Lackland."

"Quinn Lackland," I breathed. The name tasted almost familiar as it crossed my lips.

She turned back to face me. Quinn's face held the barest suggestion of a smile; tracks of silver were visible on her cheeks where the tears had fallen.

"Yup, that's me," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

She seemed to have a brief struggle with herself before finally saying, "You know, I was your girlfriend before... well, before this."

Her words cut me to the heart.

My girlfriend....

We locked gazes for just a fraction of a heartbeat before she spun on her heel and began to hurry away once more.

"Quinn, wait," I said, my outstretched hand reaching towards her.

"I-I'm... I'm sorry."

She paid me no attention, leaving me staring after her as she ran.

I watched her retreating form for a moment longer before returning to my seat on the bench. I doubled over, my hands clutching at the sides of my head.

Why can't I remember?

My eyes began to sting. I squeezed them shut, forcing the pricking sensation away. After a moment I lowered my hands and turned my gaze back to the stars above me, searching for an answer that wasn't there.

Something warm and wet slid down my cheek. I wiped it away and stared at the pearly glow on my fingertips.

Drip.

Another droplet of moisture splashed onto my palm. Then another, and another, until finally a steady stream of tears was flowing down my face. I buried my head in my hands, utterly ashamed of myself and my inability to remember.

Quinn, I'm so sorry....