Chronicles of an Amnesiac | √

2, Day Three

It was wake up time, because the alarm the older woman put on the stand in my box was making the most dreadful of noises. I yawned, rubbed at my eyes and kicked the contraption down.  It stopped making noises. Good thing she'd showed me how it worked or I'd have been scared out of my skin.

I got down from the sleeping place just as the cover opened. A girl popped her head around it, then her whole body appeared. I remembered her from early yesterday as the-girl-who-was-my-sister. This was my third time of seeing her.

'Wakie, wakie,' she said as though serenading. She had on the brightest smile I'd seen.

'What are you called?' I asked the question that seemed more important to me. I didn't want to make the mistake of calling her her given nickname like I'd done to the-boy-who — Howard.

She seemed taken aback and an expression passed over her face and was quickly gone. But I'd noticed it. Thinking of it, I would have felt that way if someone I'd known all my life can't remember my name . . . right?

'I'm sorry for that, I just wanted to be clear.' I quickly apologized.

She put on that bright smile again and came to sit on the sitting place opposite my sleeping place.

'No p,' she said. I was confused as I didn't know the meaning of what she had just uttered. I must have shown my confusion because she laughed (a rich melodious sound) and said, 'That meant no problem; it's okay, ya got the point?'

I nodded, confused again. 'What are you called?' I reiterated.

'Marilla,' she said and stood up. 'Now come down for breakfast or Mom's gonna kill me for keeping you.'

My eyes widened and I was gripped with fear. Kill her?

'Oh, c'mon. I mean she's gonna be mad.'

I swallowed audibly. 'Be mad? Why? Is Mother not okay?' I said in a small frightened voice.

Marilla now looked like she'd burst. I didn't know what was amusing in being killed or running mad.

'You know what, just forget I said anything, change into something and come downstairs.'

'Into what?' I asked.

Marilla paused then said, 'Into a dress, maybe.' She looked at me suspiciously. 'You know, any long piece of cloth in the closet.'

One. I didn't know what a closet was.
Two. Was she wearing a dress too?
Three. Why couldn't I go downstairs in what I was wearing?

'It's that . . . long box over there.' pointed to a long flat box at the other side of my box in reply when I asked. 'No, I'm wearing a pair of jeans and a blouse.' She pointed to her leghuggers. 'Because they have been slept in,' she said to the final question. 'By the way, you don't wear day clothes to bed, you have PeeJays.'

I didn't know what PeeJays were but I got the idea that they were not day clothes. But, bed, I had no idea who that was. I wasn't going to ask, though, I didn't want to be an annoying person with too many asks.

So I opened the closet after she'd left and pulled out the first piece of clothing my hand came in contact with. It was a long robe that brushed the floor and it seemed a tad oversize. It had a hardpaper on a string attached to the neck and it felt uncomfortable against my skin.

I went into the smaller box that joined mine and washed my mouth with water. Then I made my way carefully down the steps with the long robe pulled up to my knees to keep from stepping on it and tripping.

I got off the steps and went the path to the eating place. I'd been there the day before, when we were to have the early day meal.

They were all seated on their respective seating places but the way they looked up suddenly at my entrance, the way the hushed voices I'd been hearing on my way suddenly stopped, I knew they'd been talking about me.