Living Lizzie

Life is what you make of it or so I thought. People always say that that’s so wise and that I’m so wise but I was just told it when I was little, I don’t know who by though. In fact I don’t know who I was or who I am.

My name is Lizzie Laurence I think, well, that’s what I was told at least. It just doesn’t seem right though. It seems too Lizzie like. Not like me. I can’t talk though because all I know is that I’ve supposedly been missing for weeks and was found in a park somewhere in Yorkshire, and I'm lying in a gleaming white pristine hospital room on a gleaming white hospital bed. There is a boy outside in the lobby that been asked to leave fifteen times and I think somebody nearby just vomited but that’s it. That all.

I am lying dazed on a hospital bed right now. A nurse has walked in carrying a blanket and a freshly cleaned syringe. Shivering, I pulled the covers over my head but my feet stuck out.

“Cold are you?” The nurse said pulling the sheet down from my head and adding a new ugly brown tartan one. It’s the only bit of colour in the whole room apart from the ‘soothing’ pastel pea green walls.

Then she picked up the syringe and I curled up as close to the wall as possible.

“It’s for your own good you know.” The nurse smiled annoyingly. There is a thing I defiantly knew now and it was that I hate people telling me having a needle stuck in your arm pumping diseases into your body is a good thing.

I shoved my covers off and dizzily stood up.                                                                      

“Oh, you don’t need to get up darling I’ll give it too you while you’re lying down.” The ignorant nurse whispered to me like I was three.

Not wasting my chance I edged towards the door. While the pitiful nurse cleaned and added some kind or murky transparent liquid to the syringe.

Ceasing the moment I made a clumsy dash for door but tripped over the bed leg. Hearing the clatter of bed legs scraping against the floor and bed sheet hitting the ground with a faint thud. She smiled emptily and made a dive at my own leg to stop me leaving. I scrambled free of the tangle of bed clothes just as she hit the floor grabbing and kicking toward my ankle while trying to escape the ocean of sheets now spread across the room.

I felt an exhausted breath seep out my mouth as I reached helplessly at the door handle. With the last of my strength I hauled myself to my feet and pushed open the door. I found myself in a long brightly lit corridor with blinding white walls, flaking orange painted doors with signs and a small hospital map glued to the walls.

I strode towards the map quietly; not wanting to be heard and looked closely at the brightly dotted map. There was a small green person with amnesia clinic written next to it. I looked at the small key near the side for help. This time the little green person had ‘this is the icon to show you where you are where you are’ next to it.

Suddenly, a peeling painted door burst open and the slightly bedraggled looking nurse looked straight at me and smiled fakely. I burst into a sprint and raced along the corridor, the cold floor hard againt my naked feet. The furious looking nurse screeched after me neatening her skirt as she went.

I leapt round a corner just as the nurse was pulled aside by a tall male doctor who was obviously asking her about a cancer patient while she frustratedly tried to answer as quickly as possible. I ground to a halt a couple of centimetres away from a large arch way leading into the lobby.

There was a small coat rack covered with coats, hat and scarves were visitor had hung them up. I quickly pulled off the immaculate white dress-top the hospital had provided, and, thinking on my feet I grabbed a large soft brown scarf and wrapped it around my head and neck covering my mouth slightly. Then I unhooked a large sludgy green trench coat that just clipped the top of my knees. Taking the tough green belt from the coat I tied it tightly round my waist in a neat bow at the front.

Feeling slightly more confident with my terrible disguise I strode into the large room. A man seated in an uncomfortable looking armchair squinted at me with a puzzled look. My heart suddenly skipped a beat when I realised I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Suddenly an idea hit me straight on the head. Trying to look as natural as I could when not wearing any shoes I stepped up to the counter.

“Can I help you?” Said the receptionist in a too perkier voice.

  Be rational I told myself seriously doubting my sanity; you don’t look older enough to be a mother.

“I’m Lizzie Laurence’s mother. I’m here to collect here belonging.” I said in a clear confident voice.

“ID please,” the receptionist said fingering some file and taking out a small silver key.

Taken aback slightly I said “You really expect the mother of an amnesia patient to bring ID to a hospital. After all I’ve…I mean she’s been through.” I kicked myself hard on the back of the leg. One stupid mistake; I could have ruined everything.

The receptionist eyed me suspiciously, I could feel my face sweating under my recently ‘acquired’ scarf and stared back motionless. Eventually she let out a deep sigh and spun round in her swivelling chair to a large secure looking metal cabinet. After tugging open one of the cavernous metal draws, which seemed to have put up a good fight and flitting through some of the many files she pulled out a large fat one. Carefully unfurling the delicate paper the receptionist pulled out a small silver key leaned up and unlocked a grimy cupboard just above her head. I tilted forward on the balls of my feet to get a better look inside it.

I’m not sure what I expected but it was not what I saw. All that lay inside was a small bundle of crumpled clothes including what I thought was a pair of neon orange trousers. Lying next to the clothes was also a bright pink clutch bag covered in a rather distasteful pattern which I could only describe as misshapen leopard print. I personally, the person I think am now at least, wouldn’t be seen dead in either of them but then this is who I am, or was, I guess I should respect the old me’s opinion.

The bouncing blonde receptionist handed my stuff over me; I could tell she had misgivings over whether she should be giving me it. Her fingers rested on my belongings a second to long. However, with no further ado I strode across the room, hoping no one else would notice my deficiency of shoes, and out of the door.

Out with the old in with the new.

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