What the Heart Remembers

It's Going to Be Okay

“You took a very hard hit to the head, Mr. Marchant,” the doctor said, flipping through the pages of the flipboard. “A concussion and a few fractures, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed up. However, you’re required to stay for a safer recovery, as I see no listed relatives to care for you.” Pages turn. “Ah, and your…current condition…”

“You mean the fact I can’t remember shit,” Aleksandr stated bluntly. He rubbed the bandages that were wrapped tightly around his skull, uncaring to the look the doctor shot him. Yeah, no touching, no touching. “Then what am I supposed to do? Stay here until I get kicked out?” Apparently he was some moronic orphan who drove out in the middle of a blizzard, crashed, and now has amnesia. Great.

The doctor gave him one of those professionally done smiles, the one that spoke sympathy, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Amnesia can be a very tricky case. Could be weeks, months, years. Your memories can come back at any time.” Paper shuffled. “I’ll have a nurse come by and bring some items, see if anything triggers. But for now, continue resting.” That said, he left with his coat billowing behind.

Aleksandr sighs and falls back onto his upward bed, ignoring the slight throb he receives for it. No memories, no family; just a wallet with his license and a bunch of injuries. It fucking sucks because he can feel it, the memories lingering in the back of his head. It’s like changing the channel on an antenna TV; watching the scenes through black and white dots, and static voices.

Speaking of TV, looks like someone turned it on and left it on the Soap Opera channel. “Oh what the fuck is this shit,” Aleksandr grumbles. It’s not like he can get up and look for the remote. His leg had been wrapped up in a cast; not a fracture, but a sprain from the paramedics dragging his body out of the car. What a damn fantastic thing.

However, he’s determined not sit here and listen to some woman cry about a dead twin sister. “Nurse? Hello? Anybody out there?” No response. Nothing except the crying and a beeping from the next bed over. Wait. Aleksandr turns to the white curtain blocking his neighbor and frowns. How did he never notice that? With an outstretched hand, he yanks the curtain aside and …oh.

There’s a man on the bed who is hooked up to several machines. He looks to be around the same age as him; messy brown hair, strong jawline and, from what he could see through the heavy bandage pads on his face, a crinkle at his eyes that would come from days of infinite smiles.

“Guess I’m the lucky one, aren’t I?” Aleksandr mutters to himself. It feels intruding, looking at someone while they’re asleep. Then again, who knows how long that guy’s been asleep? “Sorry to bother you then. I’ll just watch…The Missing Puzzle then…Continue to sleep, then.” He’s talking to partially dead man. What the fuck is he doing?

——

“You know, they found out where I lived. Said it was a little run down apartment in the shopping district. They called the landlord to see if I had close friends or distant relatives, but they said I had moved out of that place about a month ago. Can you believe it? I mean, I couldn’t have been homeless, right? I had to have belonged somewhere… right?”

Beep…Beep…Beep…

“You’re lucky they just feed you through a tube. The food here sucks,” Aleksandr grunts, pushing the peas and carrots away. Maybe he’ll just settle for the fruit cup again. “Oh, and turned out Lori was pregnant and Rick wasn’t the father. Fucking called it, I told you.”

A week had passed since discovering the comatose man, and Aleksandr has picked up the habit of talking to him. Started off with petty comments on television quality, the remote still nowhere to be found, and now it’s blown up to full conversations. Probably wasn’t the healthiest thing to get into, but the doctors were stiff and the nurses were stoic. Well, except one, but he only ever saw her on Sundays.