Ghosts of a Memory

Home again

It felt like her heart had stopped beating. Like she was about to spin into another coma. 

Two years? How much had she missed? 

So I'm 16 now? She typed onto the phone. Her mother nodded. 

Every muscle in her body went limp. She couldn't think straight anymore. Her whole world had come crashing down around her. 

All those lessons at school that she's missed, all those friends who'd moved on and grow up without her, all those parties she never got to attend.....

Two years of her life wasted in a hospital bed with a grieving mother by her side. It only felt like seconds when she was floating in that dark empty space in her head. But in reality, it had been two years. 

And to think she'd actually liked it and even thought to herself about how she could continue floating there forever. 

First, she's been told that she'd never be able to talk again. Now she learns that she's wasted so many precious months of her teenage years imprisoned in her own mind.

How much worse can things possibly get? 

Her vision became blurry. Warm tears spilled from her eyes and dripped onto the white hospital blanket. She felt so angry, so bitter, so incredibly miserable that crying wasn't enough to fulfill all the emotions welled up inside her.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to stand on a rooftop and scream her problems for the whole world to hear. 

But she was mute and she would never be able to make so much as a squeak ever again. And that thought only made her angrier. 

"I'm sorry." Her mother whispered. Clara could tell that her tears were distressing her mother, but she didn't care. She felt so damn angry it almost made her insane. She could feel resentment towards that driver build inside her. She had never hated a stranger as much as she did now. 

She didn't care if it was an accident. That driver had robbed her of so many happy memories she could've made by sentencing her to two years of unconsciousness.

Her mother stood up. "I'm going to tell your doctor that you're awake." Then she left the room. 

Once the door had shut softly behind her mother, Clara started kicking her blanket and whacking her pillow against the bed like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. Once she had used up all her energy throwing a  fit, she curled up underneath the blanket and proceeded to sob into the pillow she abused just seconds ago. 

The door opened and a man wearing a white coat, whom she assumed was her doctor, entered the room followed by her mother. He sat down beside her. 

"Hello, Clara," he greeted pleasantly. Clara just stared at him. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Could be better. She typed miserably onto the phone. 

"Any pains anywhere?" He asked. Clara shook her head. Her doctor nodded and jotted down something on the clipboard in his hand. 

"Do you remember anything from your past? Your friends? Your favorite movie? Favorite color? Memories from your childhood? Past birthdays?" He continued to ask. 

Clara felt her head spin. She felt a little dizzy trying to dig so deep into her head in search of her past self. Some things resurfaced like the time she learned how to ride a bike when she was seven. Or the time she cried watching her favorite sad movie for the third time in a row. 

She seemed to remember most things about her past except, oddly enough, people. Apart from her parents, she can't recall anyone who had once been in her life.