GINGER AND BUBBLES

6| LESTER

A young man in jeans and a t-shirt is walking towards my bed, a smile tugging at the corners of his full lips set in his oval face. Slim built, of average height and a head full of soft brown curls that cascade onto his shoulders he now stares down into my face.

"You are finally awake." His hand, warm and trembling, brushes over my hand. He looks at me, his light brown eyes are examing me from head to toe before shifting to the equipment attached to my body.

"And you are my brother, I'm told?"

"I am Lester."

My brain struggle to identify and connect with the stranger. Anxiety causes a surge in temperature throughout my entire body. My chest feels heavy, as if somebody is sitting on it and pressing me down. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well..."

"Dr. Dlamini said you might not know me. But your memory will return..."

"Yes, he did, but—"

"Don't explain. I understand." He squeezes my hand. Very lightly.

I nod. Overcome with sadness.

"I saw what happened the day you were run over by that truck."

"Truck?"

I close my eyes and squeeze them tight hoping for just one thing that makes sense.

"Light vehicle type. The ones used for deliveries."

"I can't do this. You are my brother who happened to be there when the accident happened? Why? We're we together? What happened?"

"Here." He pulls out a black handbag with many pockets and shiny, gold-plated buckles and zips from the wrinkled, noisy plastic bag he had with him and places it on the steel cabinet next to my bed.

"Mine?"

He nods. "I though you might need it."

The whole situation feels off. It scares me. Who is this person and who the hell am I?

"You really don't remember?" His face contorts in disbelief.

"Remember what?" I feel the frustration rising. I want to remember, but my brain is a blank canvas.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I'm not your brother."

I reach for the emergency bell but he intercepts my hand. Then he puts his other hand across my mouth. I cannot move.

"Someone dumped your bag in a bin. I happened to be there and took it out. Then I saw the accident scene. when I saw you lying there after the accident fighting for your life I realised that you were on your way to the hospital without any form of identification. I knew I had to do the right thing and- please don't scream. This," he says and gestures with head to his hand on my mouth, "it's tiring."

I nod. "Why not hand it in at the hospital's reception or the emergency room?" There is an internal dialogue racing in my head as I try to piece together the information he presents.

"Why didn't you hand the ID and the handbag to the paramedics at the accident?" I ask, still wavering between doubt and disbelief.

"Never hand over your life to strangers. Besides, things get lost or stolen. It was in my possession and I felt personally responsible for its safe-keeping."

"Suppose I can't argue with that..." Slowly but surely a deep fear begins to spread through me.

"The accident occurred minutes before I saw a guy dumping the bag... Your driver's license and ID card are still in there. I knew when he threw it in the bin he must have robbed someone. Petty thieves are only interested in cash and valuables. They don't want breadcrumbs."