Chapter 6
My stomach turns as I picture a gaping hole in my head and fight the urge to touch my scalp, too scared of what I might feel up there.
She continues, “Unfortunately, with these injuries, we sometimes see cognitive effects in the form of retrograde amnesia, which is the loss of ability to recall events that happened prior to the onset of injury, like you seem to be experiencing now. Sometimes these memories can come back in the days or weeks following the injury, but I do want you to know that it is also possible the memory loss could be permanent.”
The room is starting to spin, but I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds and then force myself to focus on her voice.
“Now, usually, we see the loss of more recent memories, weeks, sometimes up to a few months prior. In your case, Stevie… it is so rare, but based on what your parents have gathered, you seem to be missing close to… two years.”
Two years.
It’s all I hear Dr. Reicher say before her voice is drowned out by a ringing in my ears. I just stare, watching her mouth form around words I can’t comprehend. My mom’s hand is on top of mine, but I can’t feel it, not really, because my whole body has gone numb.
It’s not possible.
Dr. Reicher crouches in front of me. I try to force myself back into the room. I think she’s asking me if I understand.
I nod my head up and down.
Understand? No, I don’t fucking understand, but I’ll do anything to get her to stop saying things I don’t want to hear.
Mom squeezes my hand until my fingertips turn purple, and Dad thanks the doctor before she leaves us alone in the room.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
There’s a pressure building in my sinuses that makes me feel like my head is going to explode, which would probably be the very last thing it needs right now.
I have to get out of here. I can feel it all the way to my bones, this need to run. I throw my legs over the bed and push myself up onto them, but they’re too weak. My body gives out underneath me and I end up on my hands and knees, crawling.
Through the black spots strobing across my field of vision, I see a door ajar, yellow light escaping through the crack.
The bathroom.
Hands brush against my back, gently pull at my shoulders, but I shake them off and keep moving until I can close the door, leaving my parents on the other side.
I scooch into the corner and hug my knees into my chest, closing my eyes.
Remember. Remember.
A scene forms behind my eyelids. I’m standing at the sinks in the girls’ bathroom.
Savannah’s on my left. I watch her gather her thick red curls into a bun as the warm water rinses the pink soap off my hands.
Rory busts out of the stall, demanding we ditch lunch period so she can drive us to Taco Bell with her brand-new driver’s license.
That couldn’t have been two years ago. It was yesterday. Wasn’t it?
There’s a knock on the door that makes me jump. My eyes jolt open and suddenly I’m back in the hospital bathroom by myself. “Stevie, honey? It’s me,” my mom’s voice says from the other side of the heavy wooden door. “Can we come in?”
“No,” I reply, my voice shaking. I hold my breath and reach my hand up to search for the tangible evidence that this is all real.
I slide my hand from the front of my hairline back until my fingers run into something short and prickly.
I gently graze over a line of stitches, about an inch and a half long, the area surrounding it shaved down to my skin. Bile rises in the back of my throat.
“Dad and I are coming in,” my mom says firmly as I suck in a deep breath, my brain aching for fresh oxygen. I close my eyes as I hear the door open.
Memories don’t just disappear. Two years can’t just be gone.
Maybe if I just take a second, if I can just really concentrate, I’m sure I’ll… I’ll remember everything. I’ll wake up from this nightmare and be able to fill in this giant gaping hole in—
“Don’t touch me!” I smack my dad’s hand away from my shoulder.
“I’m just trying to help.” He rocks back on his heels. “Don’t get mad at me.”
“I’M NOT MAD AT YOU!” I yell, looking up just long enough to see my six-foot, two-hundred-pound dad shrink back into nothing.
The guy who has always just wanted to protect me.
I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at him in my life, at least not the life I can remember, and immediately I regret it.
I press my hands against my forehead and force two breaths in and out of my lungs before I even attempt to speak again.
“I’m scared,” I croak out almost silently, looking between the two of them, my vision blurry. “I’m scared.”
I pull my knees farther into my chest, trying to hold myself together, but instead I just crumble apart, tears falling uncontrollably as the pressure releases.
“I’m… I’m fifteen, but you’re telling me I just turned eighteen.
” I keep my eyes trained on the floor. “I don’t understand how all that time is just…
gone. I didn’t live it. I don’t…” I wipe my hands down my face, but the tears don’t let up at all.
My mom locks eyes with me as she gets down onto the floor between my dad and me.
“Baby,” she whispers, placing her hands firmly around my forearms, not caring at all that they’re covered in snot.
“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” Senior year and high school graduation.
Prom. Varsity soccer and college applications.
All the things Savannah and Rory and I have looked forward to forever.
I’ve just missed them? “I don’t remember growing up, but you’re telling me that I did.
You expect me to just be an adult now, but… ”
Without hesitation, my mom crawls into the tiny space next to me, catching me in her lap and brushing her thumb down my cheek in a rhythmic motion like she’s done all my life when I’m upset. We sit like that for a long time, until I can breathe again, until the tears run dry.
“Hey, we don’t expect anything, okay?” she finally replies.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but your dad and I, we know you better than anyone.
And we are here to help you figure this out.
” She leans down and buries her face in my cheek, her dark-brown hair creating a safe barrier between me and the rest of the world. “We’re here.”
I reach out and take my dad’s hand, feeling his calluses rough but familiar against my skin. I remind myself that my mom is right. They know me better than anyone and they’re here.
Finally, it feels like maybe… possibly… the world might eventually make sense again.
Even if just for this moment.