54. Charlie
Charlie
Who am I? I don’t know my name. They keep asking, but every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out that sounds right. I throw out some random names, but nothing seems to fit me. Nothing meshes well in my skin or feels right. I have no idea who I am.
Why the hell would my name be Annette, Bertha, Gail, Hilda, Janice? What? Gross. Who the hell names their children these? I want to hurl in a toilet each time they go over a list of names.
But I know I’m in a hospital. I figured that out.
I stopped screaming, but I wasn’t about to be put back to sleep for a third time.
The nurses come in and out, and the monitor beeps.
It’s non-stop beeping, they won’t even shut the damn thing off when I try to sleep.
Non. Stop. I ask if they can turn off the sound.
Do they listen? No, but hey the good news is I can count on my fingers and do some basic math.
Yay to me. I feel like I’m in kindergarten with the way they're treating me. Recite the alphabet, read these words for me. They made me do all of this earlier, their voices soft and patient. Write the numbers, tell me what animal this is. I did all the exercises, but now I’m tired – wanting to remember something, anything that’s tangible.
They’re finally letting me walk around the room. My legs shake when I stand. The floor feels cold, the IV tugs slightly at my arm as I move. I hate how the needle pulls at my skin with each step.
I make it to the bathroom, gripping the wall for balance.
The light flickers on without warning. Guess they must be motion censored.
For a second, I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.
The girl in the mirror looks like she’s been through a war.
There’s a thick bandage on the side of her head, the edges stained faintly pink.
Her face is pale except for the deep bruises blossoming along her cheek and jaw.
One of her lips is split. Her eyes are ringed with purple shadows and, gosh, they are so swollen and puffy.
She must have been pretty before. It takes me a second to realize that it’s me.
My stomach turns. I reach up, fingers trembling, and touch the bandage. Pain blooms instantly. I flinch, gripping the counter for balance.
Flashes come quickly inside my head and are disjointed.
The strobe lights flash as I’m within a crowd.
I hear the guitars and there are voices shouting over music.
I’m watching someone sing but I don’t see him.
I just feel my heart breaking. You’re my dirty chorus, but I wouldn’t change your lines.
Even when we’re falling flat, your heart still beats with mine.
It vanishes as I’m staring in the mirror with tears streaming down my face.
I’m nauseous reaching the sink, grabbing it to hold my weight.
I close my eyes, digging for more. I can hear myself screaming for someone in a car.
We are driving, and I’m kicking the seats, asking someone to let me out.
I wanted someone. I wanted someone so badly.
I can’t recall who. It’s distorted, but I hear a guy’s voice yelling at me.
Calling out my name, but I can’t make out the syllables.
The door creaks behind me, and I jump. A nurse steps in, smiling gently.
“Hey there. Are you doing okay?”
I nod, and say, “Yeah.”
“Good. Let’s check those vitals, huh?”
I follow her out of the bathroom and back to the bed. She wheels in a little monitor, wrapping a cuff around my arm. The machine makes this strange sound as it squeezes my arm to death.
“How’s your head feeling today?”
“Sore.”
She nods as if that’s expected. “That’s normal. You took quite a hit. You’ve been doing really well though, counting, walking, remembering little things.”
“I... I don’t remember much,” I admit, staring down at my hands.
She hesitates for a moment before answering. “That’s okay. Sometimes the brain protects us from the hard stuff until we’re ready. It will come back. Maybe watching television or listening to music might help.”
She glances at the chart on her clipboard, then looks at me again. “Do you remember your name yet?”
I shake my head slowly.
Her expression softens. “That’s all right. We’re working with the police to see if we can figure it out. It might take a little time, but someone out there's looking for you.”
Someone? I’ve been here for almost two weeks.
I think I’ve been asleep for most of the time too.
When she leaves, this sudden dread plummets to my stomach and I feel so alone.
The hum of the machines fills the silence again.
I crawl back into bed, staring at the ceiling.
If someone is looking for me, I’m hoping that someone doesn’t want to hurt me, because I know someone did.