I woke up two days ago. I have no recollection of who I am or how I got here. I know no one but they seem to know me. The call me by a name that doesn’t seem like it belongs to me. I answer to it when called. I have little to do with the people who say they are my family, I don’t know them and have no memories of them. In fact I have no memory at all.

A family doctor was sitting on the side of the bed when I woke up. I opened my eyes to see him and a motherly type of woman standing there. Shocked at them standing around, I tried to get up but couldn’t, my legs would not cooperate. It took most of the day for any of my appendages to work. My arms I could raise, but only for them to fall back to my side. My legs, there was no working them til yesterday. I move easier today.
I walk to the bedroom door and open it to the sounds of a meal being cooked. I follow the smells into a kitchen and watch as it is being prepared. It smells good, I must like it, if I only knew what is was. My mother, greets me with a side hug since her other hand is occupied with stirring the pot. I pull up a seat and sit there watching her as she cooks. I can tell she really loves her family, and I am her family.
A girl comes around the corner and I assume she is my sister, that is what they tell me. She comes to me and wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the cheek telling me she is glad I am feeling better and up.
Was I sick?
I walk throughout the house taking everything in. There are no family pictures telling me who everyone is and where I fit into this family. The only things on the wall are cheap imitations of art. But how do I know this? I shake my head, wishing the puzzles pieces would fall together on their own. I go to the huge picture window in the front of the house, it is snowing again. Its hard to tell but there is a lot of snow out there, at least a foot, maybe more. I shiver and decide to go back to the room and get dressed into something warmer.
I open the closet to reveal jeans and shirts arranged and separated, by colors and occasion. I grab a pair of blue jeans, stiff from starch, perfectly folded and hanging from a color coded hanger. I haven’t figured out this color coded system yet. If I could remember anything, I would ask. I reach out and slide different shirts and jumpers, looking for something warm to put on. I find a sweatshirt, the insides still soft. But how am I to know ‘still soft’ , is it supposed to change? I pull it off the hanger and replace the hanger on the bar. I go to the dresser and open a drawer to find it full of underwear all the same color, the next one down, a sock drawer, again, all the same color. All neatly arranged, each placed in the same way. I wonder if this my doing, my preference that my mother humors me with or something she does on her own.
I sit down on the side of the bed and put the socks on, my feet are freezing. I remove the sweat pants and t shirt I slept in and put them in the basket in the corner. I dress putting on warmer clothes and hear my mom calling that the food is ready.
As we sit, the door opens and my father comes in. Before he steps in he kicks the snow off his boots and removes them, setting them in a plastic tub of sorts so the melting snow doesn’t stain the carpet. He removes his coat and hangs it on the hook and joins us at the table. He takes notice of my improvement and cant wait til I’m well enough to help out around the house, pull my weight, as he says.
A prayer is said and food is passed. I take a serving of each thing and eat quietly. Little is said at the dinner table. My sister is first to finish. She asks if she can be excused and stands up, pecks our dad on the cheek and takes her plate to the kitchen. She places it in the dishwasher after rinsing it out. I finish and follow her lead, except for the kissing dad on the cheek, instead I thank mom for a delicious meal, and kiss her cheek. I also rinse my plate and place it in the dishwasher.
I return to my room. There is a small desk in the corner and I sit at it. I open a drawer to find several pens and pencils. The next one holds a couple of journals and paper. Everything fresh, never been used. I know there was something I needed to write down, I just cant remember what.
I open a journal and start to write things I do know, which amounts to one thing. I do not feel as though I belong here.
I hear a knock at the door and allow entrance. The doctor steps in and I turn the chair towards him. He looks in my eyes and comments on what he sees in there, stopping to write it down. He stands up and takes a look at the place on the back of my head and makes a comment, its healing nicely. After writing it down he asks if any of my memory is returning. I tell him things come to me but I don’t know how. I tell him about the inside of the sweatshirt how it felt new and how I knew the art on the walls in the front room were fakes. He merely grunts as he writes all of this down. He asks of my headaches and if I have one now. I respond with yes and that I woke up with one, again he writes this down. He turns to me again and instructs me to open my mouth and he peers in with a light and instructs me to stick out my tongue and say ahh. I do so and he charts the findings. He stands and asks me to stand with him. I stand in front of him and tower over him, he cant be over 5 foot tall. He is old, very old. At the point of which he stopped growing he must have started shrinking, I chuckle to myself. He checks my muscle strength and then tells me to have a seat again. He uses a little rubber hammer and hits my knees and ankles with it. .
He seems to have finished and pulls out a medicine bottle. My mom has joined us now. He places the bottle in her hands and gives her the instructions on its use. Its for the headaches. I feel I am old enough to handle medicine, but then again, my memory isn’t all that good right now. He tells my mom of what has come to me and reminds her that it is good news but some of my memory may never return. He asks if I have any concerns, I shrug and tell him that I feel as if I don’t belong, he pats me on the back and says that is normal. My lacking memory has left me feeling disassociated with everything and everyone. Its quite concerning to me, all I want to do is remember.

Notes

Well, here it is. It is nothing like anything I have every written, and hopefully not like anythiing written on here . . . . (cough cough) So you're going to have to lete know how its going and if you like it.
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