James Black

by Skye Turner

  “Good, you’re awake,” I hear her say next to me.

  I feel her warm hand grab onto my wrist while she looks down at a watch she is wearing. I’m still confused. I have no idea where I am.

  I manage to move my head a little and take in my surroundings. It looks like I’m in a hospital room. It’s white, and almost empty, with only a couple of chairs in each corner. There’s a flat screen on the wall directly in front of me, with a clock to its side, stating it’s almost six. Underneath the clock there’s a white board with writing on it. I guess my nurse’s name is Karen, since that’s the name on the board.

  “How are you feeling Ms. Adams?” Karen says, still focusing on her watch.

  I lie there wondering why I’m even here, and how did I get here? Wait, what did she call me? Is it my name? It doesn’t sound familiar.

  I have no clue where in the world I am and I don’t like it.

  “Where am I?” I ask Karen, wondering why I would be in a hospital room.

  She looks up from her watch, with a blank face. “You’re at Washington Memorial Hospital, Ms. Adams.” Then she goes back to looking at her watch.

  I’m still confused, why is she calling me that name? “Who’s Ms. Adams?” I ask her, confused.

  She lightly snaps her head up again to look down at me, and draws in her eyebrows. Her smile has disappeared and goes directly to a frown. “Why, you are, of course,” she informs me.

  She places my wrist down back on the bed, patting it lightly. “I’ll just page your neurologist and we’ll go from there, okay?” she says as she turns and walks out of the room, leaving me there still baffled by the whole situation.

  A couple of minutes later, another lady walks into the room. I’m assuming she is my doctor because she’s wearing a white coat. She looks Indian and young. But as she’s walking in she has a smile on her face and it gives me a bit of hope.

  A bit.

  “Ms. Adams, I’m Dr. Kumar, your neurologist. How are you feeling, dear?” she enthusiastically asks me, while swiftly grabbing my chart, opening it, and beginning to review it.

  Knowing the truth will never hurt, I say bluntly, “I feel like shit and I really have to pee.”

  This makes her laugh, as she pulls out what looks like a pen from her coat pocket, walks to the side of my bed and leans above me. I realize it’s a flashlight as she starts flashing it back and forth between my eyes, making me flinch. It burns my eyes and if my arms didn’t feel so weak, I would have swatted that darn thing out of her hand.

  Trust me, I try, but I quickly give up the notion. Once she’s done shining the death light at me she replaces it in her coat pocket and walks to the end of my bed to pick the chart back up and starts scribbling notes into it. I lay here staring at her.

  As she’s still scribbling, the nurse walks in again with a new I.V. bag and busies herself with changing it while the doctor asks me, “Ms. Adams, would you be more comfortable if I have Karen here remove your catheter so you can go to the bathroom yourself?” She is still staring down at the chart making notes.

  I nod my head in agreement, but can’t help asking again, “Who is Ms. Adams? You both keep calling me that name?”

  The doctor quickly snaps her head up, while the nurse stops fiddling with the bag and they both stare at me in shock.

  The doctor immediately looks at the nurse. “Call her fiancé, and order a CAT scan STAT.” Then she looks down at me and says, “We’ll just order some more tests to make sure there isn’t any swelling remaining and go from there, okay?” She finishes with a smile.

  Still very confused about what is going on, I nod my head in acceptance and hope that I’ll remember something in a couple of minutes. Right now the only thing I keep thinking about is the conversation I heard earlier. Or I think it was earlier. I really have no idea when it took place. It almost feels like it only happened a couple of minutes ago and I’m really anxious to find out who was in my room. But more than anything I still have to pee.

  My thoughts must have taken me away for a couple of minutes because the nurse has managed to remove my catheter and with a lot of assistance, I’m able to sit up on the bed. At first my body is wobbly and unbalanced, but after a few minutes I find the strength I am searching for and make my merry way along, holding onto the nurse for dear life. The metal stand holding the I.V. bag follows me the whole way.

  It’s hard to walk when you have something attached to your arm following you around. After the first tug at my arm, I want to yank the thing out myself. However, the nurse keeps saying I have to leave it in, since it is providing me with the fluids to increase my health.

  That is the only reason it stays in.

  After some major maneuvering, again with the nurse’s help, I’m finally able to relieve myself in the attached bathroom. I can’t go at first, knowing she is standing there staring at me. But even after asking her for some privacy, she only moves to the doorframe of the bathroom.

  Finishing up what I needed to do, and washing my hands, I take a moment to stand in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection. Other than needing to take a brush to my hair, I look perfectly fine.

  Or at least I think I do for someone who is in the hospital.

  Actually, I don’t recognize myself at all. You would think that I would at least recognize my reflection, but it doesn’t come to me. So I stand there staring at myself and take in my features.

  My hair is blonde, very long, and my eyes are a very bright green. I’m also tall. I remember being at least half a foot taller than the nurse, towering over her a bit. Another noticeable thing is that I’m very skinny. Don’t I ever eat?

  When I hear the nurse knock on the bathroom door making sure that I’m still okay, it distracts me from my thoughts, also reminding me that we have to go get my CAT scan done right away. I exit the bathroom and allow her to lead me to the bed, laying me back down.

  An hour later, after being put through a cocoon-like machine, as I’m being wheeled toward my room, I see a man rushing in my direction. He’s practically running when he walks and he looks exhausted. I don’t know who this man is, but by the way he’s looking straight at me and still walking in my direction, he knows me.

  He looks to be in his mid-thirties and he’s wearing an expensive looking suit. He’s lean, and tall, but not too tall. He has disheveled black hair, as if he’s been running his hands through it. He has stress lines around his face, but at this moment his face is lit up and he’s happy to see me.

  “Oh honey, you’re finally awake, I’ve been so worried about you,” he says as he reaches me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. I’m really confused about who he is because I don’t recognize him. But when my mind takes in his voice, realizing that it sounds very familiar, I panic.

  If I were still hooked up to the monitor at this moment I’m pretty sure it would be making the crazy noises from earlier, because my heart rate is going crazy. First it feels like it had stopped, and now it’s accelerating because I’m freaking out.

  This is the voice, the male voice I heard the last time I heard anything, but he’s alone this time. I immediately start looking around, thinking about the other mystery voice, the one that belongs to the woman, expecting to hear it any minute. But I don’t.

  He follows, as the nurse continues to push me back into my room and once we’re all in the room, he starts attacking the doctor and nurse with different questions. There are so many, it’s even confusing to me. Although the most important one is how much longer I’m going to be here now that I’ve woken up. That particular question is the one I care about the most, because I’m pretty sure when I leave here I don’t want it to be with this guy. The uncomfortable feeling I’m getting from him is not making me feel good.

  I keep staring at the guy, hoping that I would recognize him somehow, but I can’t. He seems worried about me, so obviously he must be someone important. However, I think about the ominous conversation that took place that included his voice.

  W
anting to know who he is, I demand, “Who are you?” I say out loud, looking directly at him.

  He snaps his head to look at me and he’s disoriented, like I just asked the stupidest question in the world. At this point it sounds pretty stupid to me too, but I really need to know who this stranger is.

  He frowns, bringing his lips into a flat line, and finally he says, “I’m Bill, your fiancé.”

  Now I’m screwed, I think. I’m pretty sure that this was the voice I heard with the woman the last time I tried waking up. But, why would my fiancé be someone else’s fuck buddy? I don’t understand. Right now my life is starting to feel like some kind of soap opera and I’m obviously the starring actress.

  They’re all still looking at me, as if they’re waiting for me to say something.

  “Abigail, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  If my throat weren’t hurting so much, I would be saying right now: No you dumb ass, I just woke up, my body feels like shit, and you guys keep calling me a name I don’t recognize.

  Another thing to add to the list is that I don’t trust them! But I keep my mouth shut knowing this is the best thing to do. However, I ask again, knowing that I still need an answer. “Who’s Abigail?”

  Ignoring my question, Bill turns to the doctor. “What’s wrong with her, why doesn’t she know who she is?” he demands, pointing his hand in my direction.

  Looking perplexed over the whole situation herself, she answers him, “She seems to have had a bit of a memory loss.” The doctor gives him a calming look like this is normal. “She may just need time to recover properly; it can happen with patients in her situation.”

  Shaking his head, Bill grabs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sighing to himself. He’s still quiet, like he’s concentrating on what he’s going to say next. I think he’s still shocked.

  I hate that they won’t give me any detailed answers.

  “What happened to me?” I ask, looking between Bill and the doctor.

  Everybody is looking at me, still very uncertain whether to tell me or not.

  Bill walks up to my bedside, taking one of my hands into his, and drops his head, looking gently at my face.

  He takes a breath and begins, “A friend of ours was having a party at a hotel downtown, and as usual we had a room there so you could get ready. As we were waiting for the elevator to go down to the party, you became impatient, and decided to take the stairs instead. You were wearing some really high heels and lost your footing on one of the steps and hit your head pretty badly on the way down.” He pauses like he’s concentrating on what to say next, then carries on, “When you arrived at the hospital you had some really bad swelling in your brain, so the doctor here suggested that we put you in an induced coma.”

  I’m trying to absorb all the information he’s just given me, then I look over to the doctor, still really confused about the whole situation.

  “How long have I been in a coma?” I whisper, staring at the wall ahead of me, holding back the tears that are fighting to come out.

  She looks to Bill first, then directly back at me answering, “It’s been a little over four months since the swelling in your brain reduced and we reversed the medication. You didn’t wake up right away,” she calmly states, as if reassuring me everything is fine.

  I look over in Bill’s direction and ask again, “Who are you?” I want confirmation.

  He’s now starting to look irritated by my question, but he responds again. “I’m Bill, your fiancé, baby.”

  His answer still throws me for loop and I panic a little.

  Why would my fiancé want me to stay in a coma? He had looked relieved to see me awake, but I keep replaying the conversation in my head, wanting to doubt it. I know what I heard. It was loud and clear, even if my eyes weren’t open.

  Another thing that comes to mind, is why does he have someone else as a fuck buddy?

  My panic is obvious to Bill, so he says, “We’ve been together for over a year now. We met at one of your shows over two years ago when I became your agent and we started dating a little while later. It was love at first sight for me.” He tries to reassure me with a smile. But I’m not buying it.

  I look over at the doctor with a look like, “Please tell me he’s kidding.” From the way she’s looking at me, I know she believes his story. Bill looks up to the doctor and begins asking how soon I’ll be able to go home.

  While she goes over the lecture about needing my rest before leaving, I block out their bickering at each other.

  This is when I start reciting a number in my head, 951-555-2945. It comes to me naturally, like I’ve called it regularly.

  That’s weird, why would I be thinking of a phone number at this moment? I’m happy that at least something is coming back to me.

  “Bill, what’s your number?” I ask, loud enough so they both can hear me.

  They both snap their heads in my direction in confusion for asking such a question, but Bill automatically answers. “555-6213, why?”

  Mmm, not the answer I was expecting, so I try again, “Is there any other number I would call you at?”

  I must have excited the doctor because her face is beaming. “Are you remembering something Abigail? Whatever it is, it might help. What is it you remember?”

  Bill looks excited as well, but knowing that it isn’t his number, I just fib. “I thought I remembered, but it was only a glimpse of an area code, then it disappeared.” I lie to both of them, keeping the number to myself.

  “By the way, what is the area code here?”

  The doctor is the first to speak up, “206.”

  That is definitely not the area code I’m remembering. They’re both still patiently waiting for me to say something, so I answer with the only excuse that I can think of at the moment. “That’s why I asked Bill to recite his number hoping it would spark something, but I was wrong… I’m sorry.” I look at them, disappointed.

  Seeming just as irritated about the whole situation, Bill turns to the doctor, barks at her to order more tests, wanting to know why I’ve lost my memory.

  The neurologist decides to steer the conversation by saying, “Although she has a bit of a memory loss, she might get it back in time, especially once she goes home and begins to see things more familiar to her. Give her time; she’s just woken up,” she says before her lips go into a frown of disappointment as well.

  “Then how soon can she go home so she can start remembering?” he barks at her, making me flinch from the anger in his tone.

  He turns to me and with a nicer voice says, “Baby, your name is Abigail Adams. You’re a famous model. Is it ringing a bell?” he questions with desperation.

  I shake my head and pick at the imaginary lint on my blankets. The name doesn’t ring a bell at all. I want it to, but it doesn’t.

  Bill notices my lack of response and begins fumbling with his phone like he’s looking for something and once he’s found it he brings the phone close to my face for me to look into the screen. On it is a photo of myself with a whole bunch of make-up, and I’m half-naked.

  “See, that’s you at your last photo shoot, it’s for Vogue!” he says with enthusiasm. “Of course you know who you are, you’re legendary since this cover came out.” The phone is still in front of my face as if he expects the light bulb to turn on in my head.

  When I shake my head at him he only sighs again, clearly disappointed. I think I’m really beginning to irritate him.

  He moves to the corner of the room dragging the doctor with him, by the arm, and in hushed tones he begins speaking with her. The nurse walks in at this moment saving me from having to look at both of them, knowing that they are discussing me and leaving me out of the conversation. The nurse entertains herself by fluffing my pillows, in an effort to make me more comfortable, but I know she’s really just trying to be nice about the whole situation.

  They both stop talking and look over in my direction and he smiles. The only trouble is that h
is smile is worrying me and I want it to go away. It’s the type of smile meant to reassure me that everything is okay, when in reality it’s not.

  Knowing the situation is not going to get any better until my memory comes back, I bring up the excuse that I’m tired so they will leave me alone. Right now I want to be alone and sleep. My body feels drained, even though I just woke up a couple of hours ago. What I really want is for Bill to leave, so whatever excuse I can give them to make him leave works for me.

  They all leave me to get my rest and as I’m left alone with my thoughts. I wonder again if I’m wrong about Bill. I keep trying to convince myself that maybe it was someone else, or maybe I had dreamt the whole conversation. I begin to get drowsy and my eyelids start to feel heavy, dragging me into sleep once again.

  In my dream, I feel happy, and I see this guy who’s laughing with me.

  He’s young, early twenties, good looking, and really fit. He’s taller than me, enough so that I have to look up at him. He has a narrow looking face, his hair is a dark color, with dark chocolate brown eyes, and thick lashes that are long, curl, and make you jealous that he has them. But what really catches my attention is his smile. He has a smile that just makes you melt inside and it makes you smile with him. He’s all sweaty and I note that he looks like he just finished working out. Or has done something that has made him breathe really fast and heavy. His shirt is soaked and he’s chugging water from a water bottle like he’s dying of thirst. I look at my surroundings and notice that we are in a park, at the end of what I think is a trail, and in the background there are a lot of tall trees. He then throws his arm around my shoulders and says, “Keep up that pace and we’re definitely going to PR this race.”