A Five-Minute Life

My heart pounds and blood rushes to my ears. My hand is clutching a pen and my knuckles hurt. It’s hard to breathe. There was the accident, and now I’m here in this room. But how long between then and now? How did I get here? How much time have I lost?

A petite woman in a blue uniform is hurrying to me. A nurse. Her nametag says Rita.

“How long has it been?” I ask.

“Two years, Miss Hughes,” Rita says. “The doctors are working on your case.”

She’s right. The doctors are working on my case. That’s one of the Things I Know.

My name is Thea Hughes.

There’s been an accident.

The doctors are working on my case.

This nurse knew that, which means she must know me somehow. My hands unclench a little.

Still, I can’t find… something. It’s lost and I need to find it. If only I knew what it was.

“This is a beautiful pyramid,” Rita says, tapping the paper on the table in front of me. It’s a picture of an Egyptian desert under a blazing sun, a pyramid casting a long, dark shadow.

I smile. “Thank you. I must’ve done it before the accident.”

Rita has a sweet smile and I feel safe with her. There’s a terror lurking in being alone. I think I’ve been alone for a long time.

I wish I had a canvas and paint. Maybe Delia will bring me some when she comes. Or Mom and Dad. I miss them. I try to remember their faces, to recall one moment of our lives before the accident.

I can’t. When I look, I see emptiness. Like a vast desert of space with no walls but no air moving either. Fear starts to dig into my stomach. I’m holding a pen. It’s solid and real in my hand and the panic ebbs. I put it to the paper and tiny words loop out and fill the shadow beneath the pyramid.

Was what white wrote rote rip trip snip snap map mapped trapped trapped trapped

It doesn’t make sense.

Rita touches my arm. “This is coming along beautifully.”

I smile back with relief. I need her words. I’m starving for them. For touch. Sound. Conversation. It’s so quiet in here.

“Thanks,” I say. “Have you worked here long?”

I feel like I should know the answer to that question. I feel like I should know Rita but I don’t.

“A few years,” Rita says. “Would you like something to drink?”

God, yes. I haven’t had anything to drink in years. “A lemonade would be perfect,” I say.

Is it? I know what lemonade is but I can’t remember how it tastes. Or how I got here.

Rita smiles. “I’ll be right back.” She taps the corner of my drawing. “Can’t wait to see what you add next. You’re very talented, Miss Hughes.”

“Thank you.”

Rita gets up and I go back to drawing. I add some color to the words within the pyramid’s shadow. Magic Markers aren’t really my preferred medium, but Delia’s always telling me not to be so picky. I can’t help it if I prefer paint to pens. Painting is like breathing. Egypt is life.

A person who studies Egypt is an Egyptologist.

How is this a Thing I Know? Did I study Egypt in college? Did I go to college? I try to remember. Something. Anything.

Silence in my mind.