A Five-Minute Life

Thea’s smile broke free, like a goddamn sun after a decade of gray clouds and rain. She stuck out her hand and said, “It’s nice to officially meet you, Jimmy.”

I had no words. None I could trust. I took her hand, soft and warm in mine, and she gave it her signature, one-pump shake.

“Wow, this is crazy,” she said with a laugh, glowing with happiness. “Crazy and good and just…”

“A miracle,” I breathed.

“Yeah. Exactly.” She moved closer to me, as if we were alone instead of in a room full of people. “And I was right.”

“About wh-what?”

“About you.”

Her smile was brilliant, shy, and bold all at once. She still hadn’t let go of my hand. “You aren’t just a dream at all.”

Part II

Chapter 19

Thea

I open my eyes for the first time…

A hospital room, gauzy white in my blurred vision. Doctors surrounded me. One, a pretty young woman named Dr. Chen, told me I’d had surgery to restore my memory. I nodded that I understood, but I didn’t. Not truly. My memory had been lost? They said I had only a few minutes of consciousness, but that made no sense. I was always there. Awake and asleep. What they called my amnesia to me felt like an endless dream in a tiny, airless box. The surgery pulled me out, woke me up. I could breathe again. Think again.

I’m alive…

Joy suffused me like adrenaline.

Another doctor, this one with an Australian accent, asked me questions:

Did I remember my name? Date of birth?

Yes and yes.

Did I remember the car accident?

No.

I remembered the four of us—me, Delia, Mom and Dad—in the foyer, taking a photo on my phone. For Delia’s… graduation. Yes. She was wearing a cap and gown.

That memory was one bookend. The other was the hospital, and in between, empty books with their pages slowly filling back up with words. The pages were being filled in, lines at a time, cued by words or scents or the snippet of a song. One familiar face blowing open a whole new avenue of memories.

Delia stayed by my side for the two days I was in the hospital. My sister looked like she’d aged more than the two years I’d been gone. Every time she hugged me tight, she stared at me as if I were an alien life form. Everyone stared at me—specialists, nurses—while I stared at this life that was so much brighter and richer than I’d remembered.

“When are Mom and Dad coming?” I asked.

“Soon,” Delia said. “Get some rest.”

I was so tired from the surgery. I wanted to sleep, but I was scared if I closed my eyes, it would all disappear.

I don’t want to sleep ever again. I want to live.

But I slept and woke, and all that had come back was still there.

I was still here.

When I was well enough, I was taken back to Blue Ridge Sanitarium, which, apparently, had been my home for the last two years. Everything about the old building was strange and familiar at the same time. The sights and smells. The wood and the dust. The disinfectant and the potpourri. I moved through a perpetual fog of déjà vu.