A Five-Minute Life

Before she could answer, an older man with a grandfatherly face spoke up.

“Because your sister is right,” he said. “You should rest. You can talk with Jim again later. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. Or the day after that.”

Something passed between the two men. An inside joke, maybe, because Jim looked like he was biting back a smile. I stared at the older man, my brain working as if I were on Jeopardy! and the seconds were counting down until the buzzer.

“Alonzo,” I blurted. “You’re Alonzo.”

He tipped an imaginary cap to me. “Indeed, my dear. And may I say it’s so very good to have you back, Miss Hughes.”

“Thank you,” I said. My gaze returned to Jimmy like a tractor beam. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Come, Thea,” Delia said stiffly. “The doctors have more questions.”

Nurse Rita stood beside me. “Let’s take you to your room.”

I loved Rita so much—thousands of memories of her taking care of me with kindness and patience clogged my brain, as each day was almost identical to the next.

Until Jimmy came. Bringing music and singing, paints and canvas.

Delia took my arm and physically pried me away from him. I gave him a parting smile I hoped wasn’t too desperate and let my sister and Rita drag me away.

Dr. Chen and Dr. Milton followed us up to the third floor of the sanitarium. We passed a dining room on the way to the elevators, and the scent of fried chicken wafted out.

“I’m super hungry,” I said. “I haven’t eaten anything in two years.”

“Of course you have,” Delia said. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“Wait, please explain, Thea,” Dr. Chen said. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I know that I ate, but I can’t remember eating. Does that make sense?”

She and Dr. Milton exchanged glances.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Milton said. He had a silver beard and a full head of hair the same color. He reminded me of Jeff Bridges but with Hugh Jackman’s accent. “Do you find you can describe many of your memories this way?”

“I can clearly remember things from before the accident. With details. But my time here…” I gave my head a shake. “The details are fuzzy. Maybe they’re not all back yet?”

Like Mom and Dad. They’re not back yet, either.

A soul-deep fear dug itself into my heart, and suddenly I lost my appetite.

“I want to lie down,” I said.

Rita led me to a door with 314 on it. I noticed the lock was on the outside of the knob. Inside, the room was spare and drab. No color. No art on the walls or decor of any kind, unless you counted all the papers taped everywhere.

This is the closet said one taped to what was obviously a closet.

“Was I not only an amnesiac but a moron too?” I teased.

Rita laughed. “We figured better safe than sorry.”

Inside, the clothes were nearly all white and beige. Nothing with a pattern or color.

“Who was in charge of my clothes? Let me guess.” I shot my sister a look.

Delia lifted her chin, wearing her stiff, stubborn, I’m-always-right expression, which meant she was the guilty party. “I’ve been managing your money on things you need. Flashy clothes aren’t on the list.”