Forgetting You

I nodded, slowly. “I wish I could remember what happened to me, but I just can’t. Is that normal? To have no memory at all?”

“It’s very normal,” he assured me. “Amnesia is a common occurrence when it comes to head injuries. You might remember what happened in an hour, in a week or not at all. We can never tell, it’s completely up to your body.”

I digested that information. I wanted to remember what had happened to me; the blank spot in my memory wasn’t something I liked. It made me feel vulnerable. I tried not to worry about my memory not returning, as the possibility of that truly terrified me.

“Your brain has been through a lot, Noah. It’s your body’s core and it needs its rest, so don’t stress about things that may or may not happen, okay?”

Again, I nodded.

“I need to see my family and my boyfriend,” I urged. “What time is it? Is it too late to call them?”

“It’s just after midnight, and the nurse has already informed them that you have regained consciousness. I imagine they will be barrelling down the motorway to get to you.”

I breathed a small laugh. “I imagine that too.” I rested my head back. “I woke up earlier, I’m not sure when, but I fell asleep before I could press the Call button. I’m so tired.”

“Again,” the doctor said, “that is normal. Each time you wake up, you will stay awake for longer and longer periods.”

That calmed me down a little. I relaxed back into my bed and looked at the small plasma television on the wall facing me. I asked the doctor to turn it on and he granted my wish within seconds.

“Is the news okay or do you prefer something else?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I just want it for the noise right now. I don’t like the silence.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I frowned. Since when did I not like silence? I had always enjoyed the peace and quiet that it brought, but now the very thought of silence made a shiver of fear run the length of my spine and I had no idea why.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

I focused on the news and watched it for a few minutes until Boris Johnson, the mayor of London, appeared on screen. He was doing a press conference of some kind outside of Number 10, and it went on for ages but I couldn’t make sense of it. I looked at the doctor, who was now standing over by the window, writing on my chart.

“The mayor is getting his money’s worth today,” I joked. “I’ve never seen him talk so much.”

Doctor Abara looked at the screen on the wall, then back to me with raised eyebrows and said, “He’s not the mayor any more – he’s the prime minister.”

Bemused, I asked, “What happened to David Cameron?”

The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it. For a handful of seconds, he stared at me, unblinking, then he approached the bed. He sat on the chair next to me again and cleared his throat.

“What is your date of birth, Noah?”

He had already asked me that question earlier, so I frowned at him.

“The sixth of March, 1991.”

The doctor looked at his chart, then back to me and said, “And how old are you?”

Blinking, I replied, “Twenty-four.”

He looked concerned and I had no idea why.

“What year is it?”

I shook my head, though a sharp pain made me regret it.

I grunted. “Why’re you asking me that, sir?”

“Can you answer the question, please?”

I exhaled and said, “It’s 2015. Why?”

The doctor frowned deeply, and I became worried.

“Sir . . .” I swallowed. “What aren’t you telling me? I know something is wrong, I can see it on your—”

“Noah!”

I jumped when I heard my mother’s voice from out in the hallway. Instinctively, I tried to get up, but my body protested and rewarded me with a flood of pain. I fell back against the bed groaning, as Doctor Abara gently leaned over me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll hurt yourself, Noah. Take it easy.”

I looked from him to the door when it swung open. My mother stood in doorway, her hand frozen on the handle as her red, puffy eyes stared into mine.

“Mum,” I whispered. “Mum!”

In an instant, she was by my side. Her hands were on my face, and then so were her lips and tears. She kissed me all over and sobbed the entire time. I had a tight grip on her arms as I whimpered. She tried to hug me, but I yelped in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she wept, and was now careful where to touch me. “Oh, my baby. You’re awake, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I assured her. “I’m okay, Mum.”

“My heart.” She clung to me. “I was so afraid that we lost you too. My baby.”