“It’s strange, it’s like he’s the same Chase, but not. Only, I can’t figure out what’s changed about him, but I feel it, you know? Something’s different.” It’s frustrating, at times, how the invisible fog won’t clear, but constantly stressing over it makes it hard to function, let alone breathe, so I try and keep busy so I don’t have to think past the moment.
I don’t tell her that.
“Have you wondered if maybe it’s not him who has changed?” My mom smiles softly. “That maybe it’s you who’s different?”
“I—” I shake my head. “I’m not different. I lost my memories, but I’m still me, and besides, they’re coming back any time. Tonight maybe. Maybe after this appointment.”
My pulse spikes, and I dig my fingertips into the cheap leather of the armrest.
“I didn’t mean your accident changed you.” She grabs my hand, unease in her tone. “Ari, sweetie, you came into your own at Avix, and sure it might have only been a semester, but that first taste of change was good to you.”
“And soon, I’ll remember all of it.” I nod, squeezing her hand. “I should go in before I’m late. I know they said no one is allowed in the room, but are you sure you don’t want to come up to the waiting room?”
“That’s okay,” she rasps. “I’ll grab a coffee down the road and come back, read while I wait for you. I’ll be right here when you get out.”
Nodding, I slip from the car.
As I step out, my eyes are pulled left, toward a small building beside the main one with the name, Tri-City Rehabilitation Center, in large, bold letters hanging over the double doors.
Pressure falls over my chest as I stare at the dark windows.
“You okay?” My mom’s voice shakes me out of my head, and I force a smile.
“Yeah. See you in a bit.”
I walk into the building, and while it feels like hours of waiting; in reality. it’s only a handful of minutes and then I’m sitting on a velvety sofa, the man who joined Dr. Brian in explaining what might have happened to me sitting behind the desk before me.
He smiles and I sit on my hands, a little anxious all of a sudden.
“It’s good to see you again, Arianna. You’re looking much healthier.”
“Yeah, I can move without feeling like I’m being stabbed now.”
He chuckles, crossing one leg, and I do the same. “So, I read over everything again and—”
“I’m sorry, not to be rude, Dr. Stacia, but can we not do any of the basic lead-up stuff?”
The man offers a small smile and sits forward. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind, and we can go from there? Does that sound all right?”
I nod, stretching past the tension in my chest.
“I don’t remember anything,” I blurt out. “It’s been a month now, and nothing. It’s like I wake up and there’s this layer of fog over my eyes, but I can see just fine. My mind is constantly running, but only with half thoughts. I look at something and lose my breath, but I don’t know why. I hear a sad song and I cry, but for what? I smell familiar scents that aren’t even familiar, if that makes sense, and it’s like my throat swells and I can’t breathe. Almost like everything is on the tip of my tongue, at the tip of my fingers, but when I move forward to grab it, there’s nothing to hold on to.
“There’s this… this feeling I keep getting.” Tears prick my eyes now. “It’s like an overwhelming sense of urgency, demanding my attention, almost like need or awareness. It keeps screaming that I’m missing something, something big. Something that’s a part of me, but I don’t know what it is. It’s physically painful, like beneath the bones painful, where I can’t touch it, can’t find it, but it’s heavy, and the desperation that falls over me when it happens is debilitating.
“It’s so often that now I’m avoiding the things I do know, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that soon and I’ll go crazy. I feel like I was tossed out in the middle of the ocean and if I lie back and try to float, try to remember, I’ll drown, so I keep swimming. I keep busy. But lately, I’m running on empty. My family has been amazing, but that’s because I smile all the time, and I don’t know how much longer I can do that.”
I take a breath, looking up at Dr. Stacia.
The man nods, considers everything I have said, and as he begins to speak, breaking down what I’ve expressed and relating it to my situation in a way that medically makes sense to him, a weight falls over me.