Becoming Amy - Julia Solovieva

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having a mom at all… Is that bad? Should it make me sad?

      – It’s all right, – Doctor Jones reassures me, – and maybe even better – you have a lot of emotions to deal with as it is. Keep looking through the photographs.

      I keep looking, but they are just more of the same, and they do not make me remember anything. Even worse, just as the name “Amy” they feel foreign and fake, they do not feel like my childhood at all.

      For a moment I wonder if I should confess it to Doctor Jones.

      After all, this maybe just an effect of the amnesia, which I probably should not hide from my doctor. But then I think how it will make her smile fade again, how she will stutter or turn pale or run for Doctor Smith again as if I have done something wrong, and finally decide against telling her.

      I keep looking through the photos, studying them in detail again and again.

      – Anything? – Doctor Jones asks softly after awhile.

      – No, – I confess, but do not elaborate.

      – It’s fine, – she says, even though she is obviously a little bit disappointed. – This is just the beginning of the healing process. We will continue another time. – She hesitates for a moment, then her face lights up with a smile and she says quickly:

      – You must be hungry! I will have some food brought to you immediately. She grabs the photos, almost jumps up from her chair and rushes out of the room before I realize that I have just let her go without reminding her about the call to my father.

      Not immediately, but very soon a woman enters the room with a food tray. She is short, thin and is dressed like some kind of diner or cafeteria worker. She smiles at me while she puts the tray on the table.

      – I did not know what you prefer, so I brought a little bit of everything.

      She sounds nice, kind, motherly. She almost makes me want to open up to her. But then again, Doctor Jones has a very welcoming voice, too, but I do not feel like opening up to her anytime soon. So I just say:

      – Thank you, – but then remember one very important thing. – Excuse me, but do you know where I could make a phone call? I want to call my dad.

      She is almost at the door, but she turns around and looks at me, puzzled.

      – I am sorry, dear. I just work in the cafeteria. Haven’t they let you call your dad yet?

      – I asked Doctor Jones, but she ran away as if someone was chasing her, and Doctor Smith has not been to see me since he brought me here. Don’t you have a mobile phone or something?

      – I am afraid I don’t, – she says apologetically. – I think you should talk to Doctor Smith. I’ll ask around, see who can remind him to pay you a visit. Enjoy your meal, dear, – and she slips out of the door.

      I am disappointed, but I am also rather hungry, and hunger seems to add up to all the confusion and disappointment I am feeling. I should eat before I do anything else. While eating I realize that I should have also asked for a watch – I have no idea what time it is and how much time has passed since I woke up in the examination room. How much had I slept till Doctor Jones woke me up? How much time will pass till I get my memories back or till my father gets here? No matter how long it takes, I will have to wait, but somehow it seems to me that putting a number to it would make things a little easier.

      Having finished my meal I notice that the cafeteria woman has also brought me some toiletries and a big fluffy white towel. I am beginning to hate the color white with all my heart and soul, but the idea of a bath or at least a shower seems so tempting that I am ready to put up with it. I do not remember if there is a bath or shower in the bathroom – I was too busy staring at my face, but I hope there is. Even if there is not, washing my face and cleaning my teeth will do me at least some good. I am still in the hospital gown, so with the towel and other things I also grab the clothes that were left for me and head for the bathroom.

      There is no bath, but there is a shower, roomy and welcoming with lots of knobs and buttons that confuse me a bit. I just need some hot water, please! It turns out to operate very easily, and in just a few moments I am standing under a blissfully hot stream of water. I might be deceiving myself, but it seems that the water is washing off some of the confusion and suspicion. I even begin to feel guilty about behaving as I did towards Doctor Jones. After all, she is not the one who put me in that accident or took away my memories. She is just trying to help me the best she can, and if she makes some mistakes – well, we are all human and none of us are perfect. I also suddenly realize that even though she seems so important and independent and tough, she is not the boss here. She has to report to someone and run her decisions by them, probably, by Doctor Smith – I remember vividly how she ran for him the moment I told her that I did not remember anything. Not that I should be angry with him either. He is just doing his job. Suddenly I remember what Doctor Smith said earlier, at the very beginning. “You are in your father’s private research clinic and hospital.” My father’s. So maybe he is the one who runs things here, and does not allow them to let me out of the room or let me call him, for whatever reason. For whatever reason, but there just has to be one, I can feel it. And as the hot water flows over my body, I begin to feel that there is nothing suspicious going on here, after all, and, for whatever reason I am being held unawares, it must be a good reason, or at least some logical one.

      Oh, my, the water does wonders to body and mind. I leave the bathroom calm, relaxed, and practically a new person. The closes they left me are a bit too large, but they are clean and comfortable, and I would not think of asking for more. The hot shower also makes me feel really sleepy, so as soon as I get back to my room – I find it at the first try this time – I lay down on the bed and immediately, or at least it feels so, fall asleep.

      If my previous sleep was dreamless, this one is very far from it. I have an extremely vivid dream, or rather dreams, flowing into one another, pictures running past my eyes, rapidly, without stopping, pictures of the little girl and her father, pictures of me looking into the mirror – in the mirror I see the little girl again, a car accident – is it my car accident?, a blond woman with a worried face trying to talk to me, it is my mother, but I do not recognize or remember her, pictures of the little girl again – I am trying to make sense of all this, but it is hard, it is like walking along the endless white corridor with an endless number of locked white doors, trying to find the door to my room, trying to find the way out, trying to find myself – but the corridor goes on and on, and on, it is endless until it abruptly ends and becomes a street. And just as abruptly, the rushing time and the rushing images slow down to normal. I find myself in a big street of what seems to be a big city, a metropolis. The road is full of cars, the sidewalks are crowded with people. The people walk by me, as if I am a ghost – but no, they do not walk through me, they walk around me, but do not notice me, as if I am invisible, but I am not – I suddenly realize that they see me, but pretend not to: they turn their heads a bit too far to the side, their eyes wander a bit too much, trying to avoid meeting my gaze. Do these people know who I am? Is it why they are pretending not to see me, avoiding looking at me? I try to talk to some of them, but no words come out of my mouth. I feel desperate. I start coming up to people, grabbing their sleeves, trying to look into their faces, crying wordlessly, begging them not to avoid me, to look at me, to recognize me, to tell me who I am. It goes on for God knows how long, until I give up. I stop, letting the flow of people wash over me for a while, just as I let the water wash over me in the shower. Then my legs fail and I sink to the ground. The asphalt must be hard and cold, but I do not feel it. People still rush by me in an endless current, and it is easier now for them to pretend that I am not here, to avoid looking at me. Suddenly, a little girl stops in front of me. She looks very much like a girl from Doctor Jones’ photos.

      Mommy, who is this? –

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