Becoming Amy - Julia Solovieva

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with long fingers and manicured nails takes the girl’s small hand and leads her away. I am alone again in the current of people, in a dream that seems to have no end. And the scariest thing – all this, the whole episode in the street seems eerily familiar. It is more familiar that the photos of the little girl playing with her father, more familiar than the name Amy which I am about to start hating, more familiar than even my face in the mirror.

      I wake up with a start, shaking and sweating a little, more confused and scared than ever. Well done, dream, congratulations on ruining the effects of the marvelous shower. I look around the room trying to find some comfort in reality, in my surroundings, but I find none. What I feel is that I want to go home, but I do not know what or where this home is, and – and this feeling was undoubtedly brought on by the stupid dream – if I even have a home at all.

      After the dream I have to go to the bathroom and take a shower again, this time much cooler and shorter and much less comforting than the first one. When I get back to the room, I notice some new things on the table. Were they there when I woke up? Or did someone sneak into the room while I was having a shower to put them here? I suddenly get the feeling similar to what I felt in the dream – that people here are avoiding me on purpose, and I hope it is not true.

      On the table I find a couple of new books, another folder with photos and what seems to be а music player. There is also a note, written in a very elegant, even stylish, handwriting. For some reason when I read it I hear Doctor Jones’ voice in my head: “These are a couple of your favourite books, some of your favourite music and a few new photographs. Please, do take some time to have a look at them – they might arouse some emotions and help to jog your memory”. Take your time. Right. I have no idea of time here, but I guess all I can do is take it. And then, behind the books, I also notice a watch. It is small and electronic, and shows 9:35 a.m. Well, at least I can start counting days now. Doctor Smith said that my memory should return in just a few days. How many days is “just a few days”, I wonder?

      Day One

      I am sitting on the bed, looking through one of the new books, when the cafeteria woman brings in some breakfast. This time I do not torture her with questions, I just say “good morning” and “thank you” and smile at her. After all she has nothing to do with whatever – if anything at all – is going on, and it is not just her – I decided to try and be nice to everyone here. If nothing is the matter, than I will just be nice to nice people, and if they are up to something pretending to be nice and unaware might help me find out something. Honestly, I am not quite sure where these conspiracy theory is coming from – maybe I am going crazy to add up to the amnesia, or maybe my mind is just bored and needs to work on something, even if it is a conspiracy theory.

      I take the food tray to the bed and get back to reading, or at least trying to read, one of the books they left me. To be honest, it is not going too well. Every once in a while the lines go blurry and start to swim and dance around – I guess it is one of the consequences of the head trauma. But also the book is boring. Some people I neither know nor care about do stuff, feel feelings and get on each other’s nerves. The other book is some historical novel, but there is very little difference – just that the people used to be real, but have been dead for many years in some other country. How fun. Ok, maybe I am not reading them right – I am hopping from page to page, from chapter to chapter, reading a few pages here and there, but I am not actually interested in reading – I am trying to find something I will remember, something to find some connection with, something to jog my memory.

      In an hour or so I give up, and just as I am hesitating, choosing between the folder with photos and the music player, there is a knock on the door and Doctor Smith comes in. There is, as usual, a wide smile on his bearded face and behind them there is a tall skinny ginger guy who looks about my age. He also looks extremely uncomfortable and is trying not to look straight at me. This is a weird echo of the dream I have just had, and it brings me down a little.

      Hello, Amy, – Doctor Smith seems to stretch out his words a little bit, almost singing them. – How are you today? Any good news?

      Hello, – I reply unenthusiastically, – and if by good news you mean some recovered memories, then I must disappoint you.

      I am not disappointed at all. This is just a healing process that seems to be taking just a wee bit longer than I hoped. I see you got Doctor Jones’ package. Found anything you like?

      The books are boring, to be honest. And if they are really my favourite ones, I don’t feel it. But I have not gotten to the new photos and music yet.

      I see, – he hesitates just for a moment, and I am looking at his smile intently to see if it will fade from the bad news just as Doctor Jones’ did. But he is either a better actor or a more cheerful person than she is. His smile flickers at the cornet for a nanosecond and then it is back to normal. – How about combining that with getting a little fresh air? I don’t think that being cooped up here all the time will do you good.

      Well, that is an interesting turn of events. Is it a genuine offer? Are they trying to win me over in such a way? What will I see outside? I try not to seem too enthusiastic when I reply.

      Sounds good.

      Splendid. Thomas here will show you the way. I am afraid the corridor system here is a little bit too complicated for an outsider.

      Thomas does not seem too thrilled with the idea. I wonder why. I feel somewhat inclined to get offended by that, but then I remember that I decided to be nice to everyone here. And this guy is another person from whom I can squeeze out some information. So I flash what I hope is my most pleasant smile at him, grab the photos and the music player and follow the men into the white corridor.

      In the corridor Doctor Smith turns left and Thomas barks “Follow me” and turns right. He is much taller than me and his steps are much longer, so it is quite hard to catch up with him.

      Could you please slow down a little bit? I am Amy, by the way. – I still do not feel like I am, but if that is what they call me here I will introduce myself by this name.

      Yeah, I know, – he says abruptly. He sounds annoyed, but at least he slows down enough for me to catch up with him without having to run.

      Thanks, – I say. – Lucky you, with your long legs, you can get to places faster…

      Thomas shoots me such a puzzled/annoyed look that it immediately cuts off my babbling. Anyway, I am not sure if babbling is the right technique to make him warm up to me. Also it appears that I am not so good at it. But still, I cannot help but ask:

      Where are we going?

      You’ll see, – and that is all I hear from him till we get to our destination.

      We walk along the white corridor taking turn after turn after turn. I try to count and memorize turns again, but there just seems to be too many. It also seems impossible that a human being can memorize them all and navigate them as easily as Doctor Smith or Thomas do. And all along the endless corridor there is an endless number of closed, and probably locked, white doors. I keep hoping for one of them to open so that I could get a glimpse inside. For some reason it seems to me that something weird must be going on behind these doors, but maybe it is just the “forbidden fruit” effect. Research clinic, they said. What do they research here?

      Finally, we arrive at matte glass double doors, and the light behind them is natural light. Thomas lays his hand on one of the handles, but then he stops and turns to me.

      You have one hour. In an hour I will return and take you back to your room. And there are cameras watching you there, so no funny stuff.

      Cameras watching me there… I immediately begin to wonder if there are cameras in other places: the corridor,

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