Becoming Amy - Julia Solovieva

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My eyes get used to the darkness a little bit more, and I see that the person in front of me is thin and smallish, with shoulder length hair, and probably a girl. It occurs to me that I must look very similar to that in the darkness, too.

      Finally, I cannot stand the silence anymore.

      Who are you? – I ask.

      I am Amy.

      I open my mouth and cannot produce a single word. Is she the real Amy? Or is it the continuation of my dream, some kind of hallucination or mental projection, or whatever? I need to know, and I decide that the first of the two questions in my mind is much more innocent to ask.

      Are you the real Amy?

      Oh, no, – she forgets herself and giggles out lout, but then stops abruptly, putting her hands on her mouth. – No, I am not, – she repeats in the same dry whisper as before.

      So, what are you? Are you a dream? A hallucination?

      She laughs again, but this time very quietly.

      Oh, I am real, – she says, and from her voice I can hear that she is smiling. – Just not the real Amy.

      So, who then…

      Let me guess, – she interrupts me. – You are here because you were in a car accident? Had some minor head trauma that influenced your memory, so now you have to stay here, wait until your father arrives, undergo tests and with all your effort try to remember poor little Amy’s life, which you can’t possibly do.

      To say I am surprised is to say nothing. But then… She probably is one of them, just some other stupid test or ploy to make me reveal something. And I still have not dismissed the idea that it might all be a dream. I decide to play along – I am getting so damn good at this here – and keep the conversation going, at least for now. So, I ask:

      How do you know?

      I am not one of them, if that is what you are thinking about. I am one of you.

      What? – if she is going to talk in riddles this is not going to be easy. My mind feels heavy and groggy, and not ready for riddles at all.

      She sighs disappointedly. Apparently she was enjoying the mystery game.

      What happened to you happened to me. I woke up here, I think, a few days ago. No memories. They tell me I am this sweet girl named Amy, show me pictures and stuff. And it feels fake as shit. And then, voila, I find out about you. We can’t both be Amy, at least one of us must be fake. So I decided to pay you a visit. And now it seems like we are both fake Amys, who could have thought that.

      So, here it is. The proof of my paranoia. I search for words, but I do not really know what to say. What is one supposed to say in such a situation? “Cool, let’s join together and create a club”?

      Yeah, kind of leaves you speechless, doesn’t it? – she says, immediately contradicting her own words. – There is such chaos after the fit you threw. I guess that is why I was able to get to your room, nobody’s probably watching the cameras, or at least not so attentively.

      So, there are cameras?

      Of course there are, don’t be so naïve! – she sounds a little surprised. – In the rooms, in the corridors, in the cozy little garden… Have you been there yet? – she asks suddenly, and I nod. – Everywhere. The big brother is watching and stuff.

      Oh… So, what do we do now? – I am desperately hoping that she is not just proof to all my suspicions, but that she also has some kind of plan and solution to this nightmare.

      We? Oh, I am not doing anything. I, – she stresses the “I”, – am staying put. I tried running away two times, actually, and, a, it is impossible and, b, will end badly for you. So I am just playing along as long as I can, and we’ll see where it leads… I would advise the same to you.

      That does not sound promising and comforting at all. “Play along as long as you can”… And what if I cannot? What if they see right through my pretence? I am not sure I want to “see where it leads” that much. Why is she here, then, I wonder? Is it just curiosity, or maybe she has no one to chat to, apart from the Doctors? After all, I do not. I think this over for a little while and then finally decide to ask:

      Why did you come to me, then?

      She does not answer, and as I peer more attentively into the darkness I realize that there is no one in front of me, no silhouette, no shadow, no fake Amy number two – or is she number one? – just the darkness. It feels eerie, like I have been imagining her all this time. What if I have? I have not even heard the door open and close when – if? – she left, but then maybe I was too deep in my own thoughts. I realize that I can still catch her, if I move quickly. I jump from the bed, run to the door and throw it open. The white unnatural light of the corridor hits my eyes, hurting them and making them water. I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, and when I open them again…

      Day Two

      I wake up. I am lying on the bed in my windowless room, heavy from the drug-induced sleep. The light is on. I look at my watch – it is 11 a.m. As I sit up, feeling weird and trying to figure out if my dialogue with Amy was real, the door opens slightly and the cafeteria woman peeks in.

      Good, you are awake, – she smiles, as she enters with the food tray. – I figured you must be hungry, after all, you missed lunch and dinner yesterday.

      I do not really feel hungry, but as she is putting the tray on the table I smile back and thank her politely. She throws one final look at me – do I see pity in her eyes? – and leaves the room.

      I am not hungry, but it seems to me that some food might help fight the heaviness and weirdness in my body, so I bring the tray to my bed and start eating. It does help me feel a little better, at least physically. Mentally, emotionally I am a mess. I do not know what to think or feel, I do not know who I am supposed to be and I have absolutely no idea what is right and what is wrong. I wish there was some king of sign, something to indicate the direction I am supposed to go in, something to – I realize that this is the one I want most – to take all the responsibility off me. And just as I am thinking that, Doctor Jones enters the room. She is not smiling, she looks quite serious and even a little bit sad. But when she speaks, her voice is still pleasant, even though I hear some cold notes in it, which were never present before, no matter how I behaved.

      Good morning, Amy.

      Good morning, – I do not even feel the urge to say that it is not my name anymore. Maybe, I am just tired, or, maybe, I am getting used to it.

      How are you feeling?

      Fine, considering…

      You gave us quite a scare yesterday, – she says accusingly and, of course, I immediately feel guilty.

      I am sorry, – I say, and I do feel sorry, or at least I am feeling it now.

      It is not your fault… – she makes a pause and adds, – I hope. I came here to talk to you, and I want you to be completely honest with me. I will also be honest with you, but if you do not tell me what is bothering you I will not be able to give you answers, you understand?

      I nod.

      Good. So, are you ready to talk, Amy?

      Yes, Doctor.

      She takes the chair from the table and puts it next to my bed. As she sits down I notice a note pad and a pen in her hands. She follows my look.

      I will be taking some notes, if you don’t mind.

      I am not sure if I do not, but then it seems rather innocent. Maybe, after all, Doctor Jones is my “sign”, someone who will guide me in the right direction and take at least some of the burden off me. I am officially done fighting now.

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