Chapter 1

I awake to the sound of crying. My eyes flutter open as I look for the source of the sound. The first thing I see is the thick blonde hair of my mother. She holds my hand, crying. Oh, so the crying belonged to my mother. For a split second I thought it couldn’t be her. The crying that awakened me belonged to someone else, but I dismiss it. My mind feels hazy and I can’t think clearly. What happened to me? Where am I?

I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I swallow, noticing how dry my mouth is. “M-mom?” my voice is a half whisper half croak. At the sound of my voice mom instantly looks up. Her blue eyes are watery, her skin pale. I notice that she is still wearing her work uniform. She tightens her hold on my hand. “Erica?”

I try to sit up and mom rushes to help me. “Careful, honey,” she coos. I touch my head feeling the soft texture of cotton bandage. “Why am I in the hospital?” The question makes mom erupt into tears. At the same time I remember being hit by a car. “I remember,” I announce, “ a car hit me.” That also explains the bandage around my head. I must have cracked my skull open or something similar. I look around the room for dad, there’s no sign of him.

“Where’s dad?” I ask. Mom somewhat composes herself, “He went out for a little bit.” Just as she finishes the door opens. As soon as dad sees me he rushes across the room to give me a big hug. “Erica! You’re all right--“ he stops himself and lets go of me, “Right, no hugs, kiddo.” I give him a puzzled stare. Kiddo? Since when did dad start calling me Kiddo?

My parents give each other a worried glance when I don’t respond to them. Dad places a hand on my shoulder, “You feeling okay Kiddo?” I stare for a minute. Slowly I answer, “I think so.” My parents have another exchange. “Do you think?” Mom trails off. Dad turns to me, “Hey Kiddo, what’s your name?” Okay, that was pretty obvious. How do I not know my own name? “Erica,” I reply.

“How old are you?” Another obvious question. “I’m seventeen.” At that a frown forms on dad’s face. Mom gives me a warm smile, “Well, you’ll be seventeen soon, so that counts…” After that my parents bombard me with more questions.

What’s your address? What’s your phone number? Home phone? What’s your favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite music genre?

            I got most of them right, but on some questions that I was positive about they would both slightly frown. When the doctor assigned to me came in dad took him aside to have a talk. I sit with mom who stares at me as if memorizing every detail of me. Finally she speaks, “Erica…” I wait expectantly. Mom bursts into tears again. “I thought I lost you!” She hugs me and I awkwardly pat her back. “Getting hit by a car won’t kill me,” I tease.

            Mom pulls back, “Erica! How can you joke about something like that? You could have died!”  “Okay, I’m sorry,” I apologize. Mom who was crying her eyes out freezes. Did I do something wrong? All I did was apologize. Mom grabs either side of my face, “Erica, are you all right? You never apologize!” Now I’m the one giving her a confused look. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mom doesn’t reply giving me a tight squeeze.

            Later that night in my hospital room, while I pretend to be asleep, I overhear mom and dad talking.

            “Doctor Vine says that she might have amnesia. It might be a slight concussion, but it isn’t anything serious.”  “Is he sure? Erica’s…been a little different,” Mom says. “She apologized Dave. Erica never apologizes! She’s such a rebel!”  “I found it a little strange too Teresa, but I’m sure she’ll be back to normal before you know it.” After that they leave the room to get dinner at the cafeteria. 

I roll over in the hospital bed. What did they mean? How was I not normal? I’m perfectly fine. I’m exactly the same as I always am. Maybe it was just my parents stressed from work. Perhaps spending all that time working made them forget what I was actually like.

After three boring days at the hospital I return home. Dad took me home since mom was at work. “How you feeling Kiddo?” I stare out the window as we pass a couple walking on the sidewalk. “I feel fine,” I answer in monotone. I felt normal. “You think you’ll be fine enough to attend school tomorrow?” I straighten. “School! I missed three days! I have so much work to make up!”

Dad quirks an eyebrow at me from the rear view mirror, “Since when did you care about schoolwork Kiddo?” he chuckles. I am not amused, “Since always.” Dad stops at a red light. He turns his head, “Just take it easy. You just came back from the hospital, Kiddo. Worry about schoolwork after you’re completely healed.” I go back to looking out the window. No way am I doing that. Waiting would just end up in more work piling up.

Dad drops me off at our front lawn telling me to get plenty of rest before heading to work. I give him a nod and a wave. Our house is a two story with a patio porch. It’s painted white with dark blue shutters and roof. I remember Mom and Dad debating over what color to paint them. Mom was for red and Dad was for blue. I was eight at the time. My parents decided to ask my opinion and I replied with purple. Dad triumphantly exclaimed blue reasoning that purple was closer to blue than red. Upset, Mom tried to coax me to say red or at least pink, but I insisted on purple, so Dad won.

I open the front door with the house keys Dad gave me before heading to work. The house was just as I remember it. That was a weird thought. I had only been away from home for three days and yet it felt like three years. I breathe in the homey smell of my house. Mom’s vanilla perfume, Dad’s daily cup of coffee, and other home smells I can’t identify.

I head up the stairs to my room. On the wall was a picture frame of Mom, Dad, and me. Another smaller frame was Mom and Dad’s wedding photo. Mom was beautiful in her white wedding gown with a pearl necklace around her neck. She held a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath. She leaned towards Dad who beamed like the happiest man in the world. His brown eyes twinkled and he had his brown hair neatly combed back. He looked dashing in his tuxedo.

I stop at my bedroom door, inquiring about an unfamiliar sign. Nailed to the door in plain sight was a sign that said ‘Keep Out!’ Since when did I have a sign like that? Who did I want to keep out?