Lost Words

I open my eyes and alarm starts to build as I take in my unfamiliar surroundings. I’m lying in a single bed with plain white sheets and a thin, white blanket. To my right is a phone, lamp, and two framed photos. One is a photo of me with a man I don’t recognize. I’m smiling at the camera, and he is smiling at me. The other is of a man and woman who look as though they are in their thirties. It’s unclear whether they are a couple or why I’d have a photo of them. There are no other photos or mementos in the room. It’s a tidy room with an ordinary bureau and a clock that reads 8:05am. I startle as a toilet flushes somewhere above me.

I notice a piece of paper lying between the photos on the nightstand. It’s a bit wrinkled from wear and covered with neat handwriting I don’t recognize. Reaching for it, I observe a slight tremor in my hand, and wonder how long that’s been there. I begin to read.

·      Husband: John (DOB 1/9/60). Phone number: 555-212-4783. He’s in the photo on the nightstand. We met at a dance when we were 20. I had been astonished such a tall man could move with such grace. His favorite band is The Beatles. John loves family, God, and the Red Sox, not necessarily in that order. Try hard not to call John by the name “Tom.” Bringing up that name, it’s almost like he folds in on himself and he’s no longer the same 6’4” man who spun me in circles on the dance floor all those years ago. There’s no sense in trying to remember Tom. John is the one I chose to marry and we are still happily married after all these years. I don’t wear my wedding band anymore because my kids feel it’s safer that way. I’m not sure if they feel it’s safer for me or for their inheritance.

·      Daughter: Liz (DOB 5/28/88). Phone number: 555-212-9427. She’s in the photo next to the one of John and me. Although they’re not visible in the photo, it should be noted that Liz has a significant number of tattoos. Before Liz, I did not realize a neck tattoo was a thing. Be sure not to look shocked, or dismayed, or even gaze too long at the tattoos. Liz will immediately pick up on this and feel as though I don’t support her individuality when, in fact, I’ve always admired it. Liz is single and an artist who makes sculptures out of items other people discard.

·      Son: James (DOB 11/1/86). Phone number: 555-212-2944. He’s in the photo with Liz. James is a perpetual overachiever who loves to debate and inevitably became a lawyer. He met his future ex-wife, Katie, in law school. They have joint custody over their child. I wish he had more time to focus on Amanda; he has the potential to be such a great dad. Don’t attempt to argue about this—or really anything—with him, though.

·      Granddaughter: Amanda (DOB: 7/1/18). Amanda calls me “Gamma.” It was her first attempt to say Grandma when she was one, and it just stuck. She loves to play with a toy microscope and wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She excitedly describes the “speriments” she will run someday.   

·      Me: Sarah (DOB: 12/11/60). I’m an only child, who was born and raised in Massachusetts and have lived here my whole life. My parents died when I was about fifty. Like my mom, I loved being a stay-at-home mom raising James and Liz. Don’t trust anyone who tells me I like steamed spinach.

·      Meals are in the dining room: breakfast at 8am, lunch at 1pm, and dinner at 6pm. When Frannie with the long, brown hair is working, she will sneak me an extra oatmeal raisin cookie.

·      Thursday is cards in the community room. Remember Aces are high. Avoid sitting at a table with Judith. She has curly, gray hair and an affinity for cat pun sweatshirts. She looks like a sweetheart, but she cheats like a scoundrel.

·      Biden is the current president. Being able to name the current president makes me feel like one of the most together people in here.

The phone rings breaking the silence and I jump. “Hello?” I answer. I’m surprised by how scratchy and tired my voice sounds.

“Hi,” the voice responds curtly, “This is Chase calling from Toyota. Our records show that your Camry is overdue for service. We have an opening this Saturday at 10am if you can bring it in then.” I grab the paper with the list I had just been reading and flip it over so that I can quickly jot down this information before I forget.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” I respond. “Let me check to see if one of my family members can bring it in. What is your phone number so I can call you back?” I jot down the number on the back of the paper along with the date and time and “Toyota” so I can keep track of what this is about.  I flip the paper over and dial the number next to John’s name. When he answers, I turn over the paper to the back side to relay the appointment information to him. He reassures me he will take the Camry in on Saturday, and he will call them back to confirm the appointment. He’ll also change the contact information to his own so that they stop calling me about future oil changes.

I tell John he’s the best and hang up the phone. I stare at the paper with the date and time of the Toyota appointment trying to recall what I was doing before the phone rang. A whisper of a thought enters my brain, but it moves quickly like a leaf on a gust of wind, and it’s gone before I can catch it. I tear up the paper and throw it in the trash.