Memorium

Today

You know how little I remember. It’s strange to have lived a whole life and not have any memory of it. I’m lying here in a hospital bed, with no memory of how I got here. There is no one in the room and the door is shut. I cry out for help and no one answers. My sheets are tucked tightly over and under me from my waist downwards. I am clothed, that much I can tell. My right wrist is shackled to the bed by a single handcuff. Words and my voice are clear to me. I recognize them. But why can’t I remember my name?

Beside me is a small operating table. There are no tools or medical instruments. Above me is a bright white light. To my far right is a closed window with silver curtains. There is light on the other side, but I have no way of reaching it. I lean as far as I can go, and notice that my right ankle is also shackled to the bed. I lean down and see that the bed is immobile and nailed to the ground. I cannot cart it to the window to open it and see outside. I have no idea what floor I am on, or which hospital this is.

Not having a mirror of any kind, I pry my left arm loose from the sheets and reach onto my head. I pull down a tuft and see from my peripherals that the hair is a dirty blond. I don’t feel like a blond. I expected dark hair. I see that my skin is tan and my arms are muscular. I look into my shirt and see chest hair and a respectable physique. I must be a gym rat or someone whose profession requires their strength. There are calluses on my palms. I wish there was something else in this room. Then I feel something under the sheet, near my leg. 

I pull out a blank spiral notepad. There is a ballpoint pen tucked into the spiral. I wonder at the choice to put the pen inside the spiral, instead of using the clip to attach it to the paper. I feel like that’s what I would have done, which makes me believe that I was not the one who left this here.

God, if only I could remember. 

I transfer the notepad and pen to my left hand. I click the pen and set the ink to paper. To my joy, it works. I write the word, “Today” first. I write it in cursive. It comes naturally somehow.

I sit up and put the notepad on my lap. I begin to write this letter. I don’t know who will read it.

Next Day

I must have fallen asleep. I feel like I am being drugged, but there are no IV’s or syringes or scars on my arms and there is no sign that anything has been moved or that anyone has been inside this room. 

Except for one thing, which frightens me.

There is a television set in the top right corner of the room, near the window. This was not here earlier. I would have noticed it as I looked at the window. The TV is not on and there is no remote. But its presence has immediately disturbed me. Why would someone put this TV in here all of a sudden? Surely, no matter how heavy of a sleeper I am, I would hear the sound of a drill as they mounted it. The job would likely have needed two people – one to hold it up and the other to drill it in. The question mostly going through my head now is why?

This brings me back to my assumption that I have been drugged. This could account for why I was not alerted to the sound or presence of visitors. 

However, I admit that I have no explanation for why they would drug me and then put a TV in my room. Stranger yet, why put in a TV and leave it off? If there was something they wanted me to watch or see, then they would have turned it on. Otherwise, what is the point? 

Now that I am sure I am not alone, I am beginning to wonder who these people are. Why would they have drugged me and why don’t they want me to see them? Surely, if I am a prisoner, they would want to interrogate me. 

Once again, I just wish I could remember. I am committing to staying awake this time. I could not remember falling asleep, but then again, who really does remember the moment they fall asleep? Thoughts like these can (and hopefully will) keep me up at night.

Night

Something more disturbing has occurred, which is making me question my own sanity. 

I do not recall falling asleep. In fact, I am sure that my eyes have been open this entire time. Yet, somehow, there is a chair in the same right corner of the room, underneath the TV, beside the curtained window. There is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that this chair was not there before. No matter how distracted I was by the TV, I am certain I would have noticed it.

The chair itself does not stand out very much. It is a metal chair with gray-blue pleather seats and backrest. It is eerie how it sits there, empty, yet turned to face my bed. I fear someone, somehow, will be seated in that chair at some point. 

More disturbing still, is that when I look closely, I see a remote sitting in the seat of the chair. A small black remote with less than twenty buttons on it. I am sure it is the TV remote.

I blink and rub my eyes with my left hand. Perhaps I need glasses. It is so hard to tell how good my eyesight is with this bright light above me. If I look at it for a split second, my retinas are singed momentarily and my eyes must readjust. If there were some kind of detail in the room, anything at all, I could better gauge my eyesight. The walls are a faint yellow. Solid color. The TV is small, and black. The chair is metal and blue. There is nothing else. My sheets are solid white and I can see them closely. If anything, I might be near-sighted, but I don’t know. Perhaps this could account for not seeing the chair or the TV or certainly the small remote.

No, I am certain that my mind is sharp and that I am not crazy. Everything around me seems to be demonstrating the opposite… But I will not doubt. I will learn who I am, how I got here, and what this is all about. 

Day 2

It is light outside, I can tell through the windows. Despite my best efforts, I had fallen asleep. I curse myself, but there seems to be nothing new in the room. I guess sleep is not my enemy in this room. Something else is.

Although nothing seems to be different today, I have this feeling that I am not alone. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I feel cold. I look all around the room, from side to side and see or hear no one. There are very few places they could hide after all. The chair is still empty. 

The TV is on, but silent. This eases my feelings of not being alone anymore. Slightly. Because the moment my eyes adjust, I can see that the station is some kind of a children’s show. There is a character with a big yellow head and overalls, doing some kind of dance around some kids who are sitting on a log at a fake campsite. The background looks very fake and I don’t recognize this show. I must not have any children, or perhaps the show is foreign to me. Perhaps I am in a foreign place. 

There are no subtitles or sounds, just the video. I look at the chair and realize that the TV remote is gone. This gives me a sense of foreboding. The hairs on the back of my neck are still standing up straight. Someone else was in this room, I can’t shake the feeling. 

With a feeling of premonition, I lean down and check underneath the bed that I am in. There is a space only about six inches high between the floor and the bottom of my bed. There is no way someone could fit under there. Still, the uncertainty and the inability to know frightens me. I muster up the courage to do something I have not done yet. I get up.

Even though I am chained to the bed by my right ankle and my right wrist, I am able to climb over the side of the bed and suspend myself. I still have my strength. Doing this strips the white sheet out from under me. I see my legs for the first time. There are no signs of injury to any part of my body. I am barefoot but wearing hospital slacks. A bland teal color. I grip the side bar of the bed and swing myself over to look. Nothing stirs or moves, but the bed creaks. I begin to wonder again if it is possible to move. 

I try to look under the bed. There is nothing, save some dust particles. The tiled floor is an egg white color.

Then, the volume on the TV raises. I hear children singing and an adult with a cartoon voice leading the song. It is in English. They are singing, “Happy and You Know It.” I know this song. "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." I pull myself back onto the bed, but look around more fiercely. How was the volume raised? It is not loud, but was definitely silent before. Nothing malevolent is on the screen, just the character dancing around the children as they all sing. Still, it is unnerving and creepy.

I lay on my back and look up, just as someone places a gas mask over my face.

Unknown

I wake up and gasp for breath. The room is now fully furnished. Like an actual hospital room. There are tables, shelves, two chairs (one under the TV and another in the adjacent corner). The TV is on, with sports - baseball. I don’t recognize the teams, perhaps they are high school. The operating table beside me has a box of tissues. There is a computer against the wall near my headrest. An IV not connected to me stands beside it.

I am tucked in once again and no longer shackled to the bed. I grab my right wrist. There is no indication that I have been shackled. I kick off the sheets and see that my leg is also freed. I get up out of the hospital bed and first approach the door. I stop. I may not be ready to face whatever or whoever is out there.

Thinking twice, I go over to the window. The silver blinds are still closed. I need to know where I am. I grab them with either hand and pull them apart. Light floods in and I am blinded momentarily.

With one eye opened, I look and see a city - streets, cars, trees, office buildings, light posts. Very normal looking. I appear to be on the second or perhaps third floor of this building. I look out and see a few suburban couples and business people walking along the sidewalks or sitting at a street light in their cars. Everything seems normal.

But I cannot shake the memory of what happened earlier. I leave the blinds open and go over to the chair. I pick up the TV remote and point it at the black television. I change the channels. I pass a news station, a soap opera, and a sitcom. I am confident that this is normal. 

I sit in the seat. The only things still haunting me are my lack of memory or understanding of why I am here. I turn once again to the door. There seems to be the remainder of the mystery and its answer - behind that door. 

I turn over the page to continue writing and see that it has already been filled in. The handwriting is not mine, but there is a paragraph. It reads as follows:

“Mark, I miss you. When you see this, think of me. I know you won’t remember for long, but I think writing this down in my hand will help you. As long as you have this notebook, you will remember. I know things won’t be as they were before. How can they be? But I don’t want to forget about you. I don’t care that you’ve forgotten about me. I still love you.

-Maddie”

I stare at this and my chest aches with a hollow pain. The name Mark doesn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. The name Maddie does not ring any bells either. I feel a sadness well within my soul, but no tears spring up. If I am Mark and Maddie loves me, should I not feel some grief? Some love? Some pain? Something? 

I set down the notepad for a moment and think. I reread her message, mulling over the words. “I know you won’t remember for long, but I think writing this down in my hand will help you.” This solves the mystery of the notepad and the pen inside the spiral. Maddie left this with me. She wanted me to remember her. But I don’t. Even reading this rings no bells. Is she my wife? Sister? Mom? Daughter? Friend? The strangeness of this uncertainty makes my head heavy. I lie back down in the bed and close my eyes.

Today

You know how little I remember. It’s strange to have lived a whole life and not have any memory of it. I’m lying here in a hospital bed, with no memory of how I got here. There is no one in the room and the door is shut. I cry out for help and no one answers. My sheets are tucked tightly over and under me from my waist downwards. I am clothed, that much I can tell. My right wrist is shackled to the bed. Words and my voice are clear to me. I know who I am. But why can’t I remember my name?

Beside me is a small operating table. There are no tools or medical instruments. Above me is a bright white light. To my far right is a closed window with silver curtains. There is light on the other side, but I have no way of reaching it. I lean as far as I can go, and notice that my right ankle is also shackled to the bed. I lean down and see that the bed is immobile and nailed to the ground. I cannot cart it to the window to open it and see outside. I have no idea what floor I am on, or which hospital this is.

Not having a mirror of any kind, I pry my left arm loose from the sheets and reach onto my head. I have a full head of hair. I pull down a tuft and see from my peripherals that the hair is a dirty blond. I don’t feel like a blond. I expected dark hair. I see that my skin is tan and my arms are muscular. I look into my shirt and see chest hair and a respectable physique. I must be a gym rat or someone whose profession requires their strength. There are calluses on my palms. I wish there was something else in this room. Then I feel something under the sheet, near my leg. 

I pull out a spiral notepad. There are four pages filled in... I do not recognize the handwriting. I begin to read and my heart sinks as I see the same words that I have just been thinking, written on the paper. I read the message from Maddie and I read my own response to that message.

I don’t remember any of it.

Somehow, someone else has my memory. I will find whoever is doing this to me. I will get out of this room. I have to, I have to remember… for Mark. For Maddie. For anyone else stuck in a hospital room like this. 

The door opens and I feign sleep. A tall nurse enters. She is wearing heels, I can hear them. I hide the notebook under my blankets and keep my hands underneath. She comes in and sets down something beside my bed. My heart is racing.

I pull out the pen and with rapid speed. I jab it into her skull. She makes a small sound then collapses to the floor. She must have the keys to my handcuffs!

I reach down and realize that both of my hands are free. So is my ankle. I am confused. I look at the table and see a tray of food - two scrambled eggs, crispy toast, and fresh fruit.

I look down at the bloodied pen in my hand. Then I look at the furnished hospital room. I see the balloons in the corner that read, “Get Well, Mark!”

I look down at the woman, the nurse, dead on the floor. The pool of blood around her head and contorted body. I hear the gasp as the doctors and nurses enter. I wipe the blood off on my sheet and write the rest of this message. I click the pen and lay back down. I close my eyes to return to sleep.

I am not well.