Beep…Beep…Beep…          

I want that stupid beeping to stop. It’s really annoying. I just want to sleep. At first I think it is my alarm clock. What day is it again? Is it Thursday? No it’s Monday. Or Wednesday. Don’t I have a big project due today? What project? I can’t remember.         

 I reach for my alarm clock but instead I grasp a metal railing. My eyes pop open. This isn’t my room. I try to picture my room in my head. I can’t. But I am pretty sure my room isn’t painted a sickly green, with beeping, flashing machines all around. I look around, confused. Where am I? I remember being here once, when I was about four. I had my appendix out. This definitely isn’t my room. This is the hospital.          

There is a boy asleep in a hard plastic chair next to my bed. He is older, practically an adult. This can’t be my brother. My brother, Dustin, is only four. This boy must be sixteen or seventeen.          

I sit up suddenly. Who is he? I am frightened. I grab for my teddy bear, Mikie, who I always sleep with, but find myself grasping nothing but a handful of sheets.         

 I examine my hands, intrigued. They look the same, yet different somehow. My fingernails are coated with purple nail polish. I remember that I love purple. I don’t know how I have forgotten. My nails, which I know as torn and bitten, are long and perfectly filed, with not a single chip. I wonder how this has happened.         

 The boy snorts slightly in his sleep, and I look up at him, startled. He looks so peaceful sleeping that I am no longer afraid of him. I feel like I know him somehow, but I can’t put my finger on it. I watch him closely, trying to remember.          

He has long, wavy brown locks that flop all over the place. He is wearing a wrinkled blue polo and faded jeans. I gasp when I see the scar along the right side of his face. It stretches from his eyebrow to his chin.          

Suddenly, the boy blinks and yawns. He spots me staring and his eyes widen, like he can’t believe what he is seeing.          

“Olivia?”         

 Olivia? Olivia! I realize at once that that is my name. Olivia Matheson.         

 “Yeah?” My voice comes out sounding differently than it sounded in my head. I sound, well, old. Like an adult.          

“Oh my God,” he breathes, literally jumping out of his chair and grabbing for my hand. He clutches it tightly once he has it. I pull away.          

“Eew,” I say, wrinkling my nose. This boy may be cute, but I don’t want him touching me. How gross.          

“Olivia?” he says again. He seems to be checking something.          

“What?” I snap, irritated. I hope I don’t have school today. This boy is going to make me late, and Mrs. Keller will be mad.         

 I touch the scar that run along his face, and he winces. “What happened?” I ask.          

The boy’s eyes grow wide and he looks crazed. For a second I think he is going to murder me, and I shrink back and brace myself. Then he begins to weep. Tears fall quietly down his perfect face and drip over my hand, which he is holding to his cheek.          

“Please,” he sniffs. “Oh please, God, tell me it isn’t true.”         

 “What?” I ask, confused. “What? What isn’t true?”         

 He is crying harder now, more openly. I am a little afraid. I have never seen a boy cry like this, not even my brother. “Oh, please, Olivia, please remember,” he begs.          

“What?” I ask. “Remember what?” I don’t understand what I am doing wrong, what I am doing to cause him to cry. I just want him to stop.        

  “Oh, Liv,” he starts sadly. He looks so helpless I begin to cry myself. “No, Liv, don’t cry. Just tell me you remember. Tell me you remember how I got this scar. Tell me you remember, you remember-” his voice cracks and his head falls limp against his chest. “-who I am.”         

 I want to remember so badly because it is tearing him apart. But I can’t. This boy is a stranger to me. I have no recollection of ever meeting him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.          

Suddenly, the door to my room burst open and a boy about my age bursts in. His blond hair is falling into his navy blue eyes and his face breaks into a smile when he sees me. “Olivia!” he exclaims, running towards me and jumping onto the bed. He hugs me. “Oh Olivia, you’re okay. You’re okay. I knew you would be. I knew!”         

 I wriggle away from him. What is with all these guys touching me. “Um, who are you?” I ask, frowning.          

The new boy blinks. He turns to my original visitor, who has wiped away his tears and is standing up. “What’s wrong with Olivia?” he asks. “Tyler? What’s wrong with her?”          

I push back my covers, frustrated beyond belief. “Yes!” I cry, ignoring my strange new voice. “Yes, what’s wrong with me? Can someone please tell me that? Why is everyone acting so weird? WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE?”          

The door opens again. This time, a man and a woman burst in. The man is tall and tan, with thick gray hair and twinkling blue eyes. The woman has blond waves and her face crinkles when she smiles brightly.         

 I am confused for a moment, but when I see the smile, I know exactly who they are. “Mom! Dad!” I exclaim happily. Finally, some people that I recognize.         

 “Oh, Olivia,” Mom gasps, bursting into tears. She runs to me and holds me close.          

“Mom,” I say. “Mom, what’s wrong?”          

Mom lets go of me and holds my hand tightly. She looks at me, slowly, ever so slowly, before speaking. “Honey, she says. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re alive. You’re okay. Everything is wonderful.”        

  “Mrs. Matheson?” It is the boy again. His hand goes involuntarily to his scar. His eyes do not leave the ground. “ There’s-there’s something wrong with Olivia.”         

 I narrow my eyes. “There isn’t anything wrong,” I say, but already I know it isn’t true. There is something wrong, but I just don’t know what it is. And at this point I’m not sure I want to.       

 Mom kisses my forehead gently. “Sweetheart,” she says, looking straight into my eyes. “There isn’t anything wrong, right?”          

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Is something supposed to be wrong? What’s happening here, exactly?”         

 “Oh my God.” It’s Dad’s voice. I stare at him. His hair is much grayer than I remember. “Oh my God.” He turns to Mom. “Jennifer, what the nurse said-it can’t be true, can it?”          

Mom exhales  sharply. “She knows her name,” she tells Dad like I’m not right there, listening. “She knows who we are. It can’t be too bad.”          

“But she doesn’t know who I am,” the younger boy pipes in. “Mom, she doesn’t know who I am!”          

“Or me,” says the older boy, still rubbing his scar. “She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember the, the accident.”         

 “Oh my God,” Mom breathes. “Calvin,” she tells Dad. “Get the nurse! Get the doctor. Get someone!”          

Dad disappears out the door as fast as Mom’s words leave her mouth. Mom turns to me, grasping my hands in hers. 

“Olivia,” she says. “Olivia, who am I?”          

“Duh,” I say. Hello, does Mom think I’m stupid? “You’re my mother.”          

“Okay,” Mom says, making an effort to remain calm. “Okay, Olivia, tell me, tell me about your family.”          

 I roll my eyes. “You, me, Dad, and Dustin,” I say. Why is she asking me this?          

“See,” Mom turns to the blond boy, who is sitting cross-legged on the bed, cracking his knuckles nervously. “See, Dustin, she does remember you.”          

“Dustin?” I say, confused. “Dustin? He isn’t Dustin. What are you talking about, Mom? Dustin is just a little kid.” 

“Dustin,” Mom says calmly. Too calmly. “Is eleven, Liv.”          

Eleven? That can’t be right. Because if he were eleven that would make him older than me! And Dustin is definitely not older than me! “What?” I sputter.          

“See,” Dustin chimes in. “Told you, Mom.”          

“Shhh, Dus,” Mom says anxiously.          

“Sheesh,” Dustin mutters. “Sorry.”          

“Olivia,” says the other boy. “What, uh, what year are we in?”         

 “Yes,” Mom agrees. “What year is it, Liv?”         

 I wrack my brain. 2000? 2001, maybe. Why are the asking me all these questions anyway?          

A doctor bursts into the room, followed by Dad. The doctor is tall and flustered. He sees me and looks incredulous. “Oh,” he says, smiling. “Oh, I’m so glad. We didn’t think, well, lets not worry about that now. The good thing is that she’s okay.”          

“But she isn’t,” Mom exclaims, bursting into tears. “Doctor Sanders, there’s something wrong. She, she isn’t remembering.”          

“Uh Mom,” I say, annoyed. “Could you not talk about me right in front of me?”          

Doctor Sanders chuckles. “She sounds all right to me.”          

“Ask her what year it is,” the boy with the scar urges. “Ask her. She won’t remember. She doesn’t remember the accident either.”          

Doctor Sanders looks like he doesn’t believe the boy. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Olivia, what year it is.”          

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “2000?” I say slowly. “Wait, no, maybe 2001?” As soon as I say it, I know it isn’t right. I know from the way they look at me that I have said something terribly wrong. I want to fix it, to say what they want me to say, but that is the only trouble. I don’t know what they want me to say. I don’t remember.          “Oh dear,” says Doctor Sanders. “Oh. Well, don’t worry too much, at least she’s woken. We’ll take her to do some tests and I’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”          

“Uh hello!” I exclaim. I don’t care that I’m being rude. I am getting really frustrated. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on.”         

 “We’ll talk about it later, Olivia,” Mom says anxiously. “Doctor Sanders, how quickly can you run the tests.”          

“Now, if you wish,” Doctor Sanders says.          

“Okay,” says Mom. “Go on, Olivia. We’ll wait here. How long will it take?”         

 “EXCUSE ME?” I bellow. “I want some answers here!”          

“Later, sweetheart,” Mom is anxious.          

I frown. Can’t they see that I don’t understand what is happening. Doctor Sanders helps me into a wheelchair and pushes me out of the room. “Wait, wait,” I cry. “Where am I going?”          

“Just to do some tests,” Doctor Sanders informs me, pushing me quickly down a tiled hallway. Suddenly he does not seem very nice.          

“What kind of tests?” I ask suspiciously. Doctor Sanders does not answer. He veers sharply into a small room with more machines than ever.         

 “Wait there,” he instructs, pointing to a bed in the center. I find that I can do nothing but obey. Trembling, I sit down on the bed. A blond nurse appears, a big smile plastered on her face.         

 “Hi hon,” she says. “Lie down, okay. I’m just going to give you a shot to put you to sleep. It won’t hurt, don’t worry.”          

“Wait,” I say as she pulls out a large needle. My voice is shaking. “What’s going on. Why are you doing this?”          

“You mean you don’t know?” the nurse asks, surprised.          

“Duh!” I exclaim. “Apparently that’s the whole reason I’m here!”          

“Oh,” the nurse chuckles. “Right. Well, hon, we’re just going to do some tests-brain tests-to figure out how much of your memory you’ve lost.”         

 “How much of my memory I’ve-” I exclaim. But I don’t have time to ponder the thought. I feel a sharp jab in my left wrist and I don’t have to look down to know that the nurse has injected the shot. I will not fall asleep, I will not- No later have I thought it, I am out cold.            

When I wake up I am back in my original room, alone. I hear Mom and Dad’s hushed voices outside, along with Doctor Sanders. I move and hear the sound of paper rustling. I look down and realize a crumpled sheet of notebook paper is lying on top of me. I pick it up and begin to read.   

Dear Olivia,          

I don’t know how much you’ve forgotten so I’ll start from the beginning. My name is Tyler Higgens–God, it feels weird to be introducing myself to you, like you don’t know me. Well I guess you really don’t anymore.         

 The doctor says that you’ve lost all of your memory after fifth grade. I didn’t know you then, so that’s probably why you don’t remember me at all. We met on the first day of ninth grade. We’ve been best friends since then. Oh, you’re in twelfth grade by the way. At G.W. Carver High School. You think your little brother Dustin is the biggest creep ever, you love sappy romantic-comedies, and you are a volleyball maniac. You’re on the senior all star volleyball team and you are freaking out because you want to get into Stanford with a volleyball scholarship. I tell you like everyday that you are going to get in anyway. You have a 4.3 GPA. You are like the smartest person in the school. You hate Megan Walter. She’s your arch-rival on the volleyball team. The second best person. She is a huge brat, I agree. Why am I telling you this anyway? Your mom said I should tell you about the accident.         

 Okay. Oh, this is hard. So we were at a party exactly two weeks ago. It was a Saturday night. It was really late. There was loud music and everything. That’s all that happened. You, um, found me and decided you wanted to go home. So we went. We were stopped at an intersection and the light turned green and suddenly there is this loud squealing of breaks and Mason Clint-he’s an, um, classmate-is speeding towards us in his Mercedes. He doesn’t stop. He crashes into us from the back. The ambulance came really fast. And that’s all I remember. I didn’t wake up for two days. I had to have about three hundred stitches down the side of my face. You didn’t wake up until today. And you, although mostly you’re unscathed, don’t remember anything after fifth grade. I’m sorry I left. I just couldn’t stay and watch you not remember me. I hope you understand. But why would you? You don’t even know me.         

 Sorry. Anyway, call me. My number is in your cell phone, but I’ll write it down in case you can’t find your phone or something. It’s 202-8831. Or just come over. Okay, well, um...yeah. Bye, I guess. 

Love,            

Tyler            

I set down the letter and take a deep breath. “Oh my God.”          

“Olivia,” Mom says, opening the door with a smile on her face. “Oh good, you’re awake, sweetheart.” She sees the letter that has slipped through my fingers. “Did Tyler explain everything to you? He’s such a sweet boy...”          “Mom,” I say slowly. I have a lot of questions to ask her. Mom doesn’t hear me. She is still talking.          

“And I know losing Mason is quite a shock, sweetheart, so I-”          

“Mason?” I say. I remember the letter. “The boy who crashed into me? What do you mean, losing him?”          

“Oh,” Mom says quietly. She snatches the letter and quickly scans it. “He didn’t mention it at all. I suppose he thought it was for the best. But you deserve to know...”          

“To know what?” I ask, grabbing the letter back.         

 “Mason was killed,” Mom says so quietly I can barely understand her. “Instantly, when he crashed.”          

I expect to feel upset, but I find I don’t. Why would I feel personal sadness for someone I didn’t even know exists. Like if I suddenly find out some farmer in China was killed by his own cow. It doesn’t affect me. “Okay,” I say. “Um...”         

 Mom is surprised. I can see it in the was her forehead creases and her eyes narrow, then widen. “I would think you’d be even the least bit upset that your boyfriend is...” a single tear slides down her cheek. “Gone.”          

“Boyfriend?” I spit.          

Mom jumps back. “Oh,” she exclaims, another tear falling. “Oh, Olivia, I really can’t talk about this, sweetheart.” 

 “Mom!” I exclaim, but she has already disappeared out the door.          

“Arghhh!” I cry in anger. Doctor Sanders opened the door. He is still talking to Dad.          

“It is possible that she will get her memory back,” he’s telling Dad. “But for now, just try to be gentle with her. Remember that she doesn’t remember most of the things you take for granted.”          

“Okay,” Dad says slowly. I can see him processing the information.         

 “Well, Miss Olivia,” says Doctor Sanders. “You are officially discharged. It’s been a pleasure.”         

 “Um,” I say. I remember that on the outside, I look seventeen, not ten, and think better of saying ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’ Instead, I continue with a bored, “Yeah.”          

Dad hands me a small hand mirror. “Mom went to the cafeteria with Dustin to grab some lunch. They’ll be back in a bit. Thought you might want to fix up a little before we go.”          

“Thanks,” I grasp the mirror and stare at my reflection. Wow! I have serious birds nest hair. My face flushes. Then I notice my appearance. I am old. This is not the image I remember. My face has thinned out and my childhood freckles are gone. When I smile, there are no braces on my teeth. Instead, perfectly straight pearly whites are gleaming back at me. “Wow.”          

I fall back into my pillow. “Are you okay?” Dad asks, worried.         

 “Did you rig that mirror?” I ask seriously. “’Cause that is not me.”          

Dad laughs. “Doctor Sanders warned me that might happened. I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but.” 

“Getting used to?” I laugh because it is so ridiculous. “Dad, I’m a completely different person.”          

“No,” Dad says. “You’re still the same old Olivia, honey.”          

“Sure,” I say, uncertain with even myself. I have absolutely no idea how this is all going to work out. Absolutely no idea.          

The simplest miracle I know is the ability to recall the events that have occurred in your life. And now I have lost that. How the heck am I going to pull this off?