Chapter one
10/19/08
Dear diary,
That’s so boring. Dear diary? I’m sure I can come up with something more creative than that. Or maybe I’m not that creative of a person. I really wouldn’t know.
Dr. Schultz said that writing down my thoughts and feelings about this whole ordeal would help me out. (Yeah, that was the word he used: ordeal.) Honestly, for once, I think the old turtle is right. (Here’s hoping he doesn’t make me show this to him.) It feels good to write down everything, even if the whole time I’m staring down at what I’ve written, thinking, “Does my handwriting look familiar?”
Sooo, here’s what I can tell you so far:
1. My name is Melody Robins
2. I’m seventeen years old
3. My family is on a trip in California. Without me.
4. I was in a car accident
5. I have amnesia
I know, I know, it sounds like one of those age old movies with this lost person with amnesia, trying to find out who they are—but it’s really not all that dramatic. In fact, right now I’m rather bored. But I’m glad writing doesn’t take a lot of effort, because everything else does; even sitting up gives me a headache at this point.
Apparently I’ve only been in here a couple days, but it seems like I’ve been here my whole life. I can’t remember driving, or where I was going, or even whose fault the crash was. I don’t know what my family looks like, only that I have one. I’m pretty sure they mean a lot to me, because I get this weird pain in my chest when I think of them. They must be okay then, right?
Do I miss them? Do they miss me? Why the heck did they leave me here?
All I have is questions. They’re rolling around and around in my head, and each want my attention. When will I be able to get them answered?
Melody lay in her bed, staring up at the humming florescent lights. Her back aching and her legs restless, she tried to shift her position to a more comfortable one. In the end though, she gave up, having only managed to make her casted leg swing in the hanging loop from the ceiling and her head throb behind her eyes.
She had only been awake for a few hours now, but already she was sick of her stuffy hospital room. The tiny T.V. mounted high on the wall had only a few channels, most of which either sappy soap operas or cartoons cheerfully teaching the letters in the alphabet.
The wallpaper that lined Melody’s windowless cell seemed especially too peppy for her current situation. The repeating rows of fifty-two yellow flowers (she had counted) hardly matched the thoughts that had run around her head so much they had grown stale.
Her least favorite part of the room, one that Melody constantly stared at with growing hatred, was the big green armchair beside her bed. It was bulky, it was ugly, and it was always, always, empty. She glared at it now, imagining the Psychiatrist, Dr. Shultz, sitting in a folding chair beside it, with his wrinkled brow and bumpy nose. In her imagination, the shrink still wore that hated look of gentle pity, which Melody swore he must practice in the mirror in his spare time.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s enough I have to see him just about ever other hour, and now I even see him when he’s not here!” she muttered under her breath.
Melody’s stomach grumbled. Automatically, as soon as she wondered what time it was, her hand went for her right leg. It landed where her pocket would have been if she was wearing pants instead of the scratchy cotton hospital gown. Curious, Melody thought for a moment. Since she hadn’t looked at her wrist, she obviously didn’t wear watches. She must have had something in her pocket—a cell phone, maybe—to tell the time.
She smiled, happy that she had worked out something about herself on her own—and with complete logic. Then her smile melted away. If she had a cell phone, where was it? Could she contact her family and friends with it?
The door to her room opened, and Melody looked up. A nurse walked through, wheeling a cart holding a tray of food on its silver surface. When she arrived at Melody’s bedside, she smiled, pulling a string of blonde hair behind her ear before slipping on a pair of plastic gloves.
“Hello, Melody. Ready for something to eat?” She was an older woman, but although her face was strange, it was kind.
Melody nodded shyly and allowed the nurse to place the food in front of her.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked kindly. Melody shook her head. Her forehead wrinkled, the nurse nodded slowly. “Okay, if you need anything, honey, just push that button over there.” Melody stared at her tray of food, not seeing anything. The nurse stared at her for a moment, then turned to wheel the cart back into the hall.
“Wait,” Melody said suddenly, before she lost her nerve. The nurse turned around. “Um, when is my family going to get here?”
The older woman’s eyes melted with pity. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t know. I’ll find out for you though, okay?”
Melody felt a pang of annoyance. She wasn’t ten. Hiding her irritation, she nodded and forced a smile. Satisfied, the nurse disappeared out the doorway, and Melody was alone again.
After choking down her bland lunch, she lied down again and looked at the ceiling. Finally, she made a decision. If her family wasn’t going to come and help her fight this amnesia, she would just have to do it herself. Melody closed her eyes and thought hard, determined to remember.
When she opened her eyes five minutes later, Melody had received nothing but a headache. She felt her frustration build, making her headache sharper and the florescent lights painful. This is impossible! she thought, I can’t do this alone! Where is everybody?
Tears blurred her vision. Melody rubbed her face harshly, blinking them away, but more followed quickly. Finally, everything seemed to just be too much—the pain, the loneliness, the restlessness, the disappointment.
With a growl of frustration, Melody grabbed hold of her tray and chucked it across the room like a frisbee. It hit the white wall and crashed to the floor with a shrill clang.
As she watched it spin around on the floor to a stop, a head poked into her room. “What the crap are you doing?” It was a boy. He slumped over to the tray and picked it up, then looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. “Having issues, are we?”
Melody’s jaw clenched. “Go away.” Not in the mood to be polite to rude teenage boys, she turned her head away and stared at the wall.
She heard the floor creak as he walked towards her, and a clink of metal against wood told her that he had placed the tray on the table. After waiting for a very long minute, she finally turned to face him again.
“What do you want?” she scowled.
The boy shrugged. The tips of his messy black hair were hanging in front of his eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked around the room with a bored expression on his face, his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy, torn jeans. As he moved, Melody caught a look at his profile against the hall lights. His jaw was square and firm, and his long eyelashes and blue eyes were enough to make an average teenage girl go crazy.
Well, I’m not an average teenage girl, Melody thought stubbornly. She ran her eyes up and down the boy in a determined search for flaws.
His clothes were faded and very well worn, especially his huge, holey skater shoes which looked big enough to hold two of Melody’s feet. There was a trail of whiskers across his chin that didn’t look shabby, as if he was trying to look older, like the typical teenage boy. Melody rolled her eyes, resigned to the fact that—as much as she tried to ignore it—this guy was very good looking.
“How many channels do you get?” He nodded to her tiny screen, seemingly oblivious to inspection he had just received.
“Eight,” Melody sighed, rolling her eyes.
The boy smirked. “You’re lucky—some people only get five.”
“There’s nothing good on, anyway,” she mumbled, uncomfortable under his gaze. She cleared her throat. “What are you here for?”
“My old man. He overdosed.” He leaned against the wall casually, rubbing his fingers across the fuzz on his chin. “You should see his arms.” The boy mimed injecting a shot into his own smooth arm.
Melody blushed. “No, I mean, why are you in my room?”
He shrugged. “I was looking for someone to mob.” He grinned evilly as Melody’s eyes grew wide. “Come on!” The boy gave a short, mocking laugh. “I was bored, okay? I was walking around, heard a noise, and came to see what it was.” He shook his head, still smirking.
Melody’s jaw tightened again. “Whatever, just go away.” She turned to face the wall again.
Immediately, the boy’s voice changed. “Hey, wait. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just—I just needed someone to talk to, you know?” Melody peeked over again, and saw his hands spread out helplessly, his face clear and apologetic. “It gets pretty lame just walking around this place all the time and I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Melody turned around to face him again, and his face lit up a fraction. “Don’t you have anyone at home?”
His nose wrinkled. “What home?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets again. “It’s gone, just like everything else.”
She sighed heavily, masking the twinge of pity she felt. “Alright, fine. Just don’t mess with the hardware, okay?” She gestured at the humming machines beside her bed.
The boy grinned. “Fine with me, I’ve never been much for mechanics anyway.” He collapsed into the green chair, still smiling. “I’m Blake, by the way.” He held out his hand to shake.
Seeing the ugly chair filled, Melody gave a small smile too. Maybe this whole “ordeal” wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. She took his hand and gripped it hard, looking straight into his eyes. “I’m Melody.”
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1. I deleted this post three times before I finally forced myslef to push Submit.
2. It's just a draft. In fact, it's not just a draft of a chapter, it's a draft of an idea. I have no idea if it's going to work out, so just bear with me.
3. I know nearly nothing about hospitals. If there's anyone with experience in this area, some critique would be lovely.
Okay, I'm done with disclaimers. Thanks for reading!
--Anna
but lied isn't right here. I'm sure of that. Seriously, my brain has froze, I think it should be layed or lay.
