Live in the moment

For as long as I can remember, I have had a notebook in my left hand, and a pen in my right hand. It's written on them in words: Notebook, left, pen, right. Mama says that I'm not like other children, that I'm special. I can hear the sad in her voice when she says that. Special isn't good. I have a Papa, but he's in war. I can't remember seeing him.

The first page of my notebook has Mama's words drawn on it. My name is Lizzy Bell. I'm fifteen. I live at 24 Dand Street. My home phone number is (811) 244-8301. If you find me, please call my mother. There are more words, but they are not important, I think Mama has said, so I never read them. There are words on the other pages that I don't remember drawing, but Mama has drawn that they are mine and important. She has drawn that they are my memories so I always read the last one before I go to bed. I cannot remember it the next light.

I have a watch on my wrist and their words are drawn on too. Right now the big hand is pointing to the 7 and the little hand is pointing between the 3 and the 4. Mama has drawn on my arm that home is the big hand pointing to the 12 and the little hand pointing at the 4. Now, though I can go to the green in front of my house. Mama can see me there.

My notebook has quite a few memories with little bits of paper sticking out, I see as I walk. They are about the green and about someone who's name I can't remember, so I haven't drawn it. They're almost always there. I wonder if they'll be there today. A smiling face greets me. The person is a boy. I smile back blankly. He sighs. "Lizzie, I'm Sam. Do you remember me?" I shake my head, feeling that we do this often. He sits down on a bench and tugs me down too by my watchwrist. I sit down and give him my book. I don't know why. A smile lights his face. "Lizzie, I'm your friend. You see all these bits of paper sticking out?" He runs his finger across them. They make like the wind. I nod. "These are all about me and you, and how much fun we have." I run my fingers across the papers too, seeing him.
"Friends..." He has leaf eyes. "For how long?"
"Twelve years." I can hear the sad. It made me sad too. I take his hand and hold it tighter for a second. He isn't smiling anymore. "Lizzie... Do you want a new word?" It was on the pages with little papers. A new word in sky with the others in night. I nod, my hair jumping. The smile comes back. He opens my Notebook at a snow page and takes a pen from his pocket, drawing a word in big before seeing it to me. "Patience."
"What is it?" I say. There was a smile but it wasn't happy.
"It means waiting and not giving up." He takes my hand that I haven't moved and takes it up to his face. "You are patient. I would hate being unable to remember all the time." I don't know what hate was. I don't think that it has been drawn. I try to see the pages, but he puts his hand on top. My face is warm.
"I want to see my Notebook." I say. I want to see memories.
"Try and remember without it, please Lizzie." His voice is sad, and a word I don't know. "Please. For me." I shake my head, which means no, Mama has said, and take my Notebook back. I stand up, but he still hasn't let go. "Lizzie!" I take my hand and turn home, walking fast. "Lizzie! Don't cross the road!" I close my eyes, not listening. What is a road? "There's a ca-" There's a high noise, a pain all over, then night.

beep...beep...beep

I cannot open my eyes. I can listen, but my body won't move.There is a thing beeping next to my head.
"What were you thinking? I told you to leave her alone!" It's Mama's voice, and it's angry. I know what angry means, suddenly.
"I wanted to help her. She can't live not remembering." It's the boy from the park. What's his name? I press myself to remember. I want to remember. Images press against my mind, but I can't see them yet.
"Your help landed her in a hospital bed!" There is a snap, and it's as if everything has shifted, but I can't tell.

beep...beep...

"Lizzie, please wake up. I don't mind if you don't remember me, just please wake up." He is sad. "Don't leave me." I can remember. I can see my life, all of it, and not written in my notebook -written, not drawn - but in front of me. It is amazing. I can remember words, and what they mean, even if it's just trickling through. A trickle is a tiny stream. I can remember every day, and every day there is Sam. Sam who has reminded me every day for twelve years who he is; tried to get me to remember; given me the notebook, but not allowed me to let me write his name. I remember his words, "You are patient. I would hate being unable to remember all the time" and feel sad for him. He is just as patient. I try to open my eyes, to see him, but they will not open.

beep...

"It's a miracle she didn't die when she was hit by the car. She forgot what a road is, you say?" It's a voice I don't know.
"Yes... I had forgotten to remind her what it was." There's a noise, a touch on my face.
"It's a very unusual condition she has. It's truly living in the moment. She shouldn't even be able to talk." I can talk. I can walk. I can run. I can sing. I can see. I can think. I can remember. I can live. I hear the click of a door closing, but it's as if everything has opened for me. It's as if knowing this has taken away the weight over my eyes. They flicker open, what a lovely word, and I can see.

Nothing has changed, really. I thought that there would be a big change. I see around me. The walls, the bed, everything is sno- no! white. And him. He is asleep, head near my arm. It's heavy as I lift it; it's covered in something; but I stroke his head gently. His eyes open as I smile. They're emerald green, so precious. It's like I'm giving him everything I remember as I whisper softly. "Sam."