Amnesia

The room itself looked much like the rest of the house – clean, pristine, the picture of a perfect American family in a perfect American suburb. The room wasn’t what drew my attention, but rather the contents of the room. Against the farthest, pale pink wall was a white canopy bed with floral sheets, too many pillows, and a stuffed dog. Beside the bed was a small side table holding a lamp, alarm, tissue box and framed photograph. My eyes raked over the room slowly, taking in the contents and processing them individually. It was my room, I told myself over and over. It wasn’t that I didn’t remember it, because I did. I remembered the house, I remembered my family, and I remembered my room. It’s not like I forgot everything, it was just that I couldn’t remember a full week and a half of my life.

Stopping in the middle of the room, I turned with a smile plastered on my face and looked at my mother, standing a full head shorter than I and wringing her hands, eyes never once resting on mine for more than a second before fleeing again. The woman, as much as I loved her, had an overwhelming flaw of pretending problems didn’t exist in her perfect world.

“I tried to tidy it up for you a little bit while you were…away, sweetheart.” Away. I hated how she said “away” as though I’d been vacationing in Bermuda rather than in the hospital after a car wreck.

“Looks great mom thanks.” I sat on the edge of my bed and my eyes fell on the photo framed on my night stand. It was from the spring, graduation to be exact. My twin brother and I stood beside each other, each in cap and gown, diplomas held proudly in our hands as we smiled for dad’s Nikon lens to capture. “Alex, you’re holding it upside down!” “Thanks for that, Av. That’d be embarrassing to look at later.” I looked up at my mother, who was still standing, seemingly without purpose, in the middle of my carpet, eyes flitting from object to object. “Mom, where’s Alex?”

She finally looked at me. “College. He went away to college a little early. He says he’s sorry he didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“He left for college already? I still have another two weeks.”

“Yes well, you know how he is. I’m going to make some dinner and let you settle in,” she seemed to run from the room rather than walk. I rolled my eyes and let my head fall back onto the overstuffed pillow. My eyes started another gentle sweep over the room I’d inhabited for years, finally resting on the clothes I was wearing. A drastic change from my hospital gown, I was in blue jeans and a pastel pink sweatshirt with flowers on it. Alex had always made fun of me for being a “goody two shoes.” We were twins, anyone could tell from just looking at us, but we definitely didn’t act anything alike. Despite that, we’d always been best friends.

My stomach turned a little at that moment, remembering the last time I could recall seeing Alex. It’s the last thing I could remember before the accident, really. I’d been invited to Jean Wheeler’s end of summer party. I’d never been to a party before, and naturally I’d wanted to go. When I asked Alex if he planned on attending, he’d given me a strange look and asked if I knew anything at all about Jean Wheeler’s parties. I told him I’d heard they were to die for and I knew our classmates talked about them for months in anticipation. I figured they must have been pretty great.

“Avery, are you kidding me right now? We’re talking about Jean Wheeler here, the kid with the record of most beers downed and most girls seduced in one night, you realize that don’t you? You’ve never been to a party. Your first party will not be one of Jean’s.”

“Come on, Alex. What’s the big deal? You go to parties all the time.”

“Exactly. I go to parties all the time. You’ve never been.”

“Well I have to go sometime don’t I?”

“No, not really. You could be the good girl mom and dad want you to be and let me be the punk they always suspect is up to no good. You’re not going to Jean’s party.”

“Alex, listen to yourself would you? What’s your deal? I’m not your little sister, you know. We’re the same age. I can go if I want to. What’s it going to hurt? A little drinking at the party of the year won’t kill me.”

“Avery, Jean goes hard. It’s not just alcohol. If you’re cool with being offered cocaine and ecstasy in a stuffy closet, then whatever, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to get pressured into doing that.”

“You just have a stick up your ass because Jean didn’t invite you.”

“Fine Avery, you want to go? Go. Just don’t come crying to me when someone takes advantage of you, or spikes your drink.”

He’d been pissed. Even though I could remember the fight, I couldn’t remember if I’d gone to the party or not. The doctor told me I’d regain my memory soon enough.

I wondered if Alex was still mad at me. I climbed off of my bed and walked down the hall, noticing his bedroom door was open slightly. I walked in and looked around. The familiar smell of Axe hit my nostrils as I took in the posters covering the walls: Green Day, Blink 182, Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance. I noticed his guitar leaning against the unmade bed on the opposite side of the clothes-littered room. I was shocked to see his guitar there. It wasn’t like him to leave his guitar, especially if he’d left for college already. His leather jacket was hanging off of the post of his bed, untouched. Something felt strange, but I shook it off, turning back toward the hall and coming face to face with dad.

“Avery, what are you doing in here?”

“It’s a mess…”

“Yeah, it is,” dad agreed with a laugh, closing the door behind us as I followed him back into the hall.

“So where’s Alex?”

“Left for the military,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I thought mom said he went to college already,” I followed suit, crossing my arms and mimicking his stance.

“Well, he did, but the reason he left so early is because he’s joined ROTC to help pay for college.”

“What the hell’s ROTC?”

“Reserve Officer’s Training Corps…and watch your mouth. If your mother knew you had a mouth like that she’d have a heart attack.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Basically, he joined ROTC to help him pay for college. Renssalaer isn’t cheap, you know.”

I nodded my head, knowing full well how expensive college was. I, myself, would be going to Russell Sage in just a couple of weeks. Alex and I had purposely chosen colleges in the same town because neither of us did well with being away from home for extended periods of time. I didn’t want to think about college at the moment. It was too intimidating, too unfamiliar. I just wanted to enjoy my last couple of weeks of being with my family, even though my brother wasn’t there like I wish he had been. I wanted to enjoy my last couple of weeks of breathing in the clean Maine air before going to New York.

The time had begun passing faster than I’d cared to admit and before I knew it, the last grains of sand in my current life would pass to the bottom and an unseen hand would flip my hourglass over to a new start. I was scared. I had a lot of pressure on my shoulders, being the “good kid” of the family. My parents expected a lot from me and they always made sure I knew it. I’d always had the good grades and I’d never once been in trouble. Alex had good grades, too, but he was in trouble more times than anyone could count on their fingers. I went to bed early, got up early, I cleaned my room without being told, I spoke in a respectful manner to everyone. To my parents, Alex was just a punk teenage boy. He smoked, he didn’t take orders from anyone (which is why I was so shocked he’d apparently decided to join ROTC), and he’d be up until three in the morning practicing his guitar on any given night. That was the reason they’d told both of us at the beginning of our senior year that they’d help me pay for college, but Alex would be going it alone until he could prove he had the determination to take responsibility for his actions. I didn’t think it was particularly fair, but there was no convincing them otherwise. They didn’t know the Alex that I knew. Sure, he smoked, he wouldn’t follow orders, and at times he had quite a sailor’s mouth on him, but he was actually very selfless, extremely hard-working, and down to earth. If they’d seen that side, maybe they’d stop playing favorites (or at least seeming like that was their game) and treat us equally.

As the last couple of weeks slipped past me, I occupied myself with family gatherings full of eager relatives asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up (none of them asking how I felt after the accident, almost as if none of them knew) and going to lunch or the movies with friends before we went our separate ways into the bloodstream of adult life.

Toward the end of it, with only four days left until my imminent departure, I’d realized that I still hadn’t heard from Alex. I’d sent him texts but none of them had ever received a reply. This wasn’t like him, and I was starting to worry. Was he still mad at me over the stupid fight we’d had? Having had enough, I picked up my phone and dialed his number, waiting for his voice to come over the line and tell me that he was just busy and that he was sorry he hadn’t had time to call back, or maybe that he’d had his finger on the call button just as my name showed up on his screen. I waited, but never got any of that as a response. Instead, I got an automated voice telling me that it was sorry, but the number was not in service at this time. Simultaneously, I heard the blare of a car horn somewhere outside.  

Alex! Truck!

I dropped my phone onto the bed, not bothering to hang up right away. I’d been hit with an overwhelming sensation at that moment, and it was as though a flood of memories was breaking past a mental dam, trying to drown me and pull me under. I had to stay afloat.

I could remember. The night of the party, I was at Jean’s house. I’d had a couple of beers (which for me, that was a couple of beers too many) and wasn’t feeling well. Some jerk, probably Jean, had backed me into a bedroom upstairs and had been trying to convince me to do things that I really didn’t want to do. I was scared. I was drunk. In a panic, I knew I couldn’t call mom and dad to come get me, so I called Alex. I swallowed my pride and admitted that he was right, and that I was wrong. He didn’t say much on the phone, but when he came to get me, he made up for the silence on the line. Much to my surprise, instead of being condescending and telling me that he’d “told me so” or rubbing it in that he knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it, he was concerned about if I’d been hurt. He wanted to make sure I was okay. He was paying probably a little too much attention to me as we were driving, because he hadn’t seen the pick up truck coming around the corner at least 20 mph over the speed limit. He hadn’t seen it. I had.

“Al-Alex,” I’d slurred, putting a hand to my eyes to block out the blinding light of the oncoming high beams. “Alex! Truck!”

I’d been too slow at warning him. He’d been concerned with my gesture of covering my eyes in pain. The truck hit the driver’s side and crushed the side of the car in like an unwanted soda can, sending us spiraling into a nearby ditch. I didn’t feel any pain, other than in my head from where it had hit the window and bounced back. I looked over at Alex, already slipping away from me while he was still so physically close, and tried to reach for him. The blood streaking down his face as he looked directly at me with eyes steadily losing their fire and life made it apparent that we weren’t both getting out of this alive.

Tears were falling down my face and I was screaming, pounding my fists repeatedly into my pillows. I could remember exactly what the accident had caused me to forget. It was my fault, all my fault. If only I’d listened to him in the first place, we’d both still be here today. Because of that, I didn’t think I deserved the spot I held in the world. He should have been the one to survive, not me.

Mom and dad ran into my room, eyes wild as they tried to calm me down. I was incoherent, screaming and swearing, nails scraping violently at my wrists in a primal attempt to inflict some sort of physical pain in the subconscious hopes that it would subdue the emotional pain, so intense in that moment. They were asking what was wrong. I couldn’t answer. I felt numb. I heard my mom ask if I wanted some hot chocolate, if that would help make me feel better.

“Nothing will make me feel better!” I screamed in her face, my dad now holding down my wrists. I was in hysterics at the sudden realization of what had happened to my brother. It had hit me like…well, like the truck had hit him. At that moment, I realized something else. They’d both lied to me. He wasn’t in ROTC. He wasn’t at college. He’d never be in college, not now or ever.

“You filthy liars!” I screamed in their faces, spitting my words out with uncouth venom I’d never before possessed. “I hate you! I hate you!” My screams slowly subsided into loud and wrenching sobs. I wanted to die.

“Avery, what are you talking about?” mom asked, looking uncomfortable. “We would never lie to you, you know that.”

“Alex is dead! He’s dead and you told me he was at college!”
The room fell silent. Mom stood from her spot at the edge of the bed and put her hands to her face, releasing a loud sob before she bolted from the room. The air between dad and I was thick and acidic. “Avery, you made your mother cry.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care anymore! He’s dead and you lied. You LIED!” I started screaming and sobbing again until I felt a callused hand connect with my face. I cut myself off abruptly.

“This is no time to break down. Don’t you think it’s hard on us too? We just lost our son, so shut up and pull it together! Is this really how you want the last few days to be before you go to college? Is that how you want the relationship between all of us to be when you take off?”

“Get out. Get out of my room.”

“Avery—“

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” I screamed, hitting at him with my small fists and hoping to inflict some sort of damage, any at all. Dad gave me a disapproving look and stood, walking from the room and slamming my door shut behind him.
I rocked back and forth on the bed, fingernails still pulling at the skin of my wrists of their own accord.

Was that all they really cared about? They wanted to maintain the “perfect family” image and reputation, so they’d lied to me and then when I called their lie, they told me to calm down because I had to go to college in a few days? I couldn’t even think about college at a time so charged and filled with pain. My brother, my best friend, had been killed in a car accident and it had been my entire fault. Now I was expected to just pick up the golden girl, perfect child crown I’d set down beside my hospital bed and pretend everything was fine? Nothing was fine. I was sick to my stomach by the fact that they still thought it was fine. I didn’t want to be a part of their fantasy world. I didn’t want to help feed them their goddamn slice of American pie. If they wanted to pretend we were still a picture perfect family, they’d have to figure out how to do it without my help.

At that moment, the door opened again and my mom stepped timidly inside, taking small, cautious steps toward my bed with hands outstretched and shaking, lips puckered and quivering, and eyes filled to the brim with tears merely threatening to fall. “Avery…”
I looked at her with cold eyes.

“My little girl…I’m so sorry Avery, so sorry,” she sat beside me on my bed and pulled me into her arms, stroking my blonde sunshine hair as she rocked us slowly back and forth, an effort probably more to sooth her than I. I didn’t push her away, though I wanted to do just that. “He’s in a better place now, and we still have you. You’re a good girl, Avery, and we’re very proud of you.” She kissed my forehead. I sat up and pulled away.

“You can’t keep pretending life’s perfect.”

She looked away, hands shooting to the string of pearls around her neck and fidgeting. “Avery…”

“Life’s not perfect. Your son is dead.” I stood from the bed and crossed my arms, looking down at her as she started to shake with tears. “Your son is dead.” I repeated.

“I still have you,” she choked out from her saline cascade. “We’re proud of you.”

“What if I decided not to go to college, what then?”

She looked up at me, eyes growing in size and filling with shock. “Don’t do that, please don’t do that!”

“Why? Would it shatter your little ‘image?’ Is that what you’re worried about? I bet you’re glad he’s dead.”

“Don’t!” She looked as helpless as a small animal in a gutter in December, hands reaching for me again.

“I’m going out.” I left her where she was, hearing her sobs as I stomped out of the house. I was done playing these little games. Maybe I really didn’t want to go to college. I’d lost the one person who’d always cared for me and understood me no matter what. He was gone, and he’d never be walking through the doors I just ran out of again. Dead. That’s all he would ever be. He never got to accomplish his goals of being a biomedical engineer like he’d been talking about since junior high (or maybe a rock star). He’d never even gotten to be a soldier like he signed up for. Why should I get to live my dream of being an art therapist when I was the reason his had been shattered like the windshield on his Subaru Outback that night, or his skull for god sake? It was my fault, and I didn’t deserve to get out of this without sacrifice, especially since he’d made the ultimate sacrifice just because I was too stupid to listen to him.

I stopped my brisk walk abruptly when I came to the park. My eyes filled with tears as they scanned the playground, the flowers, and the memories from the very location. I remembered playing here when we were kids. I made my way to the swing set, sitting down in one of the uncomfortable, black rubber seats. Eyes shut, I started to swing. The higher I got, the louder I could seem to hear his voice in my ears. His laughter echoed through my head. Up in the air, touching the clouds with the wind in my face, I felt as though I’d gone back in time to when we were kids.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A biomedical engineer! Or maybe a rock star.”

“Bio…what? What does that even mean?”

“It’s combining engineering and medicine, obviously.”

“Oh hush up, Alex! How was I supposed to know that? I still don’t really know what that means…”

“What do you want to be?”

“I really want to be a counselor, you know, to help people…but I really like to draw too, so…maybe an artist? Maybe a counselor? Maybe an artist-counselor?”

“You mean an art therapist? That’s a thing I think.”

“Yes! That!”

“I think that’s really cool, Avery.”

I let myself slow to a stop on my swing and opened my eyes. He wouldn’t want me to give up, I was sure of that much.

Four days later, I carried my bags to the car, dad holding the door open for me as I struggled with the heavy load.

“Is that everything, Avery?”

I looked at my belongings I’d so meticulously packed over the past few days and frowned. It was, but something still seemed like it was missing.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, running back into the house and stopping in front of Alex’s bedroom door. I made my way over to the leather jacket hung over the bed post and picked it up, slinging it over my shoulders. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, it was as though the two of us were together again. I picked up his guitar and went back to the car, climbing in and holding it on my lap.

Who knows, maybe someday I’d learn how to play it.