“It’s okay, you’re not in any trouble,” the doctor said, clearly reading my mind—or whatever mind I had left. It was still blank. I felt it the second I woke up.
“I’m Dr. Cohen, I’m a psychiatrist here, and these two gentlemen are here to see if we can help you find out who you are. Do you still not remember your name?”
“No,” I said, glancing from her to the policemen and back again.
I heard a noise at the window, so loud that we all turned to look. A beautiful white dove on the windowsill was pecking on the glass with its beak. Did it want to come in? I could think of nothing worse than being “in” right now and I wanted to yell at it that it should fly the hell away.
I turned back and saw Dr. Cohen write something down in her file. So many files. So many notes. I wished I knew what was in them all. It seemed to me that everyone knew more about me than I did.
“And you still don’t remember why you’re in the hospital?” the doctor asked.
“They said I was in an elevator accident.”
“And is there anything you can remember about who you are, or your life?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re feeling very frustrated and confused right now.”
“Yes,” I admitted in a tiny voice that was almost inaudible.
“That’s perfectly understandable, but we’re all here to help you, and because you didn’t have any ID on you when you arrived, the police are here to help us find out who you are.”
“Hello, I’m Detective Nkanyezi Nleko, and this is our forensics expert, Officer Patrick.” The policemen came tentatively closer to me, as if I were a baby bird that had fallen out of a nest. Maybe I was? I knew nothing at this point, so I couldn’t rule out that possibility just yet. The dove seemed to agree, as it delivered a loud thwack to the window. So loud we all turned and looked at it again.
“Did you know white doves are the symbol of peace and that they choose one mate for life?” I heard myself say, and everyone turned and looked at me once more, the same look I’d gotten when I’d told them about X-rays. How did I know these random facts? I changed the subject. “How are you going to find out who I am?”
“Well, Patrick here is going to take your fingerprints and we’ll run them through the system and see what comes up.”
“Wait, do you think I’m a criminal? Why would you have my prints?” I stiffened as a memory came back to me. “I think I’ve seen TV shows where people get arrested and then have to have their fingerprints taken.”
“Your fingerprints are also on your driver’s license and ID card,” he said.
“Oh. I don’t remember that.” I looked over at Dr. Cohen again. “Why do I remember a TV show but nothing about myself?”
“Having these kinds of gaps in your memory is very common with amnesia. The brain remembers some things, but not others.”
“So my brain has decided to forget all the important things, like who the hell I am.” I lay back down in the bed, hating my brain right now.
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” the detective said. “Patrick is also going to take a photo of you and we’ll compare that to any missing person reports and also take it to the building you were found in and show it around. It’s a pity we don’t know the names of the other two women who were in the elevator with you—”
“There were others in the elevator? Are they okay? Was anyone else injured?” I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember this. It seemed like such an important detail.
“Both of them left the scene really quickly afterwards, so I think they’re fine.”
I looked down at my hand as Officer Patrick reached for it but stopped when he saw the bloody-looking grazes on my knuckles. He looked up at me.
“Do you mind? I’ll be careful,” he said.
I tried to force a smile as he dabbed my fingers in ink, then slowly ran them on a piece of card. I winced slightly as he moved the two worst fingers, the ones I had little movement in, as big scabs had formed around the joints. He immediately stopped and gave me an apologetic look, and the kindness of this gesture made me want to cry. I focused on the