Remembering Lilly Greene

The First Session

"I read what you wrote." My therapist, Dr. Wilson, almost smiled. "We have some talking to do. But of course, you know that already." I forced a smile back. Of course I knew. You don't just wake up in a hospital bed and expect to live a regular life. I remembered the faces too well. They stared at me with horrified eyes and pitiful expressions. I only recognized my dad and my brother, James. The rest were strangers, who I later learned, were my closest friends.

"Did writing what you know bring up any memories? Do you remember your friends at all?" Dr. Wilson's office was stuffy. The AC barely worked and her windows were locked tight. I wanted to roll my eyes. I didn't remember shit. I had barely been conscious for more than 3 days, what did she expect? 

"No. I can't remember a thing. All I see when I close my eyes is Lilly, riding her bike down my driveway. She didn't even know how to ride without training wheels." I sighed. This was frustrating. No, it was worse than that. It was torture. I could see her; brown hair in pigtails, riding her pink bike in circles. She was beautiful then. I wished I could remember her now. I had a photograph. There was a gold frame sitting on my windowsill. Inside was a picture of the two of us. We were eating ice cream. She was focused on the camera, but I was staring at her, grinning from ear to ear. I know that I was happy, even though I couldn't actually remember how I felt. 

"Have you talked to your friends at all? Any texts or phone calls?" Her voice was calm and soothing. I felt like I could fall asleep in the big, red armchair. I thought hard for a little while.

"Delilah called me. The girl. And Sean sent me a few texts. He's the one with brown hair. And the blonde one, Ryan? He texted me too. They try really hard. I feel bad. I feel like I'm letting them down." I remembered the words in my head. All 3 of them wanted to hangout. They wanted to see me. They all wished me luck in getting better. Luck isn't involved. I thought. I need my brain to work. I don't need luck. It wasn't fair to let my anger out on the people who tried to help. I gave polite thank you's and sent emojis back. They could tell I was full of shit.

"Okay," Dr. Wilson sighed. She was an older woman, mid 60s, with soft blue eyes and frizzy blonde hair. She sighed a lot. And smiled a lot. She was someone you'd want to hug after a long day. "I want to do something. I want to go down the list you wrote me and talk about each thing. Easy enough? Start with '1. I know she's gone.' Care to elaborate?"

"She, being the infamous Lilly Greene." I closed my eyes. "When I woke up in the hospital, I saw everyone I was supposed to. My dad and my brother, James. I recognized them. But there were the others. Delilah, Ryan, and Sean. I just kept thinking, Where is she? Where's Lilly? I knew I was missing her. I knew I needed to see her, talk to her. Everyone was there, but her. I asked them where she was. The girl, Delilah, she looked so sad. There was so much sympathy in the room, like all of them wanted to hug me, pat my back and tell me everything would be okay. Delilah told me. Delilah was the one who said that Lilly was gone." Dr. Wilson wrote something on her clipboard.

"Good. That's enough of that. What about 2? 'I can't remember the last 5 years of my life.' Talk about that for me?"

"Yeah, that's self explanatory. It's like all of high school is wiped from my mind. I remember tiny bits, like driving a car or playing cards. The people are always a blur, though. It's like I can only see my dad and James in my memories." We went down the list like this.

"3. I know who my friends are. I know Ryan and Delilah and Sean. And Lilly, of course. But like I said before, they aren't in my memories. If they are, they're just blurs or silhouettes.

4. I can't remember things because of her. The doctors told me all about it, this stress reaction. When something super traumatic happens, sometimes the brain shuts out all memories associated with. It's a defense mechanism. It's her being gone that caused it, I guess.

5 and 6.

7. The voicemail is supposedly what really put me over the edge.

8. I can hear it when I remember what it's about. I think everyone's scared to lose me again.

9. I know I love her. I miss her, even though I don't remember her. I feel like something's missing. I know it's her that makes me feel like that.

10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15.

16. I think she's dead now. Nobody has said that she's dead, but I can tell. I mean, she's gone. Her name is used in past tense. If I ask about her, everyone gets quiet. It's the only thing that really makes sense." Dr. Wilson gave me one of her sad smiles. For not understanding what my situation was like, she did a good job at making me feel like she understood. She slid the journal back to me.

"I know this is tough. I know it's not at all how you want things to be. I'm doing my best to help you get back on track. Keep writing for me, okay? I really believe that these entries will help your memory. Write everyday. Write any memory down. Make a list of what you remember, even if it's a tiny detail. I'll see you in a week, okay?" I nodded and stood up to leave, but remembered I had to tell her something.

"Dr. Wilson? I forgot, I remembered something the other day." She raised her eyebrows as if to ask What is it? "I remember arguing with her. I remember feeling a lot of regret. I remember talking to the police. But that's it. It's just a few brief seconds; and it's kind of mixed up. It's a memory though." I shrugged. Dr. Wilson's mouth formed a line. For a fleeting second, I almost thought she might tear up on me. Then she gave me that same sad smile.

"A memory is a memory. Write that in your journal."

"Remembering won't bring her back." 

"Not physically, no." 

And then I closed the door and walked down the hallway. All I could think of was this "goal" of mine, to remember. But what was the use of remembering things if the girl in all the memories wasn't alive to remember them with?