"I don't...remember," I repeated myself for at least the twentieth time. I hadn't remembered what happened during the accident two minutes ago, and I still didn't. Wasn't doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result the definition of stupidity? These doctors certainly weren't intelligent if it was.
"Think Jenna, we really need you to try and remember." Right. Because if I just tried a little harder I suddenly wouldn't have memory loss. Honestly. I wanted to tell them to think. I could hear myself already, Think Dr. Berns, I really need you to remember the lesson you had on logic in fifth grade. I smiled to myself. "What is it Jenna? Did you remember something?"
The smile instantly disappeared and I rolled my eyes. "No. I don't remember anything. I'm sorry," With that I stood up and walked out of the room, the large wooden door swinging closed and coming to a click behind me. Outside the room everything was bright. Lights in the ceiling lit the hall to the point of glowing. The walls were painted white as was the floor. The only dark thing in sight was the blue railing following the lank of the hall. As if the bright atmosphere could take away from the fact that this was the wing of the hospital meant for people who weren't going to awake. The ones who were only breathing because of a machine.
It took me a minute to get down the hall to room I03. My mother was in that room. As was most of my family surely. My hand grabbed the handle but I stopped. I couldn't go back in there. Not yet. I sighed to myself and turned around, looking up and down the hall. In such a big building it would be easy to just wander. But I wasn't really in the mood, and I was getting light headed.
"Jenna, sweetheart. Are you ready to go home?" my grand mother turned the corner and came to a stop in front of me. I nodded in response. "Did you say goodbye to your mother?" I flinched at the sound of the word. No, I certainly had not said goodbye to her. That would mean I wasn't going to see her again. And I was...just as long as the machine kept her chest rising and falling. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to hold it together. A hand was placed on my shoulder, and I was being lead down the hall. "It's going to be okay."
Lights flashed when my grandmother and I stepped outside of the hospital. The stupid paparazzi clearly had no moral values.
Once I was in the van I buckled up and leaned against the window. It was the first time I had been in a car since the crash, and I was a little anxious. My grandma's hand rested on my leg as we drove out of the parking lot, and I soon found myself to be asleep.
I went straight for my bed when we got to my house. Collapsing onto it, I felt secure. A week spent in the hospital, most of which I was stuck in my room, made me miss having my own place. Let me tell you, the privacy in a hospital room is minimal. The constant monitoring kills any hope of that. Visitors would have made it even more difficult, but I had requested not to have any. As if I wanted half my school coming to the hospital to see me with tubes coming in and out of me, and bandages on my face. Not the reputation I wanted, thanks.
Yet, there would be plenty of questions upon my return. Most of which I didn't have the answer to. Strangely enough, when you're flung from a car and hit your head, you can lose your memory. What a concept. My hand found its way to the spot on my head where I had gotten the most damage. It stung to touch it, but it was one of those things you couldn't help but do. Next I looked at my arm. There was a crescent shaped cut on my wrist from going through the window. The doctor had said it would scar. I wasn't looking forward to that part at all. Then again, he had also said I was lucky to be alive. I guess it was a fair trade.
"There's my girl!" my grandpa came into my room, a huge smile on his face. I sat up and grinned at him.
"Hi grandpa."
