It happened on a Sunday night near the end of January.
A cold and wet winter's night. Everything looks all smudged and diluted and grey. There's not even a hint of greenery anywhere yet, it's all dirty slush from the last big snowfall and mushy leaves and everything just looks down right miserable to be honest.
Becky gets the call just after six in the evening. She doesn't recognise the number but she answers it anyway and thank God she does. She doesn't really register most of the information that she is told, just the important parts: Charlotte's been in an accident, it's serious and she should get to the hospital as quickly as she can.
Charlotte. Accident. Serious. Hospital.
So she does go to the hospital.
When she gets there she wishes she hadn't.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Becky is exhausted - physically and mentally and emotionally. Her legs are crossed as she sits on the uncomfortable plastic seat in the dreary hospital waiting room; her hands are loosely clasped together, resting on her stomach. Her eyes are open but there's no movement in them.
In fact, there is no movement at all as the time passes. No head shake, no twitching of her thumbs or fingers, no tiny adjustments of her legs, no shifting or rocking, nothing, except the unavoidable reaction of blinking her eyes.
She's been in this position for the last two hours, simply staring at the wall, as though if she stares at it for long enough she will magically be transported elsewhere, preferably back in time so that she can avoid this whole excruciating disaster from happening in the first place.
Her legs should have cramped by now. Her feet should be tingly with hundreds of pins and needles. Her neck should be stiff from the lack of movement, but she looks as comfortable and as stress free as a woman sitting in her own home.
But while her body is still her mind is frantic. She pictures her mind as a little cartoon who is running around with sparks and smoke coming from their feet because they are traveling too quickly.
Charlotte.
Accident.
Serious.
Hospital.
Retrograde amnesia.
Becky's heard of it but she doesn't know much of anything about it. It's something you hear on tv shows or the movies, it's not something that happens to the people you love. There had been a sadness to the doctor's voice as he had explained to them, his voice carrying the echo of the loss that Becky currently feels.
Becky feels like she is underwater, everything is fuzzy and distant, as if it is happening to someone else other than her.
The dull ache inside of her almost cuts her adrift, unmoored from everything that really matters, an unforgiving tide that won't retreat.
"Becky!" She startles a little at the sound of her name but not enough to pull her attention away from the spot she's staring at on the wall. There are voices on the peripheral of her hearing field and she can hear machines faintly beeping away continuously somewhere close by too.
Becky's not sure what to say. She's not sure if she can actually say what she needs to anyway because if she says it out loud then that makes it real and she wishes desperately that it wasn't. If there was just some way she could rewind...
"Becky, what the hell is going on?"
Sasha crouches so that she's eye level with Becky and Becky finally tears her attention away from the wall and onto her best friend. She can see the concern painted on Sasha's face, eyes coloured by genuine fear and confusion.
