Chapter 1

I slowly breathe in, just becoming conscious of the world around me. The consistent beep I have heard for a few seconds was gaining speed now and I heard voices all around me.

“She’s waking up!” one was saying.

“Call in the doctor!” came from another.

“Melody. Melody, can you hear me?” a strong male voice asks with urgency and he sounds as though he’s addressing me. Although I’m not quite sure why he’s calling me “Melody”.

“I…” I attempt to let the man know that I can hear him, but my voice does not want to cooperate. I try to open my eyes. Very gradually, my vision begins to clear. I am in a small room with only curtains separating me and another room. I am surrounded by many friendly faces of strangers.

“Melody?” I hear the man ask again.

“Yes. I hear you,” I respond after clearing my throat.

A few sighs of relief come from people on the sides of my bed. I try to look at them, but my head begins to spin as I move. I close my eyes tightly and try to stop the room from moving.

“You suffered a severe head injury recently,” the man tells me, answering the question I was about to pose.

“Yeah, I was kinda guessing that.” The room starts to slow down.

“Thank God, you’re awake!” a small, middle-aged woman practically shouts at me. “We were beginning to think that, well…” her small blue eyes dart away as her voice trails off. She pushes her long, dark-red hair behind her ear and attempts to regain her composure. Unsuccessfully, I might add, for she’s nearly in tears.

A short, plump man places a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “But she’s okay, Shirley. Our little girl is just fine.” He takes a few steps towards me and grabs my hand.

Suddenly, I see a young boy doing the same thing. Just for a fraction of a second, I saw a glimpse of someone else. I yelp and the plump man jumps back.

“Mel! What’s wrong?”

I try to speak, but I can’t. Images, scenes, memories- all of a boy- are playing through my head. I see nobody else in these thoughts aside from him.

I see him holding my hand in a movie theater, the light dancing across his face. I see him smiling at me in a park; our lips just inches apart. Then we’re sitting on a couch and I’m reading a book with my feet across his lap. I hear his laugh. His voice. I feel his breath on my neck and the butterflies I had in my my stomach every time I met his beautiful eyes.

And then the images stop, just as quickly as they came.

“I was seeing things. Memories. Of a boy. Who is he?” I blurt out a bit quicker- and harsher- than I intended.

“What does he look like?” the kind-faced woman asks.

“He’s very tall. With curly brown hair. He... he has green eyes that are also a little bit blue and-”

“And we’ll worry about this later,” the man with the deep voice who called me Melody when I was first waking up interrupts. “I am Dr. Havishire. Do you know who you are?”

I immediately want to scoff and tell him that of course I know who I am. But the problem is, I don’t. I’m not even positive that my name is Melody. I don’t know how old I am or where I go to school. I don’t know if I like to read or play sports or sing. I don’t remember if I have friends or family. I remember the boy, and that is all.

So I answer instead with, “I am Melody. I think.”

“That you are,” Dr. Havishire says, surprisingly without sarcasm. “And who are these people?” he asks, gesturing at the plump man and the kind-faced woman.

I close my eyes and concentrate as hard as I can, searching through my memories. But I don’t find even a glimpse of this couple.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” I admit to the doctor, resulting in a sharp cry from the woman.

Dr. Havishire shoots her a look and reassures me that it’s okay not to remember. “Those are your parents, Melody. Allen and Shirley Evans.”

How can I forget my own parents? What’s wrong with me?

“Oh,” is all I can respond.

“Yes. Now, what do you remember?” Dr. Havishire asks with a kind smile.

“A boy. A tall one, with green eyes who wears-”

“Aside from the boy.”

“Not much.”

“Anything?”

“No.”

The doctor nods and gestures for my parents to step outside. I desperately want to hear what they’re saying, but the noise of the hospital makes that impossible.

I try to work on remembering my past. I start with things I know and hope to open up to things that I don’t.

My name is Melody Evans. I have a head injury. I have a father and a mother named Allen and Shirley Evans. I’m in the hospital. I’m in love with a boy who has green eyes. And he loves me. His name is…

I stop there because no amount of concentration can help me to remember. In fact, just the attempt as making my head hurt.

Just then, the three adults enter the room once more.

My father breaks the silence after a moment. “Mel, you were in a awful bad car accident with some friends.”

“One was killed, the other two escaped unharmed aside from a few broken limbs,” my mother interjects.

My father nods and continues with his slight southern drawl, “You were hit on the head real hard. And now you don’t remember us like you used to. So we’re going to bring in some visitors to help you remember. And when you’re head feels all better, we’ll put you in classes to help more. Okay?”

“Okay.” I find myself wondering if the past me talked more than the current me. The current me just can’t seem to hold a conversation. I blame the head injury.

“All right. When do you think you’ll be up for visitors, Mel?” my father asks with a grim smile.

“I feel fine. As long as I don’t move. So anytime is okay.”

“Oh, good! Your friends are just dying to see you, dear!” my mother exclaims with considerably more excitement that my head could take.

“Literally,” I say under my breath, thinking about the friend who died in the same crash I was in and cursing myself for not even remembering the kid’s name. Louder, I add, “Sounds good. I’m sure I’ll recognize them.” But I was saying that to reassure myself more than my parents, honestly.

Dr. Havishire whispers something inaudible to my parents. I roll my eyes; they’re talking about my condition. Why can’t they say it in front of me?

“Melody, I’m very sorry, but visiting hours are over,” my mother says, glaring at the doctor when she thought I wasn’t looking.

“Okay. Have a good evening, Mrs. Evans.” I smile. The formality catches her off guard and I feel guilty. But even if she is my mother, I don’t know her. So that feels like the proper way to address her. Especially since she’s already lying to me- Even in my current state, I know there aren’t “visiting hours” for someone in critical care. It’s idiotic, really. They wouldn’t restrict family members from seeing their loved ones when they’re inches from death. They’re leaving for another reason. One they don’t want me to know about.

My parents step out of the room, leaving me alone with Dr. Havishire. He smiles at me and asks if I would like to get some rest.

“Could you stay for just a second? I have some questions,” I ask timidly.

“Of course,” he responds, which I find to be nice of him. Doctors are usually pretty busy, yet he’s fine with setting aside time for my questions. Maybe he has to; I’m not sure.

“How old am I?”

He looks down at his clipboard. “Fifteen. Sixteen in a few months. Your birthday is on December twenty-ninth. Today is September fourth.”

I nod. “So, I’m a sophomore?”

“That’s right.”

“Do I,” I pause,searching for a decent question before settling with, “play sports?”

“You were on the junior varsity soccer team of your high school.”

Huh. Who would’ve guessed? I wouldn’t have put me as the “soccer type”. I was too small, from what I could tell by looking down at my thin body. “How do my grades look?”

“Before the crash, you had a 3.8 GPA,” he tells me knowledgeably and I’m truly astounded that he knows the answers to all my questions. I’m also partially creeped out that this guy knows more about me than I do. “Of course, you’ll be out of school for a while. But your GPA means you had seven A’s and one B.”

And I’m smart? Wow, I wasn’t guessing that either. “Oh. Well, okay. That’s about it. Thanks.”

He lingers for a moment before walking out without saying another word.

I hear the muffled noises of voices outside my room and the soft beeping of the monitor beside my bed. I glance at the clock; It’s nearly ten, I should be tired by now. But I can’t sleep and I soon give up trying. I’m too full of questions- ones that my doctor can’t answer. In fact, I don’t think anybody will be able to answer my questions.

When Dr. Havishire was telling me of my past life, it didn’t feel like he was talking about me. It felt like I was being told a story with a completely random character that I’ve never heard of. Except, the character was me.

However, the question I really want the answer to is not about who I am, but rather about who he is. The tall boy with the eyes that looked like the sea; The one who is quite literally in every single one of my memories because the only thing I remember about my past is him.

After reassuring myself that I would definitely discover his identity tomorrow, I feel myself drifting off into the peaceful land of unconsciousness…

Reviews

[C. Rose]

You have me hooked. Congrats.

The chapter as a whole hooked me, but the first sentence was plain in comparison.

There is a tense shift. The first chunk is in past and the rest is in present.

In general, you show over tell. But "I try to speak, but I can’t. Images, scenes, memories- all of a boy- are playing through my head. I see nobody else in these thoughts aside from him. " Felt like telling compared to the well shown flashes of the boy before and after this excerpt.

Opinion: I sense that there is more to the car crash story than they are saying. "lying to her for her own good". I never heard of classes for regaining memory - this makes me think that the memory loss was done to her because her parents did not approve of the boy, but something went wrong. Or nothing along those lines. Just giving you my predictions so you know what a reader might be thinking at this point.

My favorite phrasing was when you say something along the lines of "I couldn't sleep and soon gave up trying". I know that part isn't key, but I related to it.

You are getting this review because you joined "The Open Book".
Be sure to submit your book to the group to make it easier for other group members to find it.
As per the rules of "The Open Book" - If you review the first chapter "The Unaligned Stars" of my book The Betrayed Traitor, then I'll come back and review your next chapter.

[Megan Simpson]

Thank you so much for your help, I'll be sure to review your chapter within a week from today.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

You very much have me hooked on the story. That takes a lot of imagination, to
successfully speculate on how someone with a traumatic brain injury might think and feel

[Craig2591]

A good beginning. I don't know anything about amnesia or head injuries, but what you wrote seemed authentic. Be sure to do a lot of research on head injuries (if you haven't already) to keep it accurate.

The very first sentence says, "just becoming conscious of the world me". I think you're missing a word there.

Looking forward to the next chapter.

[Megan Simpson]

Thank you so much!!
It's supposed to say "the world around me" haha I'll fix that

[M.E.Lyle]

This is a great beginning. I've wondered what it might be like to have amnesia. It would be really weird.
You did keep my curiosity going, which is a good thing.
Good luck with the rest.

[Megan Simpson]

Thank you! I really appreciate that