There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my father.

“Ugh,” I groaned. After hours of homework, I was ready to give myself a break. I had been reading the same passage repeatedly, yet none of it has either registered nor rang a bell in my mind. Maybe I should check on Jamie, my younger brother, and see how he’s adjusting to the new swim coach. It doesn't seem like he particularly likes her. I thought while getting up and away from all this stressful homework.

I walked out of the room and towards the pool. It was where my brother should be having swimming lessons, which he seemingly dreaded more and more with each passing day. My stomach suddenly rumbled, and I figured I had enough time to stop by at the kitchen for a jiffy and make myself a sandwich. Striding through the maze of hallways, I crossed the threshold and into the kitchen. I eased open the fridge with my hips while leaning across the counter to take a plate from the cabinets. I grabbed condiments and ham from the fridge; I quickly fixed myself a sandwich and strode out.

I passed Jamie’s room and paused; hearing the sound of Jamie’s videogame, I slipped into the room intending to turn off his TV set but instead I found him amid dirty laundry and scattered homework.

“Where is our maid?” I thought, “My parents didn't hire a housekeeper pointlessly.”

“Shouldn't you be having your swimming lessons with Ms. Gerstein?” I asked, treading across the room while mindfully trying to avoid stepping on the mess.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P, and not bothering to look up from the screen, “Daddy said he had to talk to Ms. Gerstein.”

“What about?” I questioned, frowning, but Jamie was already consumed into a world of speeding cars and traffic cones.

Exiting the room, I hurried to the eastern corridor where our private pool was located, absentmindedly taking bites from my sandwich.

In that second, the sandwich slipped out of my hand and my brain went into a frenzy trying to make sense of the scene in front of me. There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my father. The sandwich dropped into the pool, sending a splash of water cascading across my calves, drenching my white high-top converse. Jolting out of my initial shock, my face became a mask of disbelief and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. A soft gasp escaped from my lips.

“This is not what it looks like,” my dad implored while trying to subtlety distance himself away from Ms. Gerstein.

“Such a typical and original line,” I retorted in a condescending tone, “Did you have to rehearse it?” I sneered, “How are you going to explain why you were practically eating her face?

Gerstein gave us both a smug, haughty look as though all of this was oh so very amusing to her. I spun away, not wanting to hear any of his excuses.

“By the way, pink lipstick doesn't suit you,” I added mockingly. He grasped my wrist but I shook it off venomously and fled from the room. I let my feet guide me, left and right, towards the door. Behind me, I could hear footsteps falling into place. I sped up, flying through the halls, tears building up behind my lids. Despite the hard exterior I was trying to portray, I was broken up inside.

Grabbing the keys from the peg beside the door, I shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind me. "Maybe I was being a bit childish but wasn't I at least entitled to my current behavior?" I thought. I sunk down into the cushion of the seat and ignited the engine, pulling the car into reverse and speeding out of the driveway, allowing myself one last lingering gaze at the only home I have ever known. “Home,” I scoffed and contemplated to myself, “not anymore.”

Unless I could somehow forget this ordeal, as unlikely as that may be, I should never return home, I thought bitterly, unaware that I was sealing my own fate.

I mindlessly drove around downtown for hours. Only then did I allow tears to streak down my face in sticky, glistening rivers. I didn't even have the heart to wipe them away. “Why?” I screeched angrily at the world. Finally the reality of the situation set in all at once and a fresh wave of pain sent another flood of tears down my cheeks. “What do I do now?” I implored. No such things were ever suppose to occur to my family; both of my parents came from notably wealthy, influential families with an unblemished background. Our family was one that others envied and many had complimented and praised Mom and Dad’s happy marriage. Now, it suddenly felt like I was torn out of a fairytale and stripped of my happily ever after; instead, I had been shoved unwillingly into a nightmare. The seams of my life were torn open, and nothing, not even money, could have returned everything to the resemblance of normalcy that I had before.

My father’s betrayal nipped at my heart and whenever I closed my eyes, the images appeared as clear as glass, sharp as a blade, and pristine as though it will forever be preserved in my mind.

As though out of the blue, a car swerved across my lane. I slammed on the brakes, but I instinctively knew it was already too late. A flood of eerie calmness seeped through me. I watched enthralled and with cold detachment at the series of events unfolding into which my beloved sky blue sports car slammed into the car in front of me. I closed my eyes and welcomed the darkness.


I fell in an endless battle between consciousness and complete and utter unawareness. Is this what it feels like to be dead? my subconscious mind thought in its rare moments of clarity. The fog descended once again, and I dropped into a seemingly ceaseless sleep.


My body felt heavy, and I peered out of my crusty eyelids at my surroundings in bewilderment, squinting against the intense brightness and trying to keep the dizziness at bay. It felt as though I was thinking through an impenetrable wall. I couldn't remember a thing. Where am I? What happened? Why can’t I remember anything? Where are mom and dad? I wondered. My mind struggled to process anything, and comprehension of how I got into this sorry state didn't add up. Finally, my eyes adjusted to the brightness although somewhat blurry. The room was filled with sterilized metal equipment and machines. The room was so utterly silent that I swear I could have heard a pin drop.

The white tiles and stark white walls glared me in the eyes, and bathed in all of its clean, spotless glory; not a single answer did it behold.

I propped myself up using my elbows as a stand but instantly fell back down in a heap, and my body convulsed from the pain. I eased myself back down onto the hospital bed and shuddered from the chill breezing through my thin cotton hospital gown. Slowly looking down, I examined myself; I wiggled my toes and moved my clumsy fingers across my face, gingerly pressing on sores and bruises. “Are there any scars that won’t go away?” I fretted although; it should have been the least of my worries.

“Ouch,” I groaned, having accidentally pressed into a bruise with too much pressure. I slowly turned onto my side slowly and peered at my barely mobile arms, noting the IV bandaged into my lower arm. I closed my eyes, fighting off the nauseating feeling caused by the efforts of such seemingly insignificant movements.

Suddenly an alarm sounded, blaring angrily across the room. My eyes snapped open again and I glanced down, finding that my right elbow was pressing a bright red button reading, HELP. Seconds later, doctors in bleach white coats streamed into the room, eyes darting everywhere, quickly accessing the situation with a keen eye.

“What is going on?” I croaked in a harsh whisper.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Remember what?” I tried to scream but my voice came out hoarse, reminding me of my sorry state.

“She most likely has a case of amnesia,” one doctor whispered in a hushed tone to another while scribbling madly on his clipboard, “Is it temporary or permanent?”

“WHAT HAPPENED?” I reiterated in a beseeching manner. Frustration, fear, and anguish bubbled up inside of me.

“What day is it?” they asked and I frowned not understanding why they wouldn’t know.

“April 8th,” I answered with a questioning tone.

“That was almost one and half months ago,” they replied.

The doctors looked from one to another in their all knowing way; not a single one dared to say another word. None wanted to be the bearer of bad news because certainly good news doesn’t associate itself with such grim faces. Fear seized me and I panicked, trying to shove myself up from the bed. “There is no way more than a month has passed,” I denied, tears of anger and exertion burning down my cheeks.

The doors busted open and slammed against the wall. My parents and my dear younger brother, Jamie, were ushered into the room. My mom hurried towards me, barely recognizable. Her beautiful, once regal tightly twisted bun was now streaked with white hair, and lines of stress and fatigue was evident on her face. Her clothes, which were usually coordinated perfectly and without a single crease, were now a mess, appearing to have been worn on in a careless manner. This woman, my mother, appeared so foreign that I, her daughter, barely recognized her.

“What are her conditions?” my dad asked in a gruff voice. However, with his hand fiddling with his tie, betraying his nervousness.

One doctor nudged another and then one of them finally spoke up. “She has awakened from her coma and appears to have a mild case of amnesia.”

“How mild?” he questioned, playing the part of a concerned parent.

“She appears to remember the day exactly a week from her car accident, which was one and a half month ago”

“Oh, really? So it isn’t too bad?” dad responded, letting out a sigh of relief.

Having heard enough, my mother encompassed me into a hug, grasping me tightly; although it hurt, I couldn't, wouldn't let go. In that moment, I knew that whatever was coming my way, she’d be there and everything, if not now, will eventually be okay. Like a toddler first learning to walk, dependent on its mother, my trust in my mom was resolute and for the moment, infinite.