Amnesia

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because you get everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

“Just because I am fortunate doesn’t mean I don’t work ha-”

No. Stop. Forget.

My eyes snap open. I’m momentarily blinded by the rows of blinding lights lining the ceiling. Where am I? What am I doing? My eyes slowly adjust to the brightness and focus in on a small inanimate object just a few feet in front of me. It’s a pale frozen hand peeking out from under a white sheet. Below the sheet, lies the outline of a person. My shoulders slump as I remember.

Her entire body is covered by the thin white cloth, but I can tell that she still has her perfect stature, confident and tall even after death. I can picture what she might look like- her blond hair fanned out perfectly behind her head, and her face, still impeccable.

She’s been my best friend since birth. Anna Grace Morgan.

Don’t cry. Don’t think. Lock away your emotions.

“She was found on the banks of Longfellow River this morning with a severe head injury,” the diener informs solemnly. “She was long gone by the time she was discovered.” My brain struggles to process his information. Anna and I had taken a leisurely walk last night around our neighborhood, and we crossed the bridge. That was it. We spent twenty minutes in the foggy darkness, judging Halloween decorations on the surrounding houses while complaining about the new onset of cold weather. The wind finally got the best of us, and we succumbed to our respective houses. Her to the prettiest stone mansion in the state, and me, to my family’s dingy condo. Nothing was strange or out of place.

“The only things found on her other than her clothing was a phone and a twenty dollar bill.” The diener continued on with his report.

“Was she wearing a necklace?” I quickly inquired.

He furrows his brow. “We didn’t find one on her.”

That’s strange. We both have worn our matching cheesy necklaces every day since the second grade. As far as I know, she had never taken it off.

My thoughts are interrupted with the sniffling of my mom standing by my left shoulder. She loved Anna like a second daughter. The golden one who came home with perfect math tests that I would later find pinned up to my fridge. I glance over at my dad, who is perched behind my right shoulder. He tries to maintain composure, but the glossy wall clouding over his eyes is a giveaway.

I should feel sad.

But I don’t feel anything right now.

I refuse to feel anything right now.

Because I know I won’t be able to handle it.

*****

The leaves on my driveway are fragile, breaking under my feet. I loiter through them to my car, my body heavy with dread. Today is the day of my police questioning. I’m nervous, but I know I have nothing to tell. Halfway into the car, I’m interrupted by a voice coming from over the fence.

“Hey, Alvah!” I turn and spot Logan.

Logan Davenport is my next-door neighbor. He used to be my best friend. The part of my childhood not spent with Anna was spent with him, trying to run away together into the forest behind our houses, and promptly returning an hour later because we got bored. We drifted apart, as friends always do, but when we pass on the street, we share small and genuine smiles to let each other know that we still remember.

“Hey! How are you?” I respond, making sure to grin through the broken voices inside my head.
“I’m fine. And you?” He fidgets with his hands, picking at his chipped nails.

“I’m okay.”

“Good.” He’s shifting his feet, walking on eggshells, scared to bring her up.

“Well, I have to get going. ” He waves goodbye, almost exhaling, as I shut the door.

When I reach the police station, I climb out of the car and walk to the building. The sky is overcast and gloomy, the rain from last night still stuck in the air. I enter the station, it’s creaking door alerting the secretary of my presence.

“Hi, I’m Alvah Diaz. I’m here for a police questioning regarding Anna Morgan’s death.”

“Ah, yes. Officer Baker is waiting for you in Room 12. I’ll lead you there.”

Officer Baker asked me how my day was, and then proceeded to cut me off with a question. How nice of him. He has moved on to his seventh of the day when his droning voice is interrupted.

“Why do you always think that? Why does everybody always think that? Just because I have some luxuries doesn’t mean I don’t have to try.”

“Because you don’t know what true work actually feels like. You complain and complain, but you have never experienced what everyone else has-”

No. No. Make it go away.

“Alvah. Alvah. Hello?” An insistent voice grows louder with every word. I snap my head back, startled. What just happened? What was I just doing?

“Alvah. Look at me.”

I remember where I am as I stare into the emotionless eyes of Officer Baker. His monotone voice has taken on a steely tone, forcing me to pay attention.

“Why aren’t you sad?”

His question startles me. Why am I not sadder? My best friend just died. I should be. My best friend just died. But I can’t even cry. Why can’t I cry?

*****

“Did you hear?” my mother calls from downstairs. I’m lying back in my bed. It’s the place find myself most these days.

“What?”

“They arrested Logan Davenport this afternoon.”

“What? Why?” I already know the answer. My heart sinks deeper in my chest.

"The murder of Anna.”

I feel like crying.

Logan murdered my best friend.

He murdered Anna.

No matter how many times I repeat it, I still can’t process it.

And then it hits me.

My best friend is gone.

I built my entire life around her.

I have no one to share inside jokes with.

I have no one to eat lunch with, or breakfast, or dinner.

I have no one left to talk to.

I have no one.   

“They found the fleece she was wearing that night in his trash,” my mother continues.

“He probably thought the trash would be taken out before he was suspected. Silly boy. He didn’t even hide it properly. It was lying right near the top.”

Something stirs up in my mind.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because you get everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

“Just because I am fortunate doesn’t mean I don’t work hard.”

“No! You don’t know what it feels like to truly work and earn something. Everything you have achieved has not been because of you, but because of what you have.”

“Why do you always think that? Why does everybody always think that? Just because I have some luxuries doesn’t mean I don’t have to try.”

“You don’t know what it true work actually feels like. You complain and complain, but you have never experienced what everyone else has.”

“You can’t say that. You have no idea what I feel because you’re always too caught up in your own self-pity.” She shoves me, just slightly. I’m too angry to think straight now.

“You have no right saying that. You have no idea what that feels like either. Everything is handed to you, your looks, your riches, your friends. Everything you have is based on your luck, not what you deserve.”

“You're just jealous-”

I push her, and she stumbles backward. The fragile, short sides of the bridge are no help as she goes careening off the side. I stand, staring down in horror. After seconds of suspension in the air, she drops onto the edge of the river. Her head hits a rock, and her body crumbles like the breaking of ice after bearing weight it can’t handle. The sound rings through the air. I’m frozen.

I can’t remember. I refuse to remember.

But I have to know. I need to remember.

I rush across the bridge and down to the meadow by the river. The thick mud slows me down, grabbing my legs as I try and run to Anna. I see her, with a pool of sticky blood surrounding her head, slowly spreading with every passing second. Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. I feel like this is a nightmare, but every time I try to force my eyes open, I just see her lifeless body, now drowning in her own blood.

What do I do? Oh God, What can I do? The blood isn’t stopping. It keeps on flowing, pooling under her body. Staining the rock, staining my shaking hands. Do something. Come on, Alvah, do something.

“Anna? Anna? Can you hear me? Please. Please just move your arm, foot, do anything.”

Silence. Nothing.

I reach down to feel her pulse in the underside of her neck. I can’t feel anything. Is she dead? Oh, please no. I think she is. No. No. She can’t be.

And then it dawns on me.

My once innocent hands are now stained with the blood of my best friend. I am stained, never able to get back from this moment. Not even the most intricate lie can save me now.

I just murdered my best friend.

It’s dipping below twenty degrees, and I can see my breath create a cloud in front of my face. I should be cold, but instead, I am numb all the way to my core. A sudden jolt passes through my body as I jump up, and immediately start to take off her jacket. No one can know. Her limp arms are heavy as I try to force the sleeves off. I struggle to pull it off while trying not to touch her in any way. No one can know.

When I finally get the jacket off, my hands are drenched in her blood. I really look like a killer now. I wobble as I struggle to get up from my knees, almost pitching forwards. As I’m looking over my best friend, my eyes land on her necklace, peeking out from under her sweater. It’s inscribed with a ‘b’, and half of an ‘f’. I have the other half resting on my chest.

And then I’m moving, not thinking. I delicately unclasp her necklace, which proves to be difficult with my trembling hands. I grasp it in my palm, enclosing my blood smeared fingers around the cold metal one last time.

I inhale a shuddering breath, taking in the scene before me.

Her hair is fanned out around her head, the moonlight catching it and making it glow. Her clothing is taut to her limp body, but she almost looks like she’s sleeping. Her face, is luminous, with not a hair or freckle out of place. She’s beautiful.

I’m sorry. I love you.

And I run.

I’m stumbling down the street, looking like a lunatic with my bloody hands and grimy legs. What do I do with this stuff? I can’t be associated with this. I look around the neighborhood and my eyes land on all of the trashcans lining the streets. Okay. That can work. My heart is jumping out of my chest. I cautiously open the lid closest to me, wincing at every creak. I bury the jacket, hoping it’s deep down enough in the trash. No one will be able to find it and trace it back to me. Alright. Done. I sprint to my backdoor, panting. I can’t believe that happened. Please tell me it didn’t. Please, let this be a nightmare. I’ll do anything.

And then I realize that I’m still holding her necklace. I can’t let go of it. I have to hide it. I open my closet door, and carefully hang it on a coat rack underneath my fleece jacket. It’s done.

*****

My eyes snap open.

Oh my god.

No. No. Please tell me that didn’t actually happen. Please, please.

I scramble down the stairs to the coat closet.

I open the door and switch on the light.

I let out a choking sob as I reach for the shining silver.

It’s her necklace.

I lift it up.

And it fits perfectly with mine.