I wake to a balmy day.
My eyes are still closed, but the sun is blindingly bright. It feels so warm and cozy, I almost don’t question the wet feeling on my back.
I move my fingers first. They tell me whatever I am lying in is wet. I don’t want to move. I’m so comfortable.
Rubbing my eyes, I sit up. A groan passes through my throat and leaves my mouth., My muscles are stiff like I have been oversleeping on a Saturday morning. Or afternoon, judging by how high the sun is.
For a moment, I just sit and watch what is unfolding in front of me. Birds are hopping and chirping to each other. A few kids are playing in the playground across the street and--
I am in a park.
Why?
Why did I wake up in the park? What was I doing last night? The day before that?
My stomach flutters and my heart migrates into my throat. I have to clench my teeth to make sure I don’t throw up.
I force myself to my feet only to find that the world is spinning.
Of course it’s spinning, a voice says in my head.
But it’s spinning too fast. I sink back to the ground and put my head between my knees.
When I feel something warm spread from my head, I freeze.
Blood. Everywhere.
Blood on my hands, blood on my shirt, on my face. I even taste it in my mouth when I run my tongue over my teeth.
My heart is pounding so hard I have to struggle to hear anything else.
Someone starts screaming.
The children stop playing, dogs stop running after tennis balls and it seems that the trees stop swaying. Where is it coming from?
Me.
I am screaming.
An older couple appears before me. One of them has the phone to his ear and the other is asking me questions I can’t hear.
Soon, I find myself in the back of a car. My heart isn’t beating as loud anymore. Slowly, I start putting names to the sounds I’m hearing.
First, it is my breathing. Then the tapping of my fingers on my pants. The engine and the radio. But the man turns it off and continues to speed down the road.
“Sweetie?”
Voices. I can hear voices.
The woman in the passenger’s seat is looking at me through the side mirror.
“Why don’t you see if you have any ID on you?”
I nod then answer, “Okay,” to see what my voice sounds like. It is light and small.
Maybe silvery? How old am I? I can’t remember.
I find a small wallet in my back pocket. But no phone. Weird. Especially since I’m only…
Twenty-one? That’s it? Fresh out of college and I don’t even have a cell phone?
Unless I didn’t go to college. What if I am homeless? That would explain my waking up in the park.
But I have a driver’s license. And I have an address on my ID.
We are nearing the hospital.
“They’re going to ask your name,” the woman reminds me.
“Oh, right!”
I look at the tiny card in my hands.
“Ruby Hayes,” I read aloud.
She smiles at me and whispers to the man behind the wheel. Probably her husband.
We pull up in front of the emergency entrance. He addresses me for the first time and I am almost afraid. But when I see his face, I realize he is just as afraid as I am.
“Can you walk?”
My stomach is churning again so I keep my mouth shut and nod in response.
When I stand the world tilts a little, but the two of them help me inside. The doctors take me right away.
How bad do I look?

Amnesia.
That’s the only medical term I can understand. Amnesia and concussion. They’re supposed to bring me back to the ER if I start showing signs of agrammatism or agraphia.
“They” are my parents. However, I’m going to call them “them” for the time being because I don’t feel comfortable calling them Mom and Dad. They haven't given me their names either.
She (alleged mother) places her hand on my bruised one. “Do you need anything?”
Yeah, my memory. But I don’t say it aloud. Her eyes are red and I don’t want to have to go through that awkward thing where I tell her it’s all okay and pretend that I don’t picture her as a stranger. So, I shake my head.
“Actually,” he (alleged father) starts, “could you get me a coffee?”
Something passes between them. Then she says, “Sure.”
The woman leaves the room and I’m left with the man. I can’t hear anything but the beeping of the heart monitor. He doesn’t say anything . He just stares at his hands.
Something about him seems familiar. I'm just not sure what it is. It's the most
irritating thing in the world, not being able to remember something. It's like I can feel the memory tickling the back of my brain, but the amnesia kicks in and rejects anything from penetrating its wall.
His hair reminds me of someone. And after a while, I figure out it's me. We have
the same hair color. Maybe he really is my father.
"Ruby?"
That's me, I think and force myself to look up. I have to remind myself that my
name is Ruby.
"Your mother--" he stops himself. "Jeanine is just trying to do what she thinks is
best for you."
He pauses, but I know he has more to say, so I stay quiet.
"I know how she can be," he continues. "So, don't feel pressured into doing what
she wants. If you're not comfortable coming home with us, let me know."
I smile and nod even though I still don't have a choice. Even if I choose not to go
with them, where else can I go? I don't remember where I live or if I have any friends. I must be antisocial since I have yet to find my phone. Or maybe I'm just flighty and lose things often.
"Can I ask you a question?" I hear myself say.
His back straightens as he looks at me. "Sure."
"What's your name?"
He surprises me by standing up and offering me his hand. "David."
I take his hand, positive that my grip is sloppy compared to his firm one.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance."

The doctors decide last minute to keep me overnight for observation. This
wouldn't be a big deal to me if I didn't need a shower so badly.
It's six o'clock now and the news is on. No one bothered to show me how to
change the change the channel, so I am stuck watching bad news. Literally. High school students were selling drugs, newborn babies are being abandoned in public bathrooms and people are getting beaten to death by muggers.
God bless America.
The murder of Samantha Green, aged twenty-two, is the last story I listen to
before falling asleep.

That night's sleep is the most disrupted sleep I've ever had. The doctors had to wake me up for no reason at least four different times in the middle if the night.
"How are you feeling?" they had asked me.
Each time I answered, "Tired."
Apparently the irritation in my voice convinced them that I was well enough to go
home this morning.
David and Jeanine bring a bag of clothes for me to change into. Whether they
are mine or someone else's I have no idea. But they fit and they aren't made of whatever horrible fabric the hospital gowns are made of.
I change in the small bathroom, taking my time at first. Then, when I hear hushed
voices, I hurry to see what's going on.
I step out and see my parents, David and Jeanine, I mean, standing in front of a
man wearing a tan suit. They stand shoulder to shoulder as if they could block him from my view. But the man is significantly taller than the both of them.
“What’s going on?” I ask when no one says anything.
The freakishly tall man pushes past the human wall and into the room.
“Hello, Ruby.”
Yes. That is my name. Ruby.
“How are you?”
I answer, “Fine,” but I’m sure that the man wouldn’t have stopped even if I said I wasn’t.
“I’m Detective Mason. I’d just like to ask you a few questions.”
Cold runs down my spine. I tell myself it’s just the nerves and try to relax as he takes a seat at the food of my bed.
“She doesn’t even remember who she is,” Jeanine snaps.
“But she remembers her name,” he says. He doesn’t look at her, just fixes his gaze on me.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I hear her mumble.
I almost want to smile. Not because I think the situation is funny but because even though I struggle with picturing Jeanine as my mother, it is so obvious that she is. She fights for me just like any mother should.
“I know it because my ID tells me so.”
“Hm.” That’s all he does. Hum.
“Well,” he continues, “you wouldn’t know who this is, would you?”
He holds up a picture of a girl with honey blond hair and pale blue eyes. She’s wearing a graduation cap.
“Do you know her?” he asks again.
My first instinct is to tell him no. But that’d be a lie. I know her from somewhere. But where?
“I saw her on the news last night,” I say, happy that I can at least recall the previous night’s events. “Why, who is she?”
“Your best friend.”
The accusatory tone of his voice causes guilt to stir in my stomach and swell in my chest. But that’s not my fault. It’s the fault of whoever bashed me in the head.
“Sorry,” I say, but I’m anything but sorry. I’m angry that this man has barged into my hospital room and accused me of faking a medical condition that was diagnosed by actual doctors. “I don’t remember her.”
With a tight-lipped smile, he stands. He doesn’t bother to look at me as he says, “Thank you for your time.” Then he’s out the door.
My parents try to comfort me, but it only makes things weird, because I can tell they want to hug me or show some kind of affection but we all know I’m not ready for that. So, we’re left standing a good six feet away from each other, pretending that everything is fine.
The hospital lets me leave, finally, but I can’t just stroll out of the place. No, that’s just too easy, isn’t it? I have to be wheeled out.
Seriously?
What does amnesia have to do with my legs? Last time I checked, I was capable of walking to the car. Or truck.
It occurs to me that I have no ideea how my parents got here. Did they drive or did they live close enough that they walked?
It turns out that they did drive a car. A Lexus to be exact. We must be rich because those things are expensive. I think.
I’m starting to figure out that now that my memory’s all screwed up, I’m not really sure of what I know and what I don’t. Do I really remember knowing that Lexus cars are expensive, or is my mind tricking me again?
When I get into the backseat, I let myself cry. I cry because I don’t remember who I am. I cry because I can’t even feel sad for the death of my supposed best friend. I cry because I can only imagine just how horrible I’m making my parents feel.
Jeanine looks back at me for a second. I’m afraid that she’s going to say something about the wetness on my cheeks. But instead, she offers me a sad smile and turns her attention back to her husband.
It is the simplest, yet nicest thing she has done for me.

When we get home, David shows me my old room while Jeanine orders pizza.
The walls are a light blue and the queen-sized bed is covered more with pillows and stuffed animals than bedsheets. The desk opposite the bed is bare except for the high school diploma, which I assume is mine. The bookshelf next to that is still stacked. I guess I like to read.
“Most of your clothes are in your dorm, but there should still be some in your drawers,” he says.
“What college do I go to again?” I ask.
“Adams State.”
“University?”
“You remember?” I see the light in his eyes and feel terrible that I have to dull it.
“No,” I say. Just as quickly as it came, it disappeares. I have to avoid looking at him or I’ll feel guilty.“I just took a guess.”
“Oh, okay.” He tries to pretend he isn’t upset, for my benefit or his I’m not sure. Either way, it’s written all over his face. “Get settled. Pizza won’t be here for a while.”
He pats my back before retreating down the steps.
After a long hot shower, I find myself pulling out a pair of sweats and a sleeveless top before collapsing onto my cluttered bed. I sleep without lunch.

“Hurry up, Ruby! We’re going to be late!”
I bite the groan that threatens to come out of my mouth. “This stupid dress doesn’t fit, Sam.”
The bathroom door opens and Sam stands there with her bone-straight blond hair and silver hoop earrings.
“What do you mean?” she says, “You and I are the same size.”
This time, I don’t bother fighting a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t fit!”
She must’ve found my annoyance amusing because she laughs as she comes inside to help.
“What are you talking about?” she says after making sure the zipper is all the way up. “It fits perfectly.”
“This is a shirt on me.”
She rolls her eyes. “It looks like a super hot dress on you.”
“If I bend over it will rip.”
“You’re not supposed to bend over, silly.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You squat.”
I run my hands down the sequined green dress. “I feel naked.”
Sam laughs again and takes my hand to lead me to her dresser which she has turned into a makeup table.
“Just stay calm,” she tells me. “We’ll go in, say hi and if you really don’t want to stay, we’ll have a movie night in our pajamas.”
“With cheap microwavable popcorn?”
“Duh.”
Sam wraps her arm around my shoulders and I smile as she does my makeup.
I’m lucky to have such a cool roommate. Some downright hate theirs. And Sam doesn’t ask for much. The least I can do is let her doll me up and drag me out and take me to a party every once in a while. I’m always asking her to help me study when she has her own homework to catch up on. So, tonight, I’ll give her what she wants

It’s dark when I wake up. The clock says it’s after eight o’clock, but I don’t feel like I’ve slept at all.
I have to keep reminding myself that I’m at my parents’ house. My dream of her was so vivid, I’m almost convinced it wasn’t a dream. I swear I can remember her now. I remember saying the words and I remember her replying to me.
I can still feel the hug she gave me that night too. It wasn’t in my dream, but I know it happened.
I finger the bandage on my left temple, wondering if it was a memory.
There’s only one way to find out.
I change into faded jeans and head down the stairs.
Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch together watching a movie. Mom hits the pause button before asking, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I say as I go into the kitchen. “Starving, but okay.”
“There’s pizza in the fridge,” she says.
I wait until I’m finished eating and cleaning up to walk back into the living room. I expect to have to speak up to get their attention but before I can think of what to say, the movie pauses again and my parents are looking at me, waiting for my question.
“Can you take me to my dorm?”
“You can’t drive?”
Mom smacks Dad upside the head, almost making me laugh. “Of course we’ll take you.”
“I would drive myself,” I start, feeling the need to explain. “I’m just not sure if I um...remember how.”
My face gets hot. It takes me a minute to realize I’m blushing. But thankfully, no one says anything.
I find myself humming to the songs that play on the radio. Mom smiles and even my Dad glances at me through the rear view mirror. I’m not sure why, but then the lady on the station tells me they are the top hit songs of this year. New songs.
By the time we get to my university, I have high hopes. I know if I’m able to remember newer songs, I can remember my life. There has to be something here that would trigger my memory.
Dad parks the car, but keeps the radio on.
“Do you want us to come with you?” Mom asks.
I shake my head and take off my seatbelt. Dad is looking at me like he’s trying to send me a message telepathically. But I put on a brave face and say, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
This seems to calm him enough to unlock the doors.
I’m about to walk away when I realize I have no idea which room I stay in.
“Third floor, room 3-12.” Dad winks at me and I wink back. Something I didn’t know I could do.
I get to the third floor and count the rooms as I pass them. Then, I’m standing in front of my dorm room. My locked dorm room. And here I am with no key.
Real smart, Ruby.
But then I hear something chime on the other side of the door. A cell phone?
I knock on the door and wait for an answer.
Nothing.
The phone continues to ring and I knock harder.
Once the phone stops, so do I. Either my roommate has the ability to sleep through the apocalypse or she left her phone.
“Ruby!”
I turn to the sound of my name. I’m getting quite good at that.
A man is rushing down the hall with a rumpled looking outfit and messy hair. Altogether, he looks disheveled.
As he gets closer, I can see his dark hair is graying at the roots.
“Thank God,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “I was worried sick.”
I stand completely still. I don’t know who this guy is, if he’s crazy or if I just don’t remember him.
He lets go, oblivious to my suspicion and traces the bandage on my head. “What happened to you?”
As politely as I can, I remove his hand and try to take a subtle step back.
“Small accident,” I say, not wanting to get into details.
“I’ve been calling you all day and I left you a bunch of messages.” His eyes hold something I’m not familiar with.
When I don’t say anything, he grabs my hand and I try not to balk. “Ruby, what’s wrong?”
“I have amnesia,” I spit out.
“Amnesia?”
I step away when he tries to get closer.
“That doesn’t really qualify as a small accident.”
It occurs to me that everything he’s done in the past minute is far from platonic. And he’s old!
“What’s your problem?”
The man looks taken aback by my outburst. I almost feel bad for hurting him. For whatever reason, we are the way we are because I had wanted to at some point in my life. I just can’t remember it. I have to trust that I knew what I was doing.
“Well, can we um...maybe not?” My question makes absolutely no sense, but he seems to understand what I’m trying to say. “I don’t even know your name.”
He nods. “Sure, sure. It’s Chris.”
“Okay.”
He stands there quietly and I wait for him to say something.
“What are you waiting for?”
I’m surprised by his question. I guess I’m not waiting for anything.
“Nothing,” I answer. “I’m just going to leave now.”
“Will you call me?”
“Can’t,” I say quickly. “I’m pretty sure I left it in here.” I indicate the door.
“You’re locked out?”
I nod. “Can you help me get in?”
He (Chris. His name is Chris, Ruby) pulls out a key and unlocks the door.
For a moment all I can do is stare in horror.
“What?” asks Chris.
“Why do you have a key?!”
He scratches the back of his head. “Um, we’re friends?”
“We’re friends,” I repeat, skeptically.
“Something like that.”
“What does that mean?”
Chris is silent. It frustrates me to the point where I want to beat him in the head with a stick. But I resist. Mostly because I don’t have a stick.
“You’re disgusting.” I don’t need my memory to know what his silence means.
Chris rolls his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Fine.” It nearly kills me to let him off the hook, but I know right now I need him to find out what happened to Sam.
I walk inside.
It is an astonishingly small room. Somehow, we managed to fit two twin beds and two dressers, but there’s still clothes and textbooks scattered all over the floor. There’s a phone on top of one of the beds. My phone.
There are pictures of Sam and me everywhere. Always smiling.
“So we were roommates,” I say, confirming that the dream was actually a memory.
Chris nods. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Do you own a TV.” I didn’t mean to sound cruel as I said it. But I don’t apologize for it either.
“What? Did something happened.”
“She’s dead, you idiot.”
“What?!”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Were you friends with her too?”
I expect him to snap back at me. Instead, he says, “Are you okay?”
“No.” My answer is so soft, I’m not sure if he heard it. “I just want to know what happened.”
He lifts his foot as if he’s about to approach me. Then he rethinks it and stays put. “Meet me at the cafe down the street tomorrow morning at eight.”

"You were our professor?!”
He hushes me while frantically waving his arms around.
I take a sip of my coffee in an effort to hide my face from the other people in the cafe.
Chris offers to help me find the pieces I was missing over coffee the following morning. So now, here I am trying not to choke on my hot drink while he tells me all the details of my crazy life.
“Sam got really upset when she found out,” he continues. “I don’t know why. I swear, sometimes you girls just look for something to argue about.”
I roll my eyes at his misogynistic comment. “How did she find out?”

“She overheard us arguing.”
“About…?” I say, hoping he’ll elaborate.
He sighs. “You wanted to break it off. You said our relationship didn’t feel right to you anymore.”
So, I did have some sort of common sense.
“How long were Sam and I fighting?"
Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. You didn’t tell me anything after that night. You stopped answering my calls.”
I push away my coffee, no longer wanting it. “Thanks for the coffee. I have to go.”
“Wait!” Chris grabs my wrist. “Can we still--”
“No,” I interrupt. I know what he was about to ask me and I need to make thing right. “We’re done.”

That night, I have another memory. Unlike the last one it isn't good.
Instead of being a part of it, I watch it play out in front of me.
I’m standing in a classroom in front of Chris. I’m stomping my feet and my face is red as I whine to him like a little girl.
“I just can’t do it anymore, Chris!”
“We can make it work,” Chris says.
He takes my hand (gross) and kisses it (EW!).
“You’re not listening to me. I can’t lose my friend.”
Chris drops my hand like it’s vile. “What about me?”
“God, you are a selfish prick!”
The sound of the door closing stops our argument.
I watch as Sam stands still in the classroom.
“You’re sleeping with him?”
It’s the quiet in her voice that scares me. If she had yelled, I would’ve known that she got all of her anger out then and there. The calmness of her voice tells me she’ll never forgive me.
“Sam, I--”
“Don’t bother,” she interrupts. And then she’s gone.
Tears run down my face as I turn back to Chris. “Do you see now?”
“Ruby, I love you! We can work it out.”
“No, you don’t,” I say. “You love your wife and four kids. Leave me alone.”
When I wake up, I remember.
I remember how good a friend Sam was to me.
I remember the betrayed look on her face when she found out about my affair.
I remember she never forgave me. But why? Why not forgive me? Having an affair with a teacher has no effect on her.
There’s something tickling the back of my brain again. I’m so close to piecing this together, but I just can’t remember. I know there’s a reason for Sam’s anger.
I give up and fall back against the pile of pillows. I’m so frustrated, I cry. I don’t bother trying to stay quiet. My parents must know that I need to be alone because they don’t try to comfort me. They let me grieve.

I know I’m dreaming when I see Sam.
We’re in the park again and she has an angry expression on her face.
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.” My voice sounds just as whiny as it did before.
“It’s not!” Her voice gets louder and louder as she goes on. “You either did it to hurt me or you just didn’t want me anymore. Which one is it?!”
“Why all of a sudden are you playing the victim?!”
“Are you kidding?!” The music from the party drowns out her screaming. “You cheated on me!”
“Chris actually loves me!” I explode. “He doesn’t hide our relationship like you do!”
“Yes he does! What teacher wants to advertise he’s fucking his student? Besides, you knew I wasn’t ready to come out yet. You said you would wait!”
“That was before you started flirting with other guys.”
She laughs a humorless laugh. Almost maniacal. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“All those parties you drag me to--”
“I don’t flirt with other guys!” she interrupts. “But apparently, you do.”
Tears pool in my eyes as I scream, “I hate you!”
“Yeah? Well, I was in love with you!”
She hits me in the head with something hard. Maybe it was just her fist. I can’t be sure.
I try to tackle her, but I trip on something. We go tumbling down and I use my arms to break my fall.
Only my arms land on her neck.
The fire that had been burning in my chest douses and I sit above Sam, waiting for her next move.
She’s still. Absolutely still.
“Sam?”
She’s not moving. I can’t tell if she’s breathing, but I’m too scared to check.
Before I can try to process what’s happened, I take off. I don’t last long though. The black dots in my vision get bigger and bigger and soon and I can’t see anything past them.
Everything is black.

I wake up again with a start.
I’m sweating and panting.
I remember everything.
I can feel the rage that completely took me over three nights ago. I can feel my heartbeat rise just as it did when I thought…
I push it from my mind. I can’t think about that now.
But you have to, a voice says. You have to tell someone.
I’m about to get out of bed when my parents walk into the room.
Dad refuses to look me in the eye and Mom’s lips tremble with unshed tears.
“Get up,” Dad says before I ask what’s happening. Part of me already knows.
In the living room is Detective Mason.
Instead of the tan suit he wore before, he sports a navy blue one.
“Ruby Hayes,” there's a glint in his eyes, “you're under arrest for the murder of Samantha Green.”
I walk to him and willingly give him my hands. I hope that this small action shows someone, anyone, that I’m not the girl I was three nights ago. I can’t make it up to Sam now, but at least I can take responsibility for what I’ve done.
I’m sorry, I think as the handcuffs click tightly around my wrists. I’m so sorry.