Dove
I hated everything.
Hated the blinding white walls. Hated the sterile smell that chased away my every thought. Hated the tight band on my wrist that rubbed my skin raw. But, above all that. I hated their smiles. The ones the scrub-bound, stethoscope-wearing people gave me each time they walked through my door. It was a tight, forced thing. Laced with so much pity, it made my eyes mist. A smile for a girl who’d forgotten herself. Who’d been forgotten.
“Good morning, Dove.”
I sat up to the forced cheer in the nurse’s voice, to the name she used that didn’t belong to me.
“Morning.” I wondered if I looked as miserable as I sounded.
“Did you sleep well, dear?”
The nurse didn’t wait for my reply before wrapping cold plastic around my arm and slowly squeezing the life out of it.
“Your vitals are fine, as always. Do you have any pain?”
I shook my head once, dark tresses falling over my gown, the ones not bound by the bandage covering my head. The thick, scratchy material felt like a helmet, a shield against the world that had forgotten me. While I wore it, I was invisible. Even to myself. Myself. The thing I feared above all else.
I dreaded every trip to the bathroom, every pass of the mirror, every darkened reflective surface. Dreaded the moment I’d see my face and not recognize a dammed thing about it.
“Dove,” I raised my head, finding a deep brown, lightly wrinkled gaze upon me. Maybe my eyes were dark too, like the long-matted mess of hair I couldn’t find the energy to tame. “The doctor will take down your dressing today, maybe even take the stitches out. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
The dull throb of a brewing headache prevented my savage eye roll. The nurse sighed, patting the crisp linen sheets before leaving. I pulled my knees to my chest, the sheets pooling around my ankles, hugging the delicate ink upon them. I traced the whirled lines over the tips of the wings, the shading around the feathered belly. A Dove. My namesake. A small kindness, I suppose. They’d called me Jane for the first day, and I’d stared blankly at the wall. Ignoring their prodding and poking, ignoring their questions. I had no answers then, and I have none now. They call me Dove, and I have no idea who I am.
I blinked back the fluorescents, groggy from the restless sleep that had only amplified my headache. I blinked again at the sound of a cleared male throat. A horde of medical people filled the room.
“Hello, Dove. How are you feeling today?”
It seemed like a fair question though I wondered if the older man had really thought it threw.
“I have a headache.”
The youngest man in a white coat scribbled in my file.
“Your concussion was quite severe. I expect you’ll experience headaches for a while longer.” The older doctor stretched a pair of blue gloves over his liver-spotted hands. “May I?” His hands raised to my bandage; my back hit the bedhead.
“Dove. I’m here to help you.” His eyes were kind, his voice gentle, like it always was.
I gave the slightest nod, and the bandage fell away. No one gasped. Some vein part of me hoped that meant I wasn’t ugly.
“Your wound is healing well. I’ll have one of the nurses remove the sutures.”
The bed creaked with his weight. I wondered if the me I’d forgotten would feel so cornered by his nearness.
“Do you remember anything new? Anything from the night of the accident?” The accident. The trauma. The event. It didn’t matter what the people in scrubs and coats called it; it was a void. One that had taken all of me with it.
“No. It’s just blank.”
“You don’t recall how you made it to the hospital?”
“No.”
I’d walked in, covered in blood. Or so I’d been told.
“What about your parent’s faces? Friend’s names?”
“No.”
If I even had parents or friends, they certainly didn’t see the need to visit.
“Your name, birthday, high school? Anything.”
“NO.” The word burned a passage up my throat; hot tears rolled onto the linens. “There is nothing. It’s like I was born in this bed a week ago. Nothing is familiar. Nothing feels right!”
The tremble in my voice even had the intern dropping his pen. The doctor seemed to deflate, perhaps, hoping to avoid what he would say next.
“Dove, some people will see you today. They will try to... help. You need to speak with them. Try to remember that everything will be ok.”
I couldn’t raise my head as they shuffled out the door. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the bloodied heap of bandages on the bed, wet with tears.
