twenty-five

                                    

                                          
"She's suffered a neurological trauma in the back of her head and incase you all haven't noticed, she suffers from extreme amnesia." The doctor speaks animatedly, while pointing at an x-ray for emphasis. He shows it to the three boys and Daliah, though none of them really take a look except the older-looking boy.
                          
I stare at the doctor, vaguely knowing that I am the she that suffers from extreme amnesia. The doctor is speaking to the people by the wall, not me because he must think that just because something happened to me that made me lose three-quarters of my memories, I am now illiterate or something. 
                          
"So, she doesn't remember... anything?" The boy with chocolaty brown hair and eyes croaks out. His face looks particularly pained when he says the word, anything.
                          
"No, as far as we know, she doesn't remember a thing about her life except for a few childhood memories from," He pauses to check his clipboard. 
                          
So doctors really do use those things.
                          
"Ages four through twelve. But she doesn't remember the important people in her life, such as all of you. So her memories have giant holes in them, such as who she was with and what she was there for, she'll only remember herself being there. Though, miraculously she remembers all of her schooling, like grammar, words, etcetera." He says all of this with a crease in his forehead the whole way through. 
                          
They all nod in understanding, however their frowns seem to deepen while soaking up all of this new and shocking information. I'm sure that my face wears the same expression as all of theirs. I look down at my hands, which are clasped together tightly, and try to absorb all of the answers to the questions that I never bothered asking.
                          
So, I have "extreme amnesia", don't remember a thing about my life except for a few childhood memories, don't remember the important people in my life, such as the people by the wall, I assume. Also, my memories have giant holes in them, and "miraculously" I remember all of my schooling.
                          
It's cool that I know what's happening to me and my brain, but I'm still missing the important stuff like: what I look like, what my age is, who these supposed important people of my life are, and oh one more thing... who I actually am.
                          
I look up at them, preparing to ask all of the questions that define my existence, but when I look up they're all staring at me. 
                          
I clear my throat in an attempt to ease the awkwardness, because I do not like being the center of attention. I don't know if I've always hated being what everybody is focused on── as I don't even know my own name ──but I do know that in this moment, it doesn't feel right. 
                          
I quickly turn my focus and attention to the doctor, skillfully ignoring their gaze. "Um, Dr..." I trail off, not knowing his name, but hoping he will tell me. "Norris." He says with a smile. 
                          
"Yeah. Dr Norris, I was just kind of wondering if you could clear this up for me... but um, who am I?" I ask, in the most subtle way I can think of. 
                          
The doctor chuckles, because in any other case, my question would be quite blunt. "Why yes, you are-" 
                          
"Your name is Sady Wells." The boy with the chocolate curls and fitting black shirt cuts the doctor off, in a quiet, tired tone. All eyes are on him now, except for mine. My eyes are on the doctor, because I want to gauge his reaction to being so rudely interrupted. But he doesn't look fazed at all, in fact he gives the boy an encouraging smile that says "go on." 
                          
So I am Sady. The Sady that they were all talking about and discussing is me. For a second, I feel embarrassed and stupid for not figuring that out, but then again, I'm not well in the head.
                          
The boy's hands are clasped together so tightly that his knuckles turn pale. His eyes close momentarily and he takes in deep breaths before he begins to speak. When his eyes open, they are a very dark brown, almost black. His hands unclasp themselves from the tight grip and find their way to either of his sides, where he balls them into knuckles.