BPOV
I slammed shut the last suitcase that I was packing. I don't think I ever realized before this moment how much I hated packing; it's tedious and frustrating. Thinking back, I can't remember whose idea it was for me to move to Forks, Washington anyways: mine, my mother's, or my therapist's. I needed to leave Phoenix that much I did know. My poor mother has been so frustrated with me these past few months with what little I do seem to be cognizant of. As I was pondering my peculiar situation, a lock of my dark brown hair broke free from my ponytail at the nape of my neck and hung in my eyes. I huffed and blew it out of the way while shifting my stance, placing my hands on my hips and stared obtusely at my packed bags."Isabella!" My mother called from down the hall, making her way to my room. She opened the door without knocking. "Izzy, you ready? I don't want you to miss your flight." Her face was tired and full of concern. She took-in my stance and frustrated expression. I only looked at her with my now-vacant chocolate-brown eyes. My mother was usually vibrant, exuding excitement and child like wonder at all times. My situation had taken quite a toll on her.
"Yea, mom. I'm ready." I responded. It's not that I wanted to be terse or rude to my mother, I just couldn't help responding that way. Before the car accident, I was the picture of perfection when it came to an offspring. I was responsible, easy-going, respectful, and loving. I did all the cooking ever since I was allowed to operate the appliances other than the microwave, and I cleaned up after myself and my mother. I got good grades and kept good friends. I was never late for my curfew and I always did my homework before being asked. Calling me a good kid would be an understatement. That, however, was not who I was anymore. I had no idea who I was. "And mom, it's just Bella now. Ok?"
"Right! Sorry Bella. I forgot that you had said that. Ok, hunny, let's get all this into the car. Phil is driving us to the airport." Renee, my mother, picked up half the luggage and headed to the car where my step-father was waiting; she was trying so hard to be patient with me. She was attempting to deal with the abrupt change in my personality since my car was wrapped around a telephone pole over a month and a half ago. It would be one thing if I had extensive injuries to recover from, but I didn't: just a broken wrist and a cut that needed stitches on my forehead other than the concussion I acquired. I walked away from it, or I would have if I was conscious when the ambulance arrived. Although I could have died, it wasn't a serious accident: I was the only car involved. I couldn't remember anything within twelve hours prior to the accident.
I woke up in the hospital the next day sometime in the afternoon, having no idea how I got there. My head and wrist hurt terribly and I couldn't remember why. There was a nurse next to me was fiddling with my IV who took notice that my eyes were open. "Well good mornin' sunshine! You gave us quite a scare! How's your pain?" She had a slight Southern Twang that somewhat comforted me. I opened my mouth to respond but couldn't find my voice so I coughed to clear it and winced when I did… oh yea, I had a broken rip or two as well.
"Uhm, it's alright," I whispered. "My head hurts a bit." Understatement of the year.
"Ok, dear. I can get you something more for that. I'll let your mother and doctor know that you're awake." She gave me a cheery smile and left my room. I looked around at the stark hospital room and heard the chirping of the monitors. My stomach gave a nauseated turn: I hated hospitals. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.It's ok, I can get through this, I thought. A few minutes after the nurse left I heard the panic-quickened steps of my frantic mother.
"Izzy! Oh my Isabella!" She cooed, as she flew to my bedside. "Honey, I was so worried! Charlie and Emmett are too! They just boarded their plane so they'll be here in a few hours. Phil went to go get some coffee." Emmett was my older brother that lived with my dad, Charlie, in our native Forks, Washington. "How are you feeling!? What happened? You were supposed to be sleeping over at Lauren's, why did you leave?" Overly concerned, it seemed as though Renee could not stop talking. When she realized that she wasn't yet getting any answers from me, she shut up.
"What? Mom, what are you talking about?" My hoarse voice was little more forceful than a whisper. "Why am I here?" I could tell by the expression on her face that it didn't occur to her that I wouldn't remember what happened. Just then, the doctor walked in.
"Ah, Isabella. I'm so glad you're finally awake. I'm just going to do a little check-up and then ask you some questions, ok?" He smiled and waited for my nod before he touched me. When Dr. Fairfield was done examining my few injuries and taking my temperature, he drew up a chair and sat next to my bed. "Everything looks as it should be; you're healing on schedule. The nurse said you had some head pain, correct? Could you tell me 1 to 10, ten being unbearable, how bad it is?"
I cleared my throat again before answering, "Maybe a seven?" He nodded and wrote that down on my chart before continuing.
"Do you know today's date?" he questioned.
"Not really. I think it's Saturday? Uhm… July something. It's 2009."
"Yes, it's Saturday July 25, 2009. What is the last thing you remember prior to the accident?" He asked.
I shook my head. "What accident? Is that why I'm here… a car accident?" Everything they had been saying to me slowly started to fall into place: there was a car accident, I was involved, and now I was in the hospital.
"Yes, Isabella. At around two-fifteen a.m. this morning Mrs. Mallory reported hearing you screaming, and running from her house. You then got into your car and sped off. We're not quite sure what exactly happened after that, but the police think you got tired or distracted or something and your car swerved and collided with a telephone pole. No alcohol or drugs were found in your system that could have impaired your driving. Isabella, do you know why you left and got into the car?"
"Uhm, not exactly. I don't even remember being at Lauren's house." This all sounded foreign to my ears.
"Ok, what is the last thing you do remember?"
He waited a moment while I searched my impaired memory. Numbers, frustrating numbers came to mind. "Damn trigonometry test!" I suddenly shouted out, surprising even myself. That was the beginning of my absent mild-manners.
"Izzy, honey, that was only around eleven a.m. yesterday." Concern colored my mom's statement. I was fully aware that my trigonometry test from summer school was at ten-thirty in the morning. I remembered being upset that I had to wake-up to take that stupid thing on a perfectly good summer Friday. She and the doctor exchanged apprehensive glances.
"Ok. What else?" He pressed on.
"Well, I uhm… went home after the test to get ready and pack before Lauren's sleepover party that night. I think I ate a sandwich? I can't be sure. The sandwich is that last thing I remember. I'm pretty sure, well, as sure as I can be I guess." Not remembering an extremely significant event can be a very frustrating experience. I do not suggest ever trying it.
"I see, and what time was that around?" His stare was sort of cold and calculating. I got the strange feeling that he did not trust me.
"Maybe around three? It was after I took a shower."
"And Isabella," he continued. I was beginning to loathe the way he said Isabella. In fact, since I woke up in the hospital I've really hated being called Isabella by anyone, even my mother. Something about it rubbed me the wrong way. "Do you have any inkling as to why you would have run screaming from your friend's house in the middle of the night? Has there been any tension between the two of you recently that could cause a fight?"
These new questions of his were odd to me. "Not at all. Everything was normal. I don't think Lauren and I have ever had a fight…"
"How have you been feeling lately, I mean previous to this week? Have you been feeling low or sad at all?"
Now, they were getting really bizarre. "No. I've been fine." My answers to what I considered dumb questions were getting shorter as I was getting more annoyed.
"Hmm. Ok," he paused for a moment while conferring with my chart, "well it seems to me that you might have a bit of retrograde amnesia. What that means is your memories of before the accident and subsequent head trauma are having a bit of trouble being brought to the surface. This can only last a few hours, days, a few weeks, or perhaps become permanent."
"Permanent!?" My mother shrieked. She was more shocked than I was.
"No need to worry, Renee." He comforted. "Actually, could I speak with you in the hall for a minute? Just a few things we need to go over," he said before looking at me and saying "you know, parent-stuff. Try to get some rest kiddo, I'll be back to check on you later." Kiddo? I was less than two months away from turning seventeen… I'm pretty sure I was not a kid. I knew I didn't like him. I only politely nodded and pretended to close my eyes and rest. My mom leaned over and kissed my forehead before she followed Dr. Fairfield into the hallway. They tried to talk in hushed voices so I couldn't hear, but they underestimated my curiosity and auditory abilities.
"Renee, I wanted to discuss with you what the police discovered at the scene." He paused, probably trying to gauge her reaction. "There were no skid marks approaching the pole. There were only tire tracks from a minor swerve before the crash site… Renee, what I'm trying to tell you is she didn't brake and try to stop herself from hitting the telephone pole. In fact, we think she might have been aiming for it as a suicide attempt."
