Thunk.

I wake up to see Emyrson standing over me, holding a pillow over my head like a battle-ax, a mischievous grin on her face. She's about to bring it down again and cause me more brain damage than I had thought possible, when I stick out my hand to prevent a premature brain-scrambling.

"Well good morning to you too, roomie," I say sleepily. "Please, don't kill me. I want to die of natural causes."

She smiles, sets down the pillow, and slips me another note. Do you know sign language? Just trying to make our lives easier. 

"Ummm maybe? I think so," I respond. I sign what I think means 'pancake'. "Does that mean pancake?"

Emyrson nods excitedly and signs back so fast I can barely make out what she's saying (you know what I mean).

I mean, I know that sometimes amnesia patients can remember things they already knew how to, like tying shoes or speaking languages, but I wasn't sure it'd be the same for you. So glad it is! Now we can have conversations that don't fill the air with enough awkward tension to choke a cow! Yay! 

Yes! I sign back. No dead cows!

Yeah, my sign language is a little rusty.

Uh, so besides doctors coming in every three seconds, what do we do around here? I ask.

Well, Emyrson responds, we can lie around like dead slugs, interacting only when necessary, we can read books from my glorious secret library, sometimes the nurses bring up puzzles, and if your singing voice is any good I'm pretty sure I hid a guitar here somewhere hold on a second.

She digs around by her bed for a little, then pulls an entire acoustic guitar from behind a piece of machinery. Do you want to sing?

"Um, sure," I say. "What song?"

Do you know Pompeii? She asked.

"No, but do you have any sheet music? I might be able to read it."

Yup! I have some right--pause for looking around--here. Does this work?

She hands me a few slightly crumpled pieces of sheet music. I go through it once just humming, then place it on a bedside table thingy. "Ready."

Emyrson strums a chord, and we're ready to go. But before I can open my mouth, she swiftly hides it behind her bed and pretends to be asleep. A few seconds later, a nurse walks in to check on us.

"How are you feeling Carly?" she asks.

"A little less dead but not particularly alive. You?"

"I'm doing just fine, thank you for asking. Can I check your blood pressure?"

I nod, because even if I didn't want her to, she would. It's her job. She runs a few tests on me, then 'wakes up' Emyrson and runs some tests on her. 

"How are you getting along with Emmie?" nurse lady asks. "I know she can be a bit grouchy sometimes."

"Oh, she's fine," I say, grinning. The nurse smiles and leaves the room.

You're never going to forget that, are you? Emyrson signs.

"Nope. Now come on, Emmie, weren't we going to play a song?"

She rolls her eyes and pulls out the guitar. She plays a few notes, fiddles with the tuner, then strums a few opening chords. God she's good. Hoping that I don't sound like a dying cow, I start to sing.

I was left to my own devices, many days fell away with nothing to show.

Ooh. That's not bad.

And the walls kept tumbling down on the city that we love.

That's rather good, actually.

Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above.

All of a sudden I'm in a van, sitting next to a girl my age. We're dancing terribly in the car, laughing together about some awful joke. A woman is driving up front, and a young boy sits in the middle row of the car. This song is playing on the radio.

But if you close your eyes

The woman turns around. "Are you girls looking forward to Hawaii?"

"Of course we are, Mrs. Vatra!" The girl next to me exclaims. "I've never been to Hawaii before. Or on a plane. I've always been too scared. We'll be fine, right?"

"Of course we will, Cece," I say. "We've been on a bajillion plane rides before, and we're fine, right?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," the girl (she must be Cece) laughs.

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

"Oh come on, Cece, there's nothing to be scared of, I promise," I say.

"If it was dangerous, would we be taking you?" the woman asks.

"Probably," Cece says, giggling.

"We'll be fine," I say, smiling and turning up the volume.

Suddenly I'm back in the hospital room, shaking . Emyrson stops playing her guitar, and tucks it away. 

Flashback? she signs. I nod. 

Who did you see?

"My family, I think. We were on the way to the airport and I-" I break off, trying not to cry. "I told my friend it was going to be fine. That we would be fine. I promised her." The tears come. I don't even know these people anymore, but their deaths hit me like a sledgehammer. Probably because if everything had gone like I said it would, we would be partying in Hawaii together, I would actually know who they were, and my life wouldn't look like something from a teen drama.

I sometimes get flashbacks, too. Not as bad as yours, obviously, but they still hut. My father.... he wasn't super happy when I came out to him, so I had to leave. I stayed at a friend's place for a while, but then my mom brought me home. She had split with Dad by then, so it was safe for me to go back. That's part of the reason I couldn't get into a nice hospital that specializes in people like me. I'm fine, of course, their are plenty of people--you included--who have it worse. What I'm trying to say is you'll feel better eventually, I think. Emyrson's life story (part 2) was spilling out of her hands in a flurry of sign language. Do you want to just read for a little bit? I think Girls of Paper and Fire is right by your window. I can get it if you like.

"Thanks, Emyrson," I say. "I really do mean it."

Well I do try, she says, (you know what I mean) and plops a cool looking book in front of me. This one's really good. You'll like it. That is, if you haven't forgotten how to read. You really should think before you do stupid things like jump out of a plane, daredevil. 

The rest of the day is spent in mostly silence, save for nurses checking in on us. I go through about a three books, each one better than the last. 

We watch the sunset together out my window. It's gorgeous, all the colors melting together. 

You know, under different circumstances this could be super romantic, Emyrson signs. 

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Well, I mean, come on. With the right person, bam. Romance. Do you not feel it?

I sort of know what she means. While there doesn't seem to be anything romantic about watching a unset through a hospital window, it really depends on the person. I can feel the romantic potential, sizzling in the air like an electric current, but that's an issue for another day.

I smile. Life sucks but at least I have a cool roommate with a lot of books, a guitar, and probably a shark tank hidden around her somewhere. I wouldn't be surprised. And besides, I could die at any minute and so could she, so maybe living in the moment isn't the worst I could do.