Stranger’s Eyes

I woke up startled, the last traces of a dream slipped from my memories. I looked around the room confused; I didn’t know where I was. I saw a television in the corner to the left of me, as well as a window, but the curtains were drawn. It was night time. To the right of me, there was a countertop with a sink and bottle of disinfectant. The room looked like a hospital ward, but I didn’t know how I knew what a hospital looked like. I looked down towards my toes. My leg had been bandaged, and my arm was in a cast. I tried to sit up, but my ribs protested and stars of pain flew into my eyes.

The door to my room burst open, and a nurse rushed in. “Don’t try to get up just yet sir,” she said. “We’ll notify your wife you’ve woken up.”

“My wife?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yes, your wife…Mrs. Brightsmith.” She looked down at a clipboard on the counter. “Diane Brightsmith.”

“My name isn’t Brightsmith. You must have the wrong patient.”

“I’ve been with you since you got here, sir.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. I’m…” I faltered, struggling to remember my name. I felt like I knew it, but I couldn’t bring it to memory.

“You suffered a serious a head injury; you’re probably just a little confused. You should get more rest.” I leaned back and relaxed a little. The aching in my ribcage subsided. “I will contact your wife, sir; I’m sure she will be here shortly.” I nodded and closed my eyes. I tried to remember what my wife looked like; I tried to remember her at all.

By the time she made it to the hospital, it was early morning. An orange ray of sunshine had crept its way through the drapes covering my window. The woman who was supposed to be my wife was standing outside the door, talking to the doctor. She had come into the room earlier, but I pretended to be asleep. I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I didn’t know what I would say to her.

She and the doctor stepped into my room. My eyes were closed, but I could feel their presence. My wife walked up to me and put her hand on my arm. “Harry,” she said. “Love, are you awake?”

Harry. That must be my name, I thought. It didn’t ring any bells. I opened my eyes slowly, trying to make it seem like I was just waking up. The woman bending over me smiled, and her eyes teared up. “I’m so happy you’re okay,” she said, putting her hand on my cheek. She bent over and kissed me. It was odd to be kissed by a stranger. Her lips were unfamiliar against mine, and it brought back no flood of memories. No sudden remembrance. She pulled away, and I looked into her eyes. They were the darkest shade of brown, beautiful and deep, but they held no inner truth for me. I must have been looking at her strangely because her eyebrows drew up with concern. “Love, it’s me,” she whispered.

The doctor walked over to my bed and stood next to my wife. “Harry, do you remember what happened?” he asked. I looked at him. He was holding a clipboard, and his arms were relaxed and hanging by his sides.

I shook my head, but that made me dizzy. “No,” I said. My voice sounded strange.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I was…” I paused unable to think of anything. The last thing I remembered was the nurse coming in to check on me a few hours ago. “Nothing since I woke up.” My wife put her hand to her mouth, and the tears that rested in her eyes started to make tracks down her cheeks.

“You were in a severe car accident. It’s possible the blow to your head has caused some memory loss. I need you to think hard, is there anything you can remember? Can you remember your wife?”

I looked at her, and she stared back, with an intensely pained expression on her face. I wanted to say I remembered. I knew that it would mean everything to her if I did, but I couldn’t. “No,” I said. My wife looked at me, horrified. Then she broke into sobs.

The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to try something else,” he said. “Mrs. Brightsmith, do you have any pictures with you? Maybe on your phone?” She looked up at him and nodded. Her eyes were red, seeing them put a stone of guilt in my chest. “I’d like you to show him some photos of your past together if that is okay with you Harry?”

I took a deep breath. “If you think it will help.”

“I think it might.”

Hope sparked in my wife’s eyes. “Okay,” she said and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She flipped through some pictures, and then showed me one of a young woman with chestnut hair. “That’s our daughter.”

My throat caught. “I have a daughter?”

My wife looked at the doctor. “Keep going,” he said.

My wife continued. “Yes, we have a beautiful daughter. She’s going to school in Michigan.” She kept flipping through photos then stopped on one with a bunch of people. “This is us at the family reunion. That’s your mother, and that’s your father,” she said, pointing out a cheerful looking woman and a tired looking man.

“Who is that?” I said, pointing to a dark-haired man.

“That’s your brother.”

“And him?” I pointed to a taller man with brown hair.

My wife looked at the doctor again. Worry and concern were written across her face. He leaned over to look at the picture then frowned. “Harry, that’s you,” he said.

I looked at him confused, then looked back at the picture. “No, that can't be. I would know, wouldn't I?" I looked back up at the doctor; there was pity in his eyes. He walked over to the sink and pulled a mirror out of one of the drawers and offered it to me. I grabbed it with my good arm. Afraid to look into it, I gingerly brought it up to my face. I did not recognize myself in the mirror. I had chestnut brown hair and a short beard. But the eyes that stared back at me were the eyes of a stranger.