SUMMER
Present day
I open my eyes. The world around me feels liquid, as if I’m underwater. Everything is blurred yet blindingly bright. I blink, trying to rise out of nothingness, to surface, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.
My body feels a bit sore, maybe fifteen percent pain on the scale, kind of like I’m about to come down with a stomach bug. Every cell feels worn out and drained.
Forcing myself to focus my eyes, I look around. I’m lying on a bed in a small room. Sunlight pours through the window, spreading a yellow glow across the sheets. My fingers twitch on their own, stretching sideways in search of the safe, familiar walls of a nest, but I find nothing.
Where am I? That’s an important question, but maybe even more important is this: who am I?
I try to look for some clue, but I can’t remember anything. It feels like a heavy, sticky fog is clinging to my brain, and every attempt to push through it brings a dull, throbbing pain to my temples.
So instead, I scan the room again: pale blue walls with a poster of some monster from a comic book movie, a nightstand, a small desk, two closets; all pretty standard, and nothing here gives me a clue as to how I ended up here. I will have to find out for myself.
I focus and try to push through the haze.
Pain surges through my skull, but I fight it. At last, I break past the pressure, and from the depths of my mind, my name rises: Summer.
Something more?
No. I keep struggling, but my brain collapses in on itself, like two walls closing in. Every other memory feels like it’s been written on water by a light finger brush, fading the moment I reach for it. All I get is just the exhausting blur of gray shadows slipping away, hiding in the back of my mind, evading me, playing a twisted game of cat and mouse.
Slowly, I sit up and glance down at myself. I’m wearing plain shorts and a loose white T-shirt, long enough to cover me halfway down the thighs. My knees are bruised, and so are my arms. I stare at my scratched palms for a while. In the crook of my forearm, there’s a bruised mark that looks like the trace of an IV, as if I’d been hooked up to a drip for a long time.
Wow. Whatever happened to me, it definitely left its mark. I reach up and touch my head. My hair is braided, a long plait falling down my back.
I bring the end of it forward and study it. Caramel-colored strands catch deep golden and cinnamon tones in the sunlight.
Shaky and lightheaded, I get to my feet, feeling like I’ve been poisoned. Still, I want to see what’s outside.
I’m on the second floor of a large building, some mansion, I guess, in a room with a dormer window and a small balcony, and I step out onto it. Below me lies a blue pool, a wide garden full of trees and bushes, and farther down the grassy slope, the surface of a lake glimmers.
Well. It’s beautiful. And the day promises to be perfect; sunlight floods everything. The garden smells of flowers and fruit, and white stone paths wind between the flowerbeds. Idyllic, one would say. Though should I care about beauty while being deep in some strange amnesia?
From a distance, I catch a faint sound, soft, bittersweet music. Someone is playing a harmonica.
The music is both calming and inviting, like it’s calling me. The notes seem almost silver, dancing on the beams of light.
Looking around, I notice something. Whoever stayed in this room before me must have had a clever idea… A white ladder runs down the wall from the balcony, nearly invisible from a distance. Maybe it was useful for sneaking out. And now, it’s useful for me too.
I climb down, not feeling the slightest fear of the height. Somehow, I know I don’t need to be scared.
My bare feet touch the grass, and I throw a quick glance around. The music still plays, nudging me. I cut diagonally across the garden, white gravel crunching underfoot. I don’t stop. The melody tugs me along like a string.
Then I cross the sloping lawn leading toward the lake, careful not to step on a bee, until I reach the soft, sandy shore.
The harmonica is still playing, but I can’t see anyone. The music hangs in the air, as if it has no source.
My eyes scan the surroundings, but in vain. This beach is pretty scenic, with large stones for people to sit on and a few wooden benches. But nobody is hanging around.
I hesitate. Should I keep searching? It’s hot, and the water looks temptingly clear, the bottom’s covered with golden sand, so I wade into the warm shallows, still listening.
I want to find the musician, but it feels like now isn’t the time. Maybe something more is needed.
Step by step, I sink deeper into the lake without taking off my T-shirt. The heat makes the cool water a relief. It wraps around me, soothing, complementing the music. The strange ache in my head eases for a moment as I start swimming. Apparently I know how. I guess you don’t forget things like that.
I swim slowly, savoring the water folding around me. It’s soft, swirling over my body, stroking it, relaxing.
