“Yes,” I admitted in a tiny voice that was almost inaudible.
“That’s perfectly understandable, but we’re all here to help you, and because you didn’t have any ID on you when you arrived, the police are here to help us find out who you are.”
“Hello, I’m Detective Nkanyezi Nleko, and this is our forensics expert, Officer Patrick.” The policemen came tentatively closer to me, as if I were a baby bird that had fallen out of a nest. Maybe I was? I knew nothing at this point, so I couldn’t rule out that possibility just yet. The dove seemed to agree, as it delivered a loudthwackto the window. So loud we all turned and looked at it again.
“Did you know white doves are the symbol of peace and that they choose one mate for life?” I heard myself say, and everyone turned and looked at me once more, the same look I’d gotten when I’d told them about X-rays.How did I know these random facts?I changed the subject. “How are you going to find out who I am?”
“Well, Patrick here is going to take your fingerprints and we’ll run them through the system and see what comes up.”
“Wait, do you think I’m a criminal? Why would you have my prints?” I stiffened as a memory came back to me. “I think I’ve seen TV shows where people get arrested and then have to have their fingerprints taken.”
“Your fingerprints are also on your driver’s license and ID card,” he said.
“Oh. I don’t remember that.” I looked over at Dr. Cohen again. “Why do I remember a TV show but nothing about myself?”
“Having these kinds of gaps in your memory is very common with amnesia. The brain remembers some things, but not others.”
“So my brain has decided to forget all the important things, like who the hell I am.” I lay back down in the bed, hating my brain right now.
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” the detective said. “Patrick is also going to take a photo of you and we’ll compare that to any missing person reports and also take it to the building you were found in and show it around. It’s a pity we don’t know the names of the other two women who were in the elevator with you—”
“There were others in the elevator? Are they okay? Was anyone else injured?” I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember this. It seemed like such an important detail.
“Both of them left the scene really quickly afterwards, so I think they’re fine.”
I looked down at my hand as Officer Patrick reached for it but stopped when he saw the bloody-looking grazes on my knuckles. He looked up at me.
“Do you mind? I’ll be careful,” he said.
I tried to force a smile as he dabbed my fingers in ink, then slowly ran them on a piece of card. I winced slightly as he moved the two worst fingers, the ones I had little movement in, as big scabs had formed around the joints. He immediately stopped and gave me an apologetic look, and the kindness of this gesture made me want to cry. I focused on the window while he fingerprinted me, watching the dove move its head back and forth, as if admiring its own reflection. I turned back reluctantly when a camera was pointed in my face and a photo was taken.
“I think we’re all done here,” the detective said after what felt like an eternity. Time seemed to move so slowly between these walls, or was that always how time moved? I didn’t know. I couldn’t think of one example in my life that I could use to measure this concept of time with.
“Thank you,” I mumbled as they moved towards the door. “Wait! What if you don’t find out who I am?”
“Your fingerprints will be in the database somewhere. It’s just a matter of time.” The detective gave me a wave before they all exited.
“Time for blood pressure, oxygen and lunch.” A different nurse came into my room.
“Where’s Ntethelelo?” I asked, feeling uneasy.
“We’ve just changed shifts; she’ll be here later. But for now, I’ll be looking after you. My name is Beauty.” She was carrying some food for me, but my stomach lurched at the thought of it.
“I don’t want to eat,” I said, my tone a little harsher than I’d intended it to be; I could see this because of the look on Beauty’s face.
Nevertheless, she smiled at me. “You must try.”
I turned my face back to the window and watched my dove friend as he cleaned his feathers with his beak. I felt Beauty attach the blood-pressure cuff. I heard the sound, felt the squeeze and then heard the beep.
“A hundred and twenty-two over eighty-one,’ she said. “Perfect.”
“Perfect?” I whipped my head around. “How can I be perfect if I don’t remember anything?”
Beauty seemed to ignore my outburst, and I felt bad. I don’t know why I was lashing out like this. She’d done nothing wrong. I was wrong. Not her. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“How’s the pain?” she asked.
“Better.”
