David Robbins - Boston Run

His grey eyes snapped open with the abruptness typical of those who were brought back from the dead, and he stared at the yellow ceiling overhead in a state of dazed bewilderment. Where am I? was the first question his mind posed. He tried to lift his arms, but for some reason they wouldnt budge. What happened? was his second question. He knew he was lying on his back on a soft surface, although he couldnt remember how he got there. His throat felt extremely dry, so he swallowed and licked his lips.

Ahhhhhh. I see our patient is finally awake, said a low, kindly voice from somewhere off to his left. How are you feeling?

He blinked when a white-haired man materialized above him, noting the mans lined, mature countenance and steady blue eyes. Wh he croaked, trying to speak, his parched throat and strangely immobile jawbone strangling the word and causing him to cough.

Im Doctor Milton, the man said, introducing himself.

He realized the man wore a smock and had a stethoscope in an upper pocket. He attempted to raise his head, but couldnt.

Ill get you a glass of water, the physician offered, and disappeared.

Footsteps and the sound of running water reached his ears, and he waited expectantly for the doctor to return, striving to concentrate, to attain mental clarity. There were so many questions he needed answered.

Heres your water, Doctor Milton said, returning with a small glass in his left hand. Open your mouth and Ill pour.

Gratefully, he complied and felt the cool liquid trickle over his tongue and down his throat.

You mustnt drink it too fast, the doctor advised, tilting the glass carefully and slowly until the last drop was gone. There. Now you should feel a little better.

I do. Thanks, he replied, then addressed the physician in a rush, apprehension seizing him. Why couldnt I do it myself? Whats wrong with me. Why cant I move?

There, there. Calm down, Doctor Milton said, and patted him on the right shoulder. You cant move because your jaw, arms, and legs are under restraint for your own good. You were in a serious accident and youre in the hospital.

An accident? he repeated quizzically.

Yes. Dont you remember?

No.

Well, severe trauma often induces a form of amnesia. Its a technique the brain uses to protect us from memories too terrible to bear, Doctor Milton stated.

What happened?

Doctor Milton pursed his lips. Are you certain you want to know?

Yes, he responded, striving to recall the accident but drawing a blank.

Please.

I dont know, Doctor Milton said hesitantly. I dont want to trigger a relapse. You only came out of your coma yesterday, and the few times youve been awake you were incoherent.

I was in a coma! he exclaimed.

For three months.

The revelation staggered him. He closed his eyes, his mind awhirl. I dont remember.

Doctor Milton chuckled. Of course you dont.

What happened? he asked again, opening his eyes. You must tell me.

I dont know.

Please, he urged.

The soft-spoken physician studied the patient for a moment, then twisted and deposited the glass on a stand next to the bed. All right, although its against my better judgment. He gazed at the man in the bed. Three months ago you were working on a demolition crew in Wakefield. You were operating a bulldozer and you were in the process of tearing down an abandoned building when something went wrong. A brick wall collapsed on top of you, and you were pinned under the rubble for over an hour before your coworkers could dig you out. Then you were rushed here for emergency treatment. He paused. You nearly died. The surgeons operated on you for ten hours, trying to repair your grave head wound. If there had been a few more bricks on top of you, your skull would have been crushed completely.

I dont remember, he reiterated in a strained tone.

Count yourself fortunate if you never do, Doctor Milton said. Youve had virtually no detectable brain activity for three months. Technically, from a legal standpoint, you were as good as dead.

I had no idea, he mumbled, endeavoring to recall the thinnest thread of memory, anything that would confirm Miltons statements. But why, he wondered, should he be suspicious of the physician?

Youll have a long road to recovery, Doctor Milton remarked. There will be many hours of therapy involved. Even after youre released from the hospital, youll be on an outpatient basis for a year, minimum.

Whats the name of the hospital? he asked absently, struggling to comprehend the implications.

Im sorry. I should have told you before. Youre in Kennedy Memorial Hospital.

Kennedy Hospital?

Yes. You know. There were several famous Kennedy brothers who lived before the war. One of them became the President of the United States.

Another became Attorney General, I believe. And the third one was

Doctor Milton said, and stopped, scratching his chin. Funny. I can never remember what the third one did to deserve having a hospital named after him. This was known as Massachusetts General Hospital until it was renamed in his honor.

Was I ever here before?

No, I dont believe so. Why? Doctor Milton inquired.

Because I dont remember anything about this hospital.

Give yourself time.

Wheres it located?

The doctor seemed surprised by the query. You dont know in which city you are?

No. Should I?

By all rights, yes, Milton said. He leaned over and examined his patients gray eyes. As I mentioned before, amnesia triggered by a startling experience is quite common. Forgetting about your accident, for instance, isnt unusual. Even forgetting a few minor details about your life wouldnt be out of the ordinary. But forgetting the name of the very city in which you were born and raised is highly irregular. He straightened and frowned. We shall begin a series of tests immediately.

Can you remove the restraints?

Certainly. Ill have a nurse attend to it in a minute, Doctor Milton said. But first I want to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to them?

I guess so, he replied, still feeling extremely confused.

Do you know the names of your parents?

The patient considered the query for a full minute before responding.

No.

Hmmm. What year is it?

Again the patient pondered for a while, then shook his head.

I have no idea.

How many years has it been since the war?

What war?

World War Three, of course.

His forehead furrowed and he stared at he ceiling. I dont know.

Doctor Milton shook his head. I didnt anticipate this. Im afraid youll require more extensive therapy than I indicated. We must gauge the full extent of your amnesia. Mister Berwin.

The patient blinked a few times. Berwin?

Shock etched deeper lines in the physicians face. Dont you remember your own name?

I the patient began, and grimaced as if in pain. Dear Spirit! No! I dont know my name! he exclaimed.

Stay calm, Doctor Milton reiterated. Im sure your condition is only temporary.

Berwin shifted his eyes from side to side. This isnt right.

What isnt right?

I dont know, Berwin said. I cant put my finger on it.

After what youve been through, Im not surprised youre disoriented, Milton remarked. As the saying goes, though, time heals all wounds. Give yourself time. Lots of time.

Berwin sighed and looked at the doctor. Will you have the restraints removed now?

Doctor Milton nodded and departed. Somewhere a door closed.

The man named Berwin knit his brow in perplexity and racked his brain for a memory, any memory, of his past. A flurry of jumbled images surfaced and promptly evaporated, as insubstantial as the air he breathed, upsetting him immensely. How could he forget everything about himself?