Remember Me

The flames were an incredible, bright yellow, orange, and white. They licked up the walls with fury, as if the longer it took for them to consume my home, the more pain they would feel when it was all over. Could fire feel pain? Could it feel pain like the burning sensation that I felt as I lay on the floor, trapped under fallen beams?

Strange, that my mind would be wondering something so trivial and impractical, as my voice strained and screamed for help, as my hands trembled and shook, as my eyes squeezed shut against the stinging smoke. My lungs struggled between breathing in to keep me alive, and breathing out to force away the smoke. The room seemed to shrink towards me, the flames getting closer and closer. I was never making it out alive, of that much I was sure.

“Please, God,” I called out at the tops of my lungs, curling into the fetal position and feeling the terror overwhelm me. “Oh my god!” At this point, I didn’t know what I was yelling, I just knew I had to make noise. The billowing of the fire throughout the entire apartment building seemed to mock me, as I lay there helplessly and cried for someone, anyone. Would they come?

Against my will, my cries began to get quiet, my lungs full of thick, black smoke, my leg throbbing underneath the two large, wooden beams that were taking away any chance I had of surviving. My fingertips buzzed numbly, my head dizzy and light, and my lids closing. “Please…” I whispered out. “Please…” I wanted to force the yells out, but my strength was dwindling too fast.

His voice broke through the noise. A voice I needed. “Fire department, call out!” I opened my mouth, but all that escaped was a small, insignificant squeak. No sound he’d ever hear. The world continued to fade, a muffled bang behind me, a door falling to the floor, two figures rushing toward me. The pressure on my leg suddenly lifting away. Two hot, gloved hands cupping my cheeks. Words I could hear, but could not understand. A window shattered, my body laid into a basket, lowered down a ladder. Cold air hitting my face, and a hot tear rolling down my cheek as I realized the fire was behind me.

The last thing I saw was his face. I couldn’t put a name to that face. But his eyes stared deep into mine. And then, it all went black.

--

“Wendy… Wendy!” a voice shocked me into consciousness, “Oh god.” I groaned quietly as I began to awaken. Blinking, my vision came into focus and her face, one hand over her mouth and the other against her chest, mumbled words I couldn’t hear. “Oh thank god, Wendy, you had me so worried....” I mustered a small smile and nodded at her. She was my mom; or so they told me.

“Thank you, I’m… I’m okay. Just was tired, I guess. I’m sorry I worried you,” I apologized, carefully sitting myself up. She sighed softly and lowered her hands, removing the scarf from around her neck and setting it onto her chair. She’d been visiting me here every day for weeks. I was almost ready for discharge. Just six days left until the doctor would clear me, and I could go home, and never have to eat jello or see nurse Helen again. The woman was making me crazy.

“So, honey, what was the dream about?” she murmured, slowly sitting herself down. She noticed my slight confusion, “You were mumbling in your sleep.” I cleared my throat quietly and reached over to the side of my hospital bed, lifting the cup of water into my hand and taking a swift sip.

“Well… I guess it must have been about the night I was rescued,” I replied, reaching up to curl some of my thick brown hair back behind my ear. “I was in a room, it was burning just as hot as the last ten times I’ve had this dream…” My words came out as more of a grumble than I meant for them to. She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“You’ve had the same dream before?” she asked.

I nodded. “It’s never exactly the same. Sometimes I’m in a house, or in an apartment, once I was actually in a fire station. Sometimes I’m trapped, sometimes I’m trying to save someone else… But no matter what changes in the dream, one thing always stays the same.” She tilts her head to the side, Helen walking in with a tray of food. I try to smile at Helen.

“Sorry to interrupt, Wendy, here’s your lunch. Take. Both. Pills. Understand?” The red-headed forty-year-old with a grudge against cat lovers and Scottish politicians stood there staring at me, ready to scold if I dared disagree. I sighed heavily and took the tiny white cup that held two small pills, downing them with another sip of water. She grinned curtly and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, turning on her heel and walking around the bed to check my vitals. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my mom, ignoring Helen as she leaned toward the machine, squinting at it. I’d suggested she get glasses once and she almost tore out my IV.

“Anyway, so, what is this one constant in your dreams, hun?” my mom asked. I stared down at the tray of food, internally groaning. Helen finally left the room and I reluctantly scooped jello into my mouth.

“A man,” I said simply. “A very handsome man, with the most beautiful grey-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” I sighed heavily and shook my head. “It’s such a shame he’s only in my dreams. He’s a firefighter, too. Every time I see him, he’s wearing the full, decked-out uniform, helmet and all. Whether or not he’s saving me, I’m saving him, or we happen to be crossing paths. Too bad, am I right?” At this point, I finally looked back over at her, and her mouth was dropped open, her eyes wide.

Confused, I raised a brow and lifted my small, dry tuna salad sandwich to my lips. “You okay?” I asked her, chewing slowly.

She nodded and cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, I… I’m fine,” she smiled softly. “Tell me more about him?”

I opened my mouth to speak, still curious but shrugging it off, “I don’t know… I know it’s sort of unusual to have such vivid dreams, but they’re kind of the closest thing I have to…” I trailed off, watching her eyes sadden just a bit. I breathed slowly. “... Well, to memories.” She nodded slowly, clearly trying to be as understanding as possible.

Understanding that I still had to remind myself every morning that my name was Wendy. That she was my mother. That I was some sort of business owner. That I was 27 years old and from Chicago, Illinois. Frankly, it was a miracle I was able to hold onto any semblance of memories at all - small snippets of my childhood, a bright pink parka I always used to wear, a stuffed teddy I called “BryBear”. But beyond a few flashes of imagery, I was a lost cause.

They’d tried everything in the book to trigger my memory, but apparently I’d been hit in the head in the fire, and nothing was coming back. All I had was the dreams.

“I understand, honey,” she said, just above a whisper. Billowing out a slow breath, she laid back in her chair. “Well… It’s nice to hear that these dreams are so clear to you. Do you ever speak to this man?” I cleared my throat, and smiled at her.

“I’ve never… Understood anything he’s said, but… He speaks to me. I just can’t hear him.” A sad, thoughtful smile crosses her lips, and she nods slowly.

“I see,” she said. Looking down, I glanced at the tan line on my left ring finger.

“I wish I could see this ring I lost…” I mumbled. “You said it was a promise ring?” I looked back up at her.

“Yeah,” she replied, following my gaze to the placeholder where a small, silver promise ring once sat. “Your high school boyfriend gave you the promise ring, remember? And, uhm… Well, you never quite got over him. So you kept it there.” I smiled to myself, trying to picture what he’d be like, this boyfriend. I lifted my hand and stared at the tan line.

“He must have been a pretty great guy,” I whispered. “To have kept it almost ten years like that.” She slowly nodded her head.

And simply, she murmured, “He was.”