Mateo

17

"What was Mateo's last name," I asked aloud. I researched just the name 'Mateo', but a billion people's names popped up.

"I can't remember." The girl grabbed her purse. "Do you need me to help you get ready?"

"No." I got up and grabbed the first things I saw, which happened to be a black Atlanta sweatshirt and some light gray joggers.

"Okay then." She looked me up and down. "Let's head to the car."

I wasn't fond of going back to that place. I hated it. It felt like I was trapped inside there with nothing but my empty, stupid brain. The only thing that made me want to get up the next day was the hope that I'd find that Mateo kid.

It seemed like he was my world, but I abhorred that I didn't remember feeling it. I felt things through the many dreams I had of our memories, and I was very grateful that I could still keep those in my head.

We pulled up to the place after about twenty minutes. I sluggishly got out, observing the big blue sign with bold white letters that read, 'Reynolds's Hospital'. I followed the girl out of some type of parking area that had multiple floors to it.

"What's that called?"

"A parking deck."

"Ohhh." I nodded my head.

The girl held the glass door open for me and I walked in slowly.

"Hello, Adriana," a man behind the white desk greeted us. "Here for the checkup?"

"Mhm," she hummed in response. She turned to me. "We could sit over there," she pointed to a pair of dark blue seats, "if you'd like."

"Sure." I made my way to the seats.

After what took forever, a man called us to the back. Which was exactly where I was held for over a week. I think I have. . . what was it?

PTFD?

PSDT?

Oh! PTSD.

The man opened the door to a room for us. "Take a seat and the doctor will be in here soon."

After he shut the door, I began with my questions about Mateo. He was always on my mind nowadays. "You said you couldn't recall Mateo's last name, correct?"

"Yeah." The girl sighed while rolling her eyes.

"M'kay. S-So, what are his parents' names?"

"Alexander and Joy."

"What was there. . . um. . . l-last names?"

"I dunno. Do you think I go around memorizing every single detail about every single person I meet?" She scoffed.

"Alright, no need to lash out."

There were three knocks at the door, followed by a woman with a white trench coat walking in. "Hi! I'm Dr. Eisenhower. How has your head been doing?" She placed her cold hand gently on my head.

"Good." It hasn't been hurting since the last time I could remember.

"That should be correct, considering the fact that your stitches are nearly healed." She scribbled something down on a sheet of paper. "Has she been eating well, Adriana?"

"Um. . . yes ma'am. Lots of protein, iron, and all those other little minerals."

"M'kay. Well, I am going to refer Miss Brown to Dr. Turner, an occupational therapist, to help see if he could get some of her memories to come back. There are two main types of amnesia: retrograde and anterograde. Retrograde means that you have trouble recalling old memories; anterograde means that you have a hard time remembering new memories. We're thinking that Miss Brown might have a mixture of both. Some good news is, not all amnesia patients have amnesia forever; sometimes amnesia could be temporary depending on the person."

"So. . . we'll have to go see Dr. Turner this afternoon," the purple-haired girl asked.

"Miss Brown could go, yes. It's not ideal for you to be there, as it will be more like a one-on-one session. You just have to drop her off and pick her up."

"Great. So, I'll make it to my audition." The girl smiled.

"Audition?" The word sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't quite grasp what it was just yet.

"Yeah, for a show."

"Alright, have a great day, Ladies." The lady with the white trench coat on grinned. "Oh! And I set up the appointment to be at three. Is that good, Miss Sparks?"

"Mhm." She nodded her head.

•

"Hello, I'm Dr. Turner, but most people find it easier to just call me Dr. T; don't hesitate to do the same." He shook my hand. I sat down in a soft magenta chair across from him. "Before I get started, everything that happens in this office is 100% confidential. Meaning, I won't tell a single soul what you and I talk about in here."

"Okay." I nodded with one subject in mind.

"So, let's get started." He stood and grabbed something off of a huge dark brown shelf. "What is this?" He put a rectangular-shaped object with pages in it in my lap.

"A. . ." I looked at him for some type of clue; it didn't shock me when he didn't. "I dunno."

He got a small neon lime writing pad and scribbled something down. "What I'm writing on is called a sticky note, but we'll get to that later." He then ripped it off the. . . note thing then slapped it on the rectangular-shaped thing with pages I was holding. "Read what it says."

I squinted at it since his handwriting was very small."Book."

"Correct. So. . . what is it that you're holding?"

I glanced at the paper. "A book."

"Yes!" He beamed, causing me to do the same. "Now, I will speak with Adriana about using these for you. When you use sticky notes on certain things you don't know, it helps your brain memorize them overtime because you're continuing to read them over and over; kinda like when you study for tests using notecards."

"Okay." I nodded my head. "Um. . . tell me what you know about Mateo?"

"Mateo?"

"Yes."

He got some type of tan folder out and began flipping through it. "This file here says that you adopted him and he was taken from you not too long ago and put into a household with Joy and Alexander Hawthorne."

Finally, the truth.

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