Slowtown

11

"Alright. Let's try this again."

So she repeats herself, adding facts that make her theory more believable. Details.

A broken record, she is. "Self-preservation." "Something happened to you."

Josh repeats what he said too, and she congratulates his helpful perspective.

Sunlight is shining through the windows, it warms my left arm. So the sun rises and sets here, just as any other place I knew? And it burns endlessly? Everything is just as it was. I can look past them, out the window, and I see my trampoline in the backyard. Just as it was, huh? We sold that trampoline last year.

"The point is, you're safe here Tyler." She seems much happier that I'm not freaking out. I am too.

"Are you actually a doctor?" I decide to ask.

She looks at me, her expression changes. Laughing. "Hardly. I came here a day before my graduation ceremony from medical school."

"Why?"

She shakes her head, "I don't remember. I think I was in an accident, because when I got here, my spine and right shoulder were burning and pricking with pain– that's called paresthesia." Wow. Fact that I don't care about #2. "Sometimes it still twitches." Just as she looks down, her fingers shake. "I was afraid, so I stopped using it."

I look up at her, I don't get it. "What?"

"I know." She twirls her finger by her head, crazy. "But I..." she puts her right hand to her forehead. "I made myself left handed."

I can't believe it. But wait, yes I do. That's what fear specializes in. It makes you want to forget who you are, and "forget" to want help, and hope that others forget to ask, because life would sure be a lot easier for them if they didn't know how shit you feel all the time; don't you see, that I just don't want you to have to worry? So re-plan your life, train yourself anew, and give your best excuses, all for the value of ignorance.

Sorry.

But the living proof is right here. A woman who didn't want the ball and chain of fear slowing her down. So instead of dragging it, she picked it up and held it. Now, the fear is closer to her than it was before. It's heavy, but she can pretend it's not; this way, at least it doesn't screech while scraping across the floor, so she doesn't have to acknowledge it.

"Well, the only thing that's left to tell you is that... some things work a little differently here, and some people too. Maybe you'll meet someone you remember, but they may or may not act like themselves."

My eyes shift to look at the time. 12:03.