I wake up to sound of the silence. My head pounds, making it seem almost impossible to open my eyes. I’m in that strange state between barley asleep and barley awake but I know something is off. My muscles are too tight, my clothes are too damp, and the air is too cold. This isn’t home. My home is warm and bright; it smells like musky, city air and morning coffee. My home isn’t cold. It doesn’t smell like a strange mix between grass and garbage. I need to get up. I need to open my eyes, but…if I open my eyes it will be real. If I don’t, maybe I’ll fall back to sleep, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up at home.
The sound of honk, and then, was that a scream? makes my decision for me. My eyes fly open on their own accord to find a young woman, no more than 30, standing in front of me. The pounding in my head intensifies and I hear myself moan. The sunlight is blinding but I can vaguely make out a long, lonely highway behind the woman, surrounded by acres of forests. I roll on my face to bloke out the sun, only to find the taste of grass and dirt enter my mouth. I’m in too much pain to care.

“Oh my god,” I hear the woman say. I hear her rush to my side and place a shaking hand on my arm, “Are you ok? Sweety, what’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from?” I don’t remember answering her, but apparently I do because next thing I know she’s talking on the phone reciting my name, age and hometown. Joanna Prior. Age 16. Little Falls, New York. The information plays on repeat in my head because it’s honestly all I know. I don’t know how I got on the side of a highway, I don’t know why my head hurts, and I don’t know what happened the night before. I just remember waking up. And I remember a bicycle. An old, rusty, red bicycle. For some reason, that feels important to me, so I hold on to the image of the bike.

“The ambulance will be here any minute, Joanna,” the woman says, “stay with me.”
I feel myself nod. I open my eyes and look up at the woman. And suddenly, I’m speaking.

“My bike,” I say, “Where’s my bike?”
I see her eyebrows burrow in confusion and her face squint.

“You mean, that one?”
She’s pointing to my right. I turn around and there it is. Old, rusty, and red. And now, broken. Bent in two.

“Yeah,” I say, “That’s it.” I don’t remember buying it, or riding it, but it’s there in my brain and since I have no other memories besides my basic information I cling to it like a life force.
I hear sirens wail and I try to sit up but the woman pushes me back down.

“Just wait, we’ll help you.”
An ambulance, followed by two police cars, pulls up to the side of the road. Three men get out of the ambulance, pulling a stretcher behind them. They pick me up before I even have time to process what’s going on and pile me on to the stretcher before wheeling me into the ambulance. They poke and prod at me as they attack me with questions, which I answer as truthfully as I can. Because honestly, I know about as much as them. They ask me what hurts, I tell them my head. They ask me my name and my age, I tell them that I am Joanna Prior and I am 16. They ask me where I’m from, I tell them Little Falls, New York. They ask me how I ended up on a highway in New Jersey, I tell them I woke up there. They ask me to elaborate, I tell them I can’t. I can barley remember anything about my life and the reality of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks. Before I know it I’m crying, practically screaming, and all I want is to be home.

Home.

I can remember the smell; remember the warmth…but not the people. The doctors continue to poke and prod me, but I don’t feel anything. I am numb. Emotionally and mentally numb. I scream and thrash, trying to escape the clutches of the doctors, but before I can they inject me with a needle. And suddenly everything is black.

I wake up to a sterile, white room. It’s too bright and I have to squint in order to keep my eyes open. The room is practically empty, only occupied by a small chair in the corner and a desk next to the hospital bed I’m lying in. My hands shake. I don’t want to be alone. I’m too scared, too terrified, and I have never felt more-lost. The door opens and a young doctor, no more than 30, walks in, followed by the woman who found me.

“Joanna, I’m Dr. Arden,” he says with a soft, sympathetic smile, “How are you?”
I shrug. The question is more loaded than he probably meant it to be.

“Fine,” I say, “My head feels a little better. Do you guys know what happened to me?”
He takes a breath and by the look on his face I know what he’s about to tell me won’t be good. Nothing about this situation can be described as good.

“Well, after Megan found you,” he gestures to the woman as he says this, “we brought you to the hospital. We checked you for any diseases or serious injuries, but overall you seem fine. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find your name in any missing persons report.”
I feel a tear slip down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. I don’t want them to see me cry. I don’t want them to think I’m weak.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” I say.

“You have amnesia due to a head injury. You can remember your name and basic information, but all of your memories are suppressed,” Arden says as he takes out a clipboard. The woman, Megan, walks towards me and places a hang on my arm.

“Don’t worry Joanna, it’s been an hour since we found you and we have all of the time in the world to find your family. We’re going to help you.”
I nod and attempt a smile. They smile back, tell me to call them if I need anything, and then leave.
And finally, I let the tears begin to fall.