The room was dark and close and the air was heavy, like a storm was approaching. The drapes had been drawn and as heavy as they were, I knew that it was daylight. There was a sound of heavy machinery running outside of the house and I couldn't quite place what it was. I had awoke in a bed with a heavy blanket thrown over me and two flat pillows under my head. There was something rustic and dilapidated of what I could see of the room around me. The wallpaper was something that you saw in 1950's movies. The furniture was thrift shop quality; it was slightly worn but serviceable. I couldn't hear any voices, no radio or television sounds, just the machinery outside.
I tried to get out of the bed and had almost made it when a wave of dizziness and a wash of nausea forced me to lie back down. There must have been a rattle of a spring, a groan of the floor or the moan of a man for soon a young, good looking woman entered the room. She was pretty, in a used up kind of way. Her clothing was older and a little worn and her dark hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of her neck with a bandana covering it. She looked at me with deep concern and something else except my brain couldn't tell me what that look meant.
She came to the edge of the bed, took my shoulders and gently pushed me back down onto my pillows and whispered that I was not well enough to get out of bed yet. The accident only happened two days ago. I had no idea what she was talking about. What accident was that? She told me that I had been sideswiped by a tractor trailer and had slid into a ditch off the side of the interstate. It had totaled my car. The answer did sound as if it could have happened but the look on her face wasn't quite right.
My head was pounding and I couldn't think. The movement of the bed as the young woman tried to make me more comfortable made me more nauseous. She must have noticed the gray in my face for the young woman stopped moving. I inquired as to how I was in her house instead of a hospital and she told me it was our home: that we were married. My brain was muddled because I didn't know any of this. I must have hit it hard in the accident. I didn't feel any aches anywhere else on my body. I should still be feeling some pain if I was hurt enough to be out cold for two days. But maybe there were painkillers in my system and that is why I was feeling foggy.
It occurred to me that while I didn't remember the car or the accident, I didn't know my wife's name or come to think of it, my name. Who am I? I broached the subject of my name and hers and she seemed upset that I didn't remember her name. She whispered her name; Nora. I didn't know her. When I pushed her for my name she told me it was Greg. Greg what? She told me that we were Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Wilson. I didn't know me.