I stagger backwards, hands going to my temples. I’m starting to panic for real now. I can’t remember my name nor anything about myself. I only know that I’m lost, cold, and disoriented. Where am I? Who am I?
My legs threaten to fold, so I sit on the curb, wrapping my arms tight around my knees. The pain is worse now, sharp and electric behind my left ear. I try to remember what my voice sounds like, but all I get is static, then a long blank. What if this is all I am? An ache and an echo, nothing else?
The wind picks up, bringing the scent of fried food and cigarettes. I glance up. In the middle distance, a man with a heavy jacket and an old duffle slouches under the bus stop shelter. He’s watching me. I turn away, curling in tighter, but his footsteps close the gap.
“Hey, miss,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “You okay?”
I open my mouth. At first, nothing comes out. My tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth. I try again.
“I don’t… I think I’m lost,” I say, and the sound of it makes me start to shake.
He sits beside me, far too close, and I try to slide away, but the curb is slick and I nearly tip over. He grabs my shoulder, and his grip is too strong. I tense, trying not to flinch.
“Whoa, careful there. Looks like you took a nasty hit.” He peers at the cut on my forehead, then at my eyes. “You need help?”
I nod, but my mind is screaming. I don’t trust him because I can’t trust anyone right now. But I can’t stand up on my own, either.
“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says, and tries to pull me to my feet.
I jerk away, sudden and panicked. “No, it’s fine. I just need a minute.”
He shrugs, but keeps watching. “Ain’t safe out here for a girl like you.” He grins, showing yellowed teeth, and I try not to flinch at the smell of his sour breath.
I stagger to my feet, using a parking sign as a crutch. My vision doubles, but I keep moving, ignoring his voice trailing behind me. I stumble into an alley, desperate for somewhere to hide, and collapse against a dumpster. My heart is going insane, thumping so loud I can hear it in my ears.
I hug my knees and try to think. There must be something. A number, a song, a favorite food. Anything to hold onto. I try to think, but when I do, the pain in my head explodes, white and sharp, and I sob, breath hitching in ugly, broken gasps.
I don’t know how long I cry. The sky above goes from bruise purple to blue-black. My phone is gone, my wallet is gone, and the only thing keeping me warm is adrenaline and shame.
I peek out of the alley. The man at the bus stop is gone. The street is empty again. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, then wander back to the main road, limping a little from where I fell.
Everything feels heavier, now. My muscles ache, my mouth tastes like rust, and every time a car passes, I want to crawl into the gutter and hide.
I wish I could call someone. I wish I could call anyone.
But for now, it’s just me, a broken city, and a head full of static.
By the timereal night comes, I’ve wandered so much that my feet are numb, and my legs ache. But the pain in my skull is now just a background buzz, less sharp than before. I walk in slow, lazy zigzags, reading every sign, every billboard, as if one of them might give me the password to my life.
At a corner, a church bell tolls the hour. I count: nine slow, deliberate rings. I’m shivering so hard my teeth hurt. I look around for somewhere to rest, but every stoop and doorway is already occupied by the city’s other lost people—men with shopping carts, couples with dogs, one old lady who mutters to herself and throws invisible rocks at the street.
I try to act invisible, myself. Just another ghost in the cold.
I think about the word “home.” What it looks like, what it feels like. I can’t conjure a single image. Maybe a TV, maybe a bowl of cereal. Nothing with faces.
I sit again, this time under a yellowed streetlight, and try to piece together the day. I have fragments—coffee, a song on the radio, a crash—but the rest is just holes. It makes me angry, and I dig my nails into my knee until I feel something real.
A shadow moves across the street. Someone tall, with broad shoulders and a fast, purposeful stride. I tense, fear spiking, but the stranger doesn’t look at me. He keeps going, hands in pockets, head down, boots stomping puddles.
I try to guess what kind of person I am. Am I the sort of girl who shouts after him, or the sort who cowers and hopes not to be seen? Right now, I’m the latter. I hunker down, wrap my arms tighter, and try to disappear.
But the world won’t let me vanish. There’s a new light in the distance—red, then blue, then red again. Sirens, soft and far away, coming closer. I look down at my clothes. Jeans, sweater, t-shirt with a faded logo: “ASK ME ABOUT MY COFFEE.” I choke on a bitter laugh.
The lights get brighter, then fade away. Not for me, not this time.
I lean my head back against the wall. The stone is cold and slick. I listen to the city’s noises and try not to think about how empty I am inside. When I finally start to drift off, I see, in my mind, a handsome male face with blue eyes. I don’t know whose it is, but it makes my chest ache.
I wake up to a boot nudging my leg. I jerk up, heart slamming, and scramble backwards, but the person steps away, hands raised.