Who am I?

            The blue blurs were all muddled in front of me under the bright white light above them. I could hear a mumbling of words that sounded a bit like a bubbling brook and the back of my head felt like it was cracked open. I reached back with my right hand and gasped as I twitched a finger and felt lightning bolt of pain flicker through it. The blurs leapt forward and I gasped and pressed myself closer to the ground that I was laying on.

            “Don’t move!” One said.

            “Everything will be alright, we have a stretcher coming.” Another said.

            “Maranda, are you all right?” Someone asked me. I must be ‘Maranda’ then . . . Wait . . . Was I?

            I looked around at them, the person who named someone ‘Maranda’ was looking at me. No one else stepped forward. I didn’t recognize anyone, I didn’t remember my own name, and I didn’t know where I was. Looking down at my blue shirt that designated me as one of them, I realized I had that thing that people had when they didn’t remember who they were.

            “Shit,” I whispered. “Would I be the girl who cried wolf if I told you all I don’t know who you are, where I am, or who I am?”

            They all stared back at me, and the one who knew my name, the name I didn’t recognize, squinted at me with her coffee colored eyes like she was trying to decide if I was joking or not. Had I ever gotten knocked on the head before and forgotten who I was? Well, I was about to find out.

            “Fuck,” The girl who knew me sighed, “You lost your memory.” She flipped her chocolate hair over a shoulder and combed it with her fingers in frustration. “I’m gonna kick that guy’s ass!”

            “Woah, woah, woah!” A big and tall Hispanic dude grabbed her shoulders and held her back from the crowd of onlookers who had been gathered outside the building. Some grey shirted men were holding them back with some blue shirts and some police were on the scene as well. So many uniforms and different directives and orders were all outside keeping the ordinary person out. And one of those ordinary people was the reason I had lost my memory.

            “Well . . . This sucks. Can I have a smoke, or is it too soon for that,” I asked as I sat up, using my left hand as leverage.

            “This sucks? This sucks?” The girl whirled toward me, “That psycho would have killed you! And all because you told him he couldn’t come inside without a ticket and because he was too inebriated! Those are the rules and you didn’t have backup, or a radio, and this all ha- . . . Wait . . . Did you just ask for a cigarette?”

            “Yeah?” I didn’t think the request was strange, which she did, because I was in pain and wanted something to soothe me before the pain started to make me freak out. Sure, I didn’t know who I was, but I’m sure I liked the same things that I did before this all happened.

            “You don’t smoke,” She spoke slowly, like I was a child trying to understand how two plus two equaled four. Well, shit. Guess I am a different person after all.