Lia knows three things.
The first is that she’s forgotten something important. It’s not a surprise, and she doesn’t know what it is. There’s always something, and memories run out of her brain like water through a sieve. It might be a lot of important things, actually.
The second is her name, and what that means. Lia. A girl, twenty-three years old. She took her last injection of Estradiol Enthanate four days ago and there’s three more days before she needs another dose. She doesn’t really have a last name. There’s one on her ID, but it doesn’t count. That’s all wrapped up in a single concept, a little mental package with her name on it.
The third is that she’s hungry, and not quite sure how she got to the bench she’s sitting on. It’s a pretty nice day out, and the sun is pretty far from the horizon, so it’s somewhere from late morning to early afternoon.
She checks her pockets. Wallet, keys, phone. That seems right. The phone is about how she remembers it, but there’s a crack on the screen that wasn’t there the last time she looked, which was… sometime. The thought slips away from her, and it doesn’t matter.
Lia tries the code on her phone, 3-6-3-5. Wrong PIN. Damn. She could have sworn that’s what she set it to. Must have changed it and forgot. Let’s see, thumbprint? Aha! That got it.
There’s a couple messages, but none of them seem urgent; just casual chatting with people she doesn’t remember. The map indicates she’s not far from home, that’s good. It’s coming back to her, now, what home is like. There’s a bed there with dark blue sheets, a desk in a room with off-white walls. It’s ten miles away according to this. That’s a long walk.
She’s pretty sure she doesn’t know how to drive. There’s no bus card in her wallet, either, so it would have to be cash - a dollar fifty to get on the bus. She doesn’t have any cash. Her legs are sore.
Lia looks at her contacts, trying to see if there’s any names she recognizes. She searches once, a name half-remembered, but there’s no result. She paws through the list, trying to find a name she recognizes, any name. She doesn’t scroll through all of them. Part of the way through, she stops and puts her phone away. Her memory is worse than usual today. It’s okay. It’s okay.
Her face is wet. It’s okay. Lia reins in her breathing, trying to keep it steady. The sun is shining on her wet face. She sees bushes, the kind cultivated for city life. There’s a wrought iron fence surrounding an empty dining area. The ground beneath her feet is rough asphalt, the kind that should probably be replaced because it’s getting uneven, but not enough foot traffic comes through here for it to be worth it. A cane is leaned against the bench; someone must have left it there. The sky is half blue and half grey-white, clouds approaching like a wave in the distance. She can smell the sweetness of pollen and a whiff of the nearby restaurant preparing food. It must be something fried. She can taste the fear in her mouth.
Something has to change. She gets up and starts walking. It hurts, a little, and she’s not really sure why. Something with her knee. She’s never had an issue with her knee before, though. Maybe she did, and she forgot it. It’s hard to be sure.
Lia is walking the direction that home is in, she’s pretty sure. She’s not thinking about it very much. She remembers how her phone said to get home still, roughly. This is the right way.
She wants to be sitting in bed. She has a plushie there, a red fox just the right size to hug. The fox’s name is Lexi, and she loves it. She wishes Lexi was here. It has the softest fur, and plenty of stuffing to hold itself firm. Lexi being here would fix it. She would be safe.
It’s fine. It’s fine. She’s going to get home.
Her knee hurts. This must be a bad day. Why was she out on a bad day? Lexi pushes that out of her mind, because it doesn’t matter. She just needs to get home, and it’ll be okay.
The sidewalk turns to gravel here. It’s a little smaller, and not as nice to walk on. That’s okay. It’s still the path that goes home.
She checks her phone. There’s messages from someone she doesn’t recognize. A couple of them, starting from a bit after she left the bench she was on earlier. They’re asking where she is? If she’s okay? What?
Did she forget someone who was important to her? That doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t be. She sends messages back. Who are they? Why do they seem upset?
Lia doesn’t know anyone like this, she’s pretty sure. Maybe it’s some kind of scammer, trying to get personal information? One of those wrong-number scams? Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Her map says she’s going the right way to get home. Her knee really hurts. She keeps walking. She just wants to get home. She knows how to do things at home. It’s easier to remember at home.
Lia’s phone is ringing. It’s the person who was messaging her before. She doesn’t want to talk on the phone right now. She might not be able to keep her voice steady, and she doesn’t trust whoever Reyna is.
There’s more text messages. Reyna says that they’re friends? Good ones? They were out together, and she was waiting for a minute while Reyna went to the bathroom.
That sounds almost… familiar? It couldn’t be. Lia knows that people might lie to her when she can’t remember things, trying to trick her when she’s uncertain. Reyna seems really worried, though. She says that she found Lia’s cane on the bench? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe? It’s hard to say.
Her leg is hurting a lot. It’s getting harder to walk. Maybe that’s okay. She’s made it a couple miles, at least. She can take a break for a little bit.
Her face is wet again. It still seems like rain hasn’t started. It’s weird. She looks at her phone. Reyna seems really worried. Did they have messages before this? A chat history?
Yeah. Planning to go out shopping for clothes together. It’s familiar, like it almost rings a bell. It’s scary, because Lia still can’t quite grasp it. Sitting here by the side of the road, leg hurting, alone. She might have messed up? She doesn’t know.
Is Reyna going to be angry?
There’s more messages, now. It’s hard to look at them, guilt welling up. Reyna is worried, but Lia hasn’t been reading carefully. She wasn’t listening.
Hey, this happens sometimes. It's okay. I know you forget. Something might have happened while I was gone, or maybe not, and it's okay either way. Send me your location and I can come get you. Love you <3That message was right after she responded to Reyna’s worry with confusion. It’s hard to think. Lia is definitely crying now; silent sobs that leak down her face and get her shirt wet.
Some of it is coming back to her. The plans, Reyna, the cane. Walking this far without it was bad.
The rain is starting. Lia isn’t wearing a coat, just a loose grey shirt and black cargo pants. The drops hitting her skin are warm, but that won’t last once she’s soaked.
I'm sorry, Reyna. I didn't know what was happening. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry. Location Shared
It's okay, don't worry. I get it. I'm not mad at you. I'll be there soon.The time passes slowly, alone in the rain and the guilt. It’s her fault, Lia knows, and she should have prepared better. Should have checked the notes on her phone, the message history.
She wishes she was home. She thinks maybe she should never go out again. She’s not well enough to go out. She’ll have to talk to her therapist about this, and it’ll be so embarrassing. Reyna might not want to try doing this again. She really wanted new clothes, and it’s so scary to go alone.
Maybe this will be the last straw. Reyna might not want to talk to her again. It’s too much. She doesn’t know what to do.
Reyna’s car pulls up in front of her. It’s familiar, now. Not that her memory is good, by any means, but not so full of holes as it was earlier. Reyna is inside, waving with a face that says she’s trying to be brave and show Lia a smile instead of concern and disappointment..
Lia gets up, and walks over to the car. It hurts, but it’s not far. She can do it.
As she opens the door, Reyna’s smile gets a little more real. “I’m so glad to have you back! I’ve got you, now. Wanna head home, or somewhere else?” Her voice is like a choir of birdsong cutting through a stormy night.
“Home. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what we planned.”
“It’s okay, I get it. You’d do the same for me. And I know we have some hot chocolate mix at home, and I’d love to have some with you.”
“…Yeah, that sounds good. We can do that.”