The husky woman who was showering near the corner moves closer to me, taking the showerhead next to me. Once more, I have an emotion associated with her. Like the woman in the hallway, I don’t want to associate with this female, either. Both have left me with negative emotions but this woman here makes the fear run deeper. “Ah, my favorite friend Anna with the creamy skin and perky little titties.”
My eyes dart over to her as I swallow hard. Another memory prods me with images of this woman pressing me up against the wall, trying to shove her hands down my sweatpants. My skin crawls as that tiny glimpse floods my brain and I huddle under the water, no longer interested in shampooing my hair.
It’s then that I realize it’s short—my hair—like the woman I’m standing next to, and I also think mine should be much, much longer.
“Bobbi, back off.”
“I was just saying good morning to my favorite friend.”
“I said back off, Sanders. You want detention?”
“No.” As she scowls, she at least stops leaning over me, but she otherwise stays where she is. I shut off the faucet and walk across the tiles. At one point, the bottom of my foot digs into the round drain in the middle, but I keep taking small steps until I get to the bench where Rose has already set a towel and fresh clothing.
No underwear.
I think I miss underwear, but I don’t know that for sure. I dry off quickly, wrapping the towel around my head, and then put on the shirt and sweats, struggling as my damp skin refuses to let them slide on. And we move through my morning routine as other people come and go throughout the space. I brush my teeth and comb out my hair while Rose stands nearby, and it’s then that I consider she might be an ally of some sort. Maybe not an ally so much as a neutral party, someone perhaps looking out for my best interests.
As I wash my face, I pause. It’s familiar, this visage looking back at me, but also foreign. I’d expected something a little different. My face looks so plain. My skin is pale, and the deep emerald of my eyes contrasts with it. My hair, light brown, should be longer, but it’s as short as that person Bobbi’s was, almost like a crew cut. And there are lines in the corners of my eyes that shouldn’t be there.
How long have I been here?
And, if I were to leave, where would I go?
Soon, we’ve shuffled to the dining hall and it’s then that I tell myself I have some of my strength back. How do I know that?
What the hell does that mean?
And why, when I see the man with dark blond hair and royal blue eyes, does my heart start pumping like it never has before? I’d swear, even without remembering anything else, that he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. When he begins walking toward me, my heart starts thudding so hard I can hear it in my ears. As he gets within a few feet of me, my breath catches in my throat and my knees grow weak.
Whether that is from fear or desire, I don’t know. I have no context.
2
The man is marching across the room toward me. I look around and behind me and, suddenly, Rose is nowhere to be seen. My savior has left me in my biggest moment of need.
But as he gets closer, I think he seems like he has a friendly face. The way he’s smiling at me—kind and happy, not vulturous and depraved like that woman named Bobbi—helps me let go of the breath I’ve been holding in.
“Anna, something looks different about you today.” I cock my head. I’m going to have to take his word for it. “Do I know the reason?”
I have no idea whatsoever what he might be talking about. Someone behind me says, “No cutting, Dublin.”
“Yeah, get t’ the back of the line, man!”
He’s trying to tell me something with his eyes, but he doesn’t realize I don’t know him from Adam. I would love to get to know him, but the timing’s off, and whatever he’s trying to say is lost on me. With a frown, he shrugs and goes away.
Whatever they’re cooking in here smells good. There’s a scent of sausage and maple syrup, and I can’t remember if I like those things or not. My nose definitely does.
I glance around the room. It’s noisy but bright. If there were windows in here, it might even be cheerful. The buffet line makes me think of a university cafeteria while the brown café tables with comfy looking green dining room chairs feel like the continental breakfast area of a middle-class hotel.
How the hell do I know all this stuff? And why does that all come to mind easily while everything else in my head is covered in cobwebs? It’s disconcerting, making me feel like I’m in a strange movie. All of a sudden, when I hear someone yelling, I turn around to see a woman sitting at one of the tables all by herself. She keeps shouting, “No! No!” over and over, covering her ears and shaking her head. Someone behind me starts laughing and, soon, Rose is back there with someone else dressed in the same powder blue scrubs.
“Denise, honey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.”
“No! No! Nooooooo!” She’s screaming now like someone’s pulling her fingernail off with a pair of pliers.
“Denise, look at me.”
“No!”
Rose looks at the other worker, a huge white guy. He hunches over so he can make eye contact with the woman named Denise. He says, “Denise, it’s okay.”
“No!” This time, she lashes out at the guy, grazing his cheek with a fork. It’s a plastic fork, but I imagine it could still do some damage if it connects.
Then I hear a tray clatter somewhere behind me and, in the instant it takes me to turn, look, and then spin back around, there’s another person in scrubs joining Rose and the white guy. “Denise,” comes his soft, soothing voice. “What have we talked about?”
Still screaming at the top of her lungs, she yells, “Lots of stuff!”
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Alice won’t shut up. She said the pancakes are poisoned.”
“How does Alice know this?”
“She said she talked to the cooks.”
One older guy is finished going through the line. When he picks up his tray of food, he finds a table as far away from the commotion as possible.
“Is it possible she’s lying to you?”
“Probably.”
“Can we go to the rec room to talk? We can get you something else to eat later.”
For some reason, Denise trusts the man with the gentle voice. Nodding, she follows while Rose and the other person who nearly had his cheek pierced begin cleaning up her mess. In a couple more seconds, I’m up next in line. Watching the person just in front of me, I do what she’s doing, taking a plastic tray and placing on it a fork, spoon, and napkin. Then I set the tray on the rails in front of the buffet and begin sliding it down.
“Pancakes?” asks the friendly server with her brown hair in a bun.
After what I just witnessed? “No, thank you.”
“Eggs?”
The tray of eggs looks runny, slimy, and completely unappealing. “No, thanks.”
“Sausage?”
“Yes, please.”
It looks greasy but I need to eat something. I think I’m hungry. Once I’m past the hot food, there’s a refrigerated section, and I find a slice of watermelon. I carry the tray, continuing to follow the person I’m copying, and we set them in the next station. There I see some cold cereals, a few different types of bread and a toaster, plus milk, water, and juice. I have to move farther down to find coffee. I fill a small glass with apple juice, another with water, and then get a cup of coffee before I wander out into the land of tables.