Broken Hearts and a Small Glass of Lemonade

15

1 Night Later:

Dark ceiling.  Red light coming from my alarm clock.  Not being able to sleep.  Questions running through my mind.

Who am I?  Why am I staying here?  I don't even know the woman I'm living with.  How do I know she's my mother?

A blurry hallway.  Pictures of me.  Pictures of the woman.  Pictures of her deceased husband.  Never a picture of all of us together.

I make my way towards the woman's bedroom and stand outside of it.  The red door glints in the moonlight coming from the window directly across from it.  I can see that it's open a crack, so I push it open.

Breeze from the fan comes rushing down on me, and the memories are back.  Without the pain medication, I can feel every stab of every last memory.  I close my eyes and lean on the door jam.  After the memories are gone, I open my eyes.

I look around in amazement.  Red pillows.  Red bedsheets. Red carpet.  Red drapes.  Red doors.  Red walls.  How can someone live with so much red?  Even my room is too red for my taste, but I must have liked it before the accident.

I move toward the large dresser.  There must be something in here about the woman.  A picture.  A wedding license.  A ring.  But as I rummage through her dresser, all I find are clothes and a small perfume bottle.

Suddenly there's light.  I blink in surprise.  There's no time to hide, and I know it.  I'm caught.

"Mandy?" the woman asks in confusion.  I quickly move past her and run down the hall to my bedroom.  "Mandy?"

A click as the door is locked.  A rustle of bedsheets.  The smell of mint from the freshener above my bed.  The alarm clock.  The dark ceiling.  Dreams.