Day 4 of StoryADay May
Write a story in the first person
I hate bananas.
My roommate quickly peeled hers and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. She looked like she enjoyed it, like it tasted good.
The skin was a bright unblemished yellow. It looked friendly, pleasant. So I followed her lead. I peeled the thick skin off the fruit and took a bite.
It was awful.
Smushy. Grainy. Slimy. A combination of all the wrong textures.
I gagged. But I choked the bite down. I didn’t want to insult my roommate.
Then the smell hit me. Moist. Heavy. Food gone past its prime. Overripe. I gagged again.
I hate bananas.
I add this to my short list of things I know about myself.
My pinky fingers are double-jointed.
I prefer green jello to red.
I can only fall asleep lying on my right side with my hands tucked between my knees.
I was born yesterday.
That’s how it feels anyway. My memory begins yesterday at 2:16 pm. I woke in this bed, in this room, in this gown.
Nothing happened before that moment.
They say I have a head injury. Total amnesia.
They say I was attacked yesterday morning. Someone hit me hard enough to erase me. But not hard enough to kill me.
They say I’ll remember who I am eventually.
I don’t know if I hope or not. That really depends on who I was. I don’t know yet if I am someone I want to know. Or someone I’m better off forgetting.
Apparently I made someone angry enough to want to crush my skull. I don’t think that makes me optimistic to know me.
Maybe this is my chance to start over. I can make myself into anything. Anyone.
I close my eyes to let myself imagine. Brainstorm who I want to be. I take in a deep breath.
I smell the candies he always carries in his pockets. The candy he always has in his mouth. The warm malty caramel smell that washed over me just before the bat swung.
And he is here.