You wake up in a darkened room, in a single bed. You don't recognise the room initially, but as your eyes quickly adjust to the semi-darkness you realise you're in a hospital bed. Although you feel groggy, you don't feel particularly unwell, and you mentally scan your body for any injuries or pains; however, you detect nothing. Maybe it's the meds, you think, but then again you don't feel particularly doped up either. Just a little muzzy from having awoken from a deep sleep.
Just as you're about to get out of bed and investigate your locker for clothes, you are distracted by the click-clacking sound of high heels in the corridor outside. You listen as they make their way towards your room at an insistent pace -- it might be the purposeful walk of a matron if the tread weren't so light.
As you expect, the footsteps stop outside your door, and the immediately-recognisable outline of a nurse appears in the frosted window, silhouetted by the corridor light -- a tall, slender figure adorned with a nurse's cap. The door handle turns and the door slowly opens, a widening triangle of light spreading across the linoleum floor as the nurse steps tentatively inside. You smile at the irony of her trying not to wake you, even though ultimately that is her purpose, for she's carrying a little tray laden with medication and is clearly making her rounds. Nevertheless, you humor her and pretend to be asleep as she walks over to your bed, her heels continuing to make their light tattoo on the hard floor.
The nurse stands over you and reaches up to turn on the angle-poise lamp that's positioned overhead. The light is momentarily dazzling and continues to obscure your view of her, and you screw up your face in discomfort since the bulb is pointing straight at your face.
"I'm so sorry!" the nurse whispers, and repositions the lamphead so that it's pointing away from you. She has a soft, caring voice -- just right for a nurse, of course -- but it's also youthful-sounding, and you place her in her early twenties.
"Morning," you say with irony, guessing it must be several hours before dawn.
"Yes, I suppose it is," she replies. Her voice retains that same warmth you detected in her first words to you, and you imagine she must have a similarly benevolent face.
Very quickly your eyes adjust to the new light and you start to make her out more clearly. Just as you expected, the nurse is young -- twenty-one tops -- and pretty, with a sweet face to match that soft voice. She's not quite as tall as you imagined, certainly no more than five-five, but she's slender and delicately-framed inside her white nurse's uniform. Her light blond hair is neatly pinned back under her cap and she's wearing only the minimum of make-up, perhaps all that is permitted by the hospital rules.
"How are we feeling tonight?" she asks with a lovely smile.
"Okay, I think," you reply. "Nurse...?"
"Jennings. Don't tell me you don't remember me!" Her playful tone and wide smile tell you she's joshing you.
"I'm sorry..." you begin, wondering how you could forget such a beautiful girl.
She laughs quietly. "No,
I'm
sorry. A nurse shouldn't make fun of her patient's condition."
"Condition?" you repeat, hoping she may at last shed some light on why you're here.
"Yes." Her tone is more serious now, professional. "You're suffering from anteriograde amnesia. That explains why you don't know where you are or who I am."
"Oh," you say, rather embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
"You can't help it, silly," she laughs, her previous, playful tone returning. "Anyway, it's time for your medication." With that she hands you a little paper cup containing three pills, together with a cup of water. "Now I want you to take it like a good boy." She then adds coquettishly, "As usual."
"What are they?" you ask, swirling the paper cup so that the variously-colored pills rattle around at the bottom.
"Medicine," she says matter-of-factly as she walks to the bottom of your bed and takes out the chart from its holder. She busies herself looking through your notes.
"Medication... for amnesia?" you say suspiciously.
Nurse Jennings is jotting something down when she casually and somewhat vacantly replies, "Mm-hm."
Why would a nurse lie to you? Without another thought you tip the pills onto the back of your tongue and swallow them down with the water. When she's finished updating your chart she returns to your side and smiles as she takes the empty cups and sets them on the bedside table. Then she takes a thermometer from her breast pocket and places it in your mouth, saying in a mock-sternful voice, "Now don't chew it."
You sit there with the thermometer sticking out of the corner of your mouth as she takes your pulse, using her nurse's watch to check it. The touch of her thin, delicate fingers on your wrist is thrilling, especially when you notice her beautifully-manicured nails and lack of a wedding ring. You also detect a hint of perfume -- again, it's probably so subtle because of hospital regulations -- but it's scintillating all the same.
"Are you alright?" Nurse Jennings says when she notices that you're staring dreamily at her pretty face.
"Mm?" you reply, her question disturbing your reverie. "Oh... uh, yeah," you add quickly, although the thermometer makes it difficult to talk. She takes it from your mouth, shakes it and reads it.
