I have some advice for you. The next time you’re even considering jumping, falling, being pushed, or simply diving off of a cruise ship, don’t do it. Believe me, I know from experience that it is not a good idea. Especially if it’s one of those colossal ships that holds thousands of people, which is basically a whole city in itself. If it’s a small boat, then sure, go ahead, jump, fall, or be pushed. But if it’s a huge ship with an equally huge fall, don’t. I don’t care if you’re an almost-Olympic-level diver or a professional swimmer. And I don’t care if the Devil himself is chasing you with a chainsaw and your only escape is to jump. Don’t do it. Unless drowning and sinking into the darkest depths of the ocean to be later eaten by sharks and giant squid and sea monsters and whatever else might be down there is your idea of a good time. In which case, go ahead. Have fun. Say hi to the deep sea hot vent tube worms for me.

            You see, I did just that. I somehow ended up over the rail on a humungous cruise ship. There are two reasons why I was able to live to tell the tale. One: I am an almost-Olympic-level diver, and thus, was able to get into a diving position that would’ve earned me a perfect score had I been in front of judges; and two: someone had seen me falling and a rescue crew had pulled me out of the water and saved my life. Which is all fine and dandy. I’m glad to be alive. But the only problem is, at some point during my fall, I hit my head really hard on something, probably the rail or the side of the ship or whatever, and ended up with amnesia. And that means that I can’t remember whether I jumped, fell, or was pushed. Who knows, maybe I just felt like going for a nice dive in the ocean…off a cruise ship. 

            Amnesia. It sucks.  Imagine, if you will, waking up in the middle of the ocean with no idea who or where you are and no idea what’s going on around you. That exact thing happened to me last week. And let me tell you, it’s not fun. Not one bit.

            Luckily, after three days in the sick bay of the ship, I started to remember some of the basic stuff, like my name and age and my family and their names and ages and where I was and where I live and the date and stuff. But I don’t remember much. I can’t remember my favorite foods, or what music and movies I like, or much of anything. 

            And the even suckier part î º I missed half of the cruise because of my fall. And, even though they let me out of the sick bay with three days left of the cruise, the rest of my vacation was ruined. How can you enjoy a vacation when you can barely remember anything?

            Everyone in my family has been a good sport about it. They’re all trying their hardest to remind me. And they’re all trying not to laugh or scream when I ask them what something is or how to use something. Like, for instance, I couldn’t remember what chicken was. And when they told me, I couldn’t get over the fact that it was once a live animal and that I was, in truth, eating the dead flesh and muscle of a bird. The whole idea just repulses me, even now. So now, I’ve pretty much gone vegetarian. Perfectly fine with me, though it made my mother really mad when I refused to eat any of the meat they were offering on the ship. That turned into an interesting argument.

            And that just about brings me to now. We’re on a plane, going back to our home in New York from Texas, where the cruise had ended. I’m listening to my iPod and trying to figure out what my taste in music was. I’m also staring out the window at the tops of the clouds, trying to remember all of the other times I’ve seen this.

            “Would you like anything to drink?” the stewardess asks me. 

            I stare at her for a minute, almost as if she has three heads, before answering. “Uh…water?”

            “Sure.” She scribbles something down on a clipboard and then moves to the people in the row behind us.

            “Water?” Dominic, my older brother, asks. “I’m surprised you’re not having Coke. We just spent a whole week without it.”

            “That’s exactly why I’m not having it,” I say. “You saw how I was with the chicken. I might as well play it safe for now, in case I don’t like it.”

            He shrugs. “Whatever. You can take a sip of mine if you want.”

            I turn back to the window. In the distance, another plane is passing by, going in the other direction. I watch it pass, remembering a time like this a few years ago, when I had seen a similar scene. Basically, though, it’s déjà vu, which I have a feeling I’ll be getting a lot of these days.

            The drinks arrive in a few minutes. Dominic gives me his Coke to try. I take a small sip, feeling the sharp fizz on my tongue. It feels kind of weird, but it’s really not that bad. At least it’s not made from the dead parts of an animal.

            “Like it?” he asks.

            I nod. “Not bad.”

            “I knew you wouldn’t start hating soda. You always liked it.”

            I give him back his drink. He takes a huge gulp and then returns to the book he was reading. I sneak a look at the cover. The Bourne Identity. The title sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe I’ve read that book before. “What’s that book about?”

            He glances at the cover. “This? It’s about a guy who used to be an assassin for the government who was found in the middle of the ocean with amnesia and a bullet in his back.”

            “Really?” I ask. That sounds a lot like me, only without the assassin and bullet parts.

            “Yeah,” he says. “You used to love this movie.”

            “Hm. I don’t remember it.”

            “No surprise there,” he mutters. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I should just call you Jason from now on.” Then, after seeing my confusion, he adds, “That’s the name of the main character by the way.”

            “Oh.” My eyes are transfixed on the cover. “Wouldn’t people find that weird?”

            “Probably,” he says with a grin. “But the two of us are already the weirdest you can get. So it won’t make much of a difference.”

            “We’re not that weird…are we?”

            He laughs. “I guess you’ll have to discover that for yourself.”

            I glare at him and go back to staring out the window.

 

            One of the first things we do when we get back home, even before we unpack, is go to the hospital. My mother insists that I be checked to make sure I don’t have brain damage. I keep telling her I don’t, but she won’t believe me. I hate it when parents don’t listen.

            “Sarah?” the doctor asks as I walk into her office after a whole bunch of tests.

            “Yeah.”

            “Mostly everything seems to be fine,” she says. “You have retrograde amnesia caused by slight brain damage. But the damage is only slight, so I don’t think any memory loss will be permanent.”

            Mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

            “Your memory should come back slowly,” the doctor continues. “It could take anywhere from days to years.”

            “Years?” I exclaim. “How will I get through school if I can’t remember anything?”

            “That’s a good question,” Mom agrees. “Sarah is in a couple of advanced classes. You can’t tell me that I’ll have to take her out of them.”

            “You might have to,” the doctor says grimly. “But it really depends on how much your daughter can manage to remember by then and how quickly she can relearn the things she doesn’t.”

            “Isn’t there anything we can do?” Mom asks.

            “Well…” The doctor pauses for a minute. “You could hire a tutor. That could help refresh her memory. Or you could try a psychologist, though I’m not sure how much that would help.”

            “Why would a psychologist not help?” Mom asks. “I thought they could help with everything that involves the brain.”

            “They can,” the doctor answers. “But amnesia caused by damage to the brain is harder to treat using that kind of therapy.”

            “But it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try, would it?”

            “Probably not,” the doctor sighs. “Would you like me to see if I can get one for you?”

            “That would be great,” Mom says with a smile.

            “Ok, I’ll work on that and I’ll give you a call sometime this week when I find someone.”

            “Great.”

            Mom and the doctor shake hands and then we leave.

            As we’re crossing the parking lot to Mom’s car, she says, “You don’t mind getting therapy, do you?”

            I really don’t know. So I shrug. “I guess not.”

            “Well, we’ll see what she can find.”

            Whoever the doctor finds, I just hope it’s not some crazy psycho person who thinks I’m stupid. Because that would suck big time.