Writing Club, 02/13/09

This week we all wrote a story idea on a piece of paper and then drew someone else's idea from a hat. The one I drew was:

“The main character wakes up the ‘day after prom’, except learns that he/she is actually 50 and has forgotten 33 years of his/her life. Amnesia on steroids, if you will.

What do you mean? This isn’t my face. This isn’t my face at all. No it isn’t. Why is this such a hard concept for everyone else to grasp? I know my face—this isn’t it. It isn’t…
I take a closer look in the mirror. Well, it’s kind of my face. It kind of reminds me of my grandmother’s face, except I know it’s not her. It can’t be me—I’m 17! 17-year-olds don’t have that face.
Try to remember what I did last night… last night was prom. Last night I was dancing with Mac. I was actually dancing with Mac! I can’t believe it. He even talked to me. He said, “Hey.” To me! To ME, he said “hey”! Then I said “hey” back, and then he said, “So, I noticed you didn’t bring a date”, and I thought how much easier it would have been if he had just said, “So, I noticed you were a big loser”, because then at least I could have run away and cried about how the guy I’ve had a crush on for over a year finally paid attention to me, and that’s what I am. Instead he says, “So, I noticed you didn’t bring a date”. What am I supposed to say to that?!
“Um, yeah.” I shift feet uncomfortably. What an awkward conversation. He steps up.
“So… you want to dance?”
“I want to dance and marry you and be your girlfriend!” I think. But gratefully I can’t really talk to the guys I like, or I probably would have said that out loud. “I can’t really dance”, I say.
“Oh, I don’t care,” he says, nonchalantly. “Nobody really can.” And then I danced with him. I don’t remember what I said or if he really talked, or if when he did talk I said anything at all, but I danced with him! Totally the start of a whole new chapter in my life. Too bad we’re graduating the week after next, but I hear he’s getting into UCLA, and I can completely be a stalker in California since the weather’s warm.
But wait… that’s right… they’re telling me I’m 50-years-old! I can’t be 50. I still remember what it’s like to be 15! I WAS just 15! This is really my luck.
Wait—if I’m 50—I mean, if I’m REALLY 50… then I don’t have to go back to school, right? I graduated, right? Hopefully. I have this wedding ring on my finger. Wait—a WEDDING RING on my finger?! I got married?!?! Was it Mac?! It can’t be Mac. I mean, we were starting a new level in our relationship, but still—UCLA, and I’m not really a stalker. I’d be a horrible one. That means I fell in love and got married… unless I didn’t fall in love… maybe I just settled. Did I just settle?! How horrible would that have been!
If I got married, then maybe I had kids. I should ask that, but I’m not really sure I want to know. What if I did have kids? What if I only had one kid, and that kid lived to be 20 and then got hit by a train or sucked into a volcano, and it was so traumatic, and THAT’S why I can’t remember anything?! What a horrible life I probably had! What if I never had any kids? That would be pretty bad, too. What if I didn’t even adopt or anything? What if I’m poor? What if I’m a bum! What if I don’t do anything with my life and my husband tried to throw me off a cliff to get rid of me! How would I even know what my husband is like?! What if I didn’t do anything that I thought I would do with my life?! I don’t want to know, if that’s the case!
But I can’t NOT know. I have so many questions. What happened to my favorite television show? Is it on DVD, and if it is, can I watch it? What happened to my friends? Did my brother ever get out of jail?! Wait—I don’t have a brother in jail. That wasn’t me. How random. I wonder why I said that. What if I did something really amazing and now everyone knows who I am? I’m not sure I actually WANT to be famous. But seriously, I don’t get it. Yesterday, I was 17, and now I’m 50. My MOM wasn’t even 50. Am I like her at all? Where is she living now? Has she seen me?
I have so many questions. I hear voices outside the door—they’re getting closer. One of them I don’t recognize. Could it be my husband? Have they told him I’m awake, and now he’s come to see me? The door is opening—I guess I’m about to figure it out.