The middle aged man stood in the hospital bathroom staring into the mirror.
"Ryan." He said to his reflection. "Ryan Stone. Hello, I'm
Ryan Stone."
It felt wrong in his mouth. It sounded wrong in his ears. The
Doctors said this was normal. They said that as he reclaimed his memories, it would stop feeling fake.
He hoped so.
"Mr. Stone are you okay in there?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "Just coming out now."
Ryan reentered his hospital room and moved to the bed. On it lay a notebook filled with page after page of Mrs. Stone- Susan- his wife's handwriting. She had spent the last week carefully transcribing his whole life for him from his birth in London, to his parents deaths, then to his marriage and right up to his accident one year ago carefully paper clipping in birth certificates, drivers licenses, deeds and any significant documents.
She had not described his time in the coma.
Susan was being very patient with him. He felt guilty as hell each time he pulled away from her touch. He could see how much it hurt her that he just didn't recognize her.
Today he was going to Susan's house- his house. He would see his kids and he would have to pretend a little for them. He had memorized their names and birthdays and such.
He put on the t shirt and shorts that Mrs.- that Susan had left for him.
Even the clothing felt all wrong.
He hoped his memories would start to come back soon.