You finally awaken; it's been a long time. Eyes opening slowly, trying to actually see is the real challenge; there's a crusty goop build up. You raise a hand to wipe it away from your eyes, but the only thing that meets your face is a bandage. You drop it down to its original place. That's not mine! You blink furiously until you can see. You're in a hospital room; that much is true, but where? You look around; it's typical, white walls, pale aqua privacy curtains, etcetera.

You try and think and piece things together, but nothing comes. You think, about who you are, but you can't remember. You look around the room in a panic trying to find something to remember. Nothing clicks, a droopy bouquet, and some old get well cards; Are there no personal items?

Your heart jumps when you finally notice a man sleeping in the guest chair, mouth hung open as if he were drooling, but his chin still dry. Who are you? He had wild brown bed head hair, and thick brows, he wore a wrinkly navy blue hoodie, tattered cargo pants, and slip-on skate shoes.

You clear your throat and wetten it with your saliva. "Hello?" the strange man doesn't shift. You try again, with more volume, "Hello!" It was less of a question now, and more of a frantic call for help. "Please." You whisper to yourself. The man sits up and squints his eyes tiredly, scratching his head and yawning. Now his eyes, more open, deep blue and tired, look at you. He stares at you, eyes widening slowly, you're not sure if he's gaping at you in horror or surprise, until a smile spreads across his face, "Oh my god" he whispers as he reaches to hug you, "Oh my god," He whispers again mid-hug.

You know, as he pulls away, that he's a close friend. You don't know if he's family, a friend, or something more. You clear your throat, and say "Hello". He's crying, and his smile is the sort where his top lip is tucked in, because he's trying not to cry. You open your mouth to tell him I don't remember who you are, but a nurse walks in, she looks at you, her face morphs into the same gaping expression as the man had earlier, "Gotta get the doc!" she says, running out of the room.

You and the man wait in silence for the doctor to come. He's holding your free hand, it's making you uncomfortable, you don't tell him, because don't know who he is. He is no threat, that's for sure, just a tired man who obviously cares some. The doctor finally walks in, white lab coat, stethoscope around his neck, his gray hairline receding. "Well I be darned," he says, "I didn't believe the nurse when she told me, but there you are!"

"Excuse me?" is all you say. He chuckles, "You were in a coma, we didn't think you'd wake up!" he keeps laughing, but you just sit there horrified. A coma? Who am I? What happened? You clear your throat. "Ah," the doc says, "We should run some tests, you know, to check for any physical or mental damage this could have caused, comas are dangerous. You're one lucky fella." He's smiling like some creature on a cereal box, the ones meant to look at you, but instead stare into your soul.

The stethoscope he holds to your chest is cold and unfamiliar, you don't like this doctor, he's not serious enough, you don't know who you are, and he's joking around. "Good heart beat." He mumbles, "a bit fast but that's normal." He takes your blood pressure, "Good, good, normal for this situation." You clench your fist, you'd clench the other one but you're not going to risk it, another thing you don't know. What happened to my hand?

"How about we take you out to the scale?" he doesn't wait for a response, he just guides you out of bed and out the door, he motions for the man in the room to sit back down and wait. You follow the man down the hall, you're stumbling a lot, your legs feel weak, he's pulling your IV stand, it's got a squeaky wheel, you hold onto that noise, walking down the hall, clicking your tongue rhythmically to it. "Step on here." He points to a big medical scale, "don't move." You get on and open your mouth to ask him something, "Do you—" He cuts you off with a sharp shush, "Don't Move!" you close your mouth trying to stand still, legs together, without falling over. He fiddles around with the weights on top, "90 pounds…" he says, "You weren't much higher than that when you came in." he stops to scratch his chin, "You need to gain weight, not much, you have a smaller build, and your bones, they're very low density and weak."

You look at him, you're confused. "Our first concern is checking that brain of yours out, then we need to focus on your bone problem, it's probably why you got such bad injuries." He sighs, you remain shut up, "I'll be honest with you, with bones like that you should have died, you were so broken, you weren't supposed to recover, I don't get it, you have remarkable healing capabilities, but you can't so much as, build proper bones."

"What's happened to me?" you ask. He looks at you, "don't remember the accident, eh? You—" you cut him off, "Doc, I don't remember anything." His face doesn't change, "Tell me your name."

"I don't know."

"Your name, think."

You think of a common male name, "Stephen."

"No, did you try?" he asks.

"No," you say, "I don't know, I've been trying since I woke up."

"Try again." he says.

"I DON'T KNOW!" you shout. You feel tears form in your eyes, you breathe deeply.

He doesn't get angry; you know he's trying to help. He brings you back to your room, "wait here, I need to make a phone call." You drag the squeaky IV cart over to your bed and sit down. "Hi." says the man, still waiting in the hard chair. "Who am I?" you ask. The man chuckles, showing that one of his front teeth is black, "Hah, the raddest person ever! Well second after me!" His enthusiasm annoys you, "Really. Who am I?" you stare at him, "I don't remember who I am, I don't remember anything. Please." You try and keep a straight face but you feel the heat from it, the pain obviously shows. "Eaglebones…" the man whispers, "I'm so sorry."