In Barcelona, a woman wandered the streets lost. Her shoulder length brown hair fell straight along her back. For reasons unknown to her, she had thrown off a blonde wig almost ten minutes ago. She was looking for home. Nothing felt familiar to her. Scared, and alone, she took off running. Up and down the streets, hoping that she would find something that would lead her home. Exhausted, she collapsed in front of an apartment complex. Nothing still felt familiar. She sat on the curb, buried her head in her hands and began to weep. She didn't understand why she was so bruised, why her leg was bleeding so badly, why she felt so sick, why she was so confused, why she was all alone.
"Are you ok?" A woman, approximately her age approached her.
"I don't know." The woman said, she was surprised she answered in Spanish. All of her thoughts were in English.
"Are you lost?"
"Definitely."
"Where do you live, perhaps I can give you directions?"
"I don't know."
"What is your name?'
"I don't know." With that, the woman began to cry again. The other woman sat down next to this stranger, and put her arms around her in a comforting embrace.
"Your leg is badly bleeding. Why don't we start by getting you to the hospital?"
"It's not that bad."
"Maybe someone is looking for you there."
Deciding that the other woman is right, the woman stood up, and took her hand for balance. "I may not know my name, what is yours?"
"Rosaline Gonzales."
Very glad to know someone, the woman walked to the hospital which was only a few blocks away. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a name tag from a party earlier that night. "My name is Jessica English." The woman, now Jessica, said.
"You remembered?" Rosaline asked.
"No, but I found this name tag in my pocket."
"Well, at least you have a name, Jessica."
"Yes, at least I have a name."
After getting her leg bandaged, the brunette, walked with Rosaline to her apartment, where Rosa let her stay the night, and the next six years.