Nothing. Nada. I remember the sweet taste of her lips, cherries, and the feel of something cold, cold like a winter wind. I remember the feel of her body under my hands…soft and warm. I remember talking to her, kissing her, and then there’s an impression of brief, sharp pain, followed by darkness and silence. My next memory was waking up in a hospital bed, wearing a tiny hospital gown, my mind in overdrive with questions. How did I get here? What had happened to me? As soon as I woke up I called the nurse to try to get some answers, asking after Leila, and I was assured I had been admitted alone last night—there was no patient in the hospital named Leila. I was brought in alone, the nurse repeated. Dropped off at the door of the ER, and no, no one remembers who brought me. That’s the kind of detail a busy metropolitan emergency room nurse has no hope of remembering. She asked me if I wanted her to call a friend or family member, but I shut that down—I have no one to call.
