Short Story Prt 1 of The Sleeper

  There's a thumping in my head as I open my eyes for the first time in what seems like years. I blink repeatedly to adjust to the light, and as I do so, I see an unfamiliar face. A woman.  She appears to be in her thirties, in a white nurse’s uniform.  She introduces herself as Ms. Smith. When I ask why I am in the hospital, she informs me that I had been in a severe car accident. I ask if I could use a phone to call someone. Her reply is that with my injuries she doesn’t suggest to get out if bed, so she lets me borrow her phone. She hands me a flip phone, while explaining to me how she’s so excited because it’s the newest model. Weird.  After some time trying to remember, I finally was able to type in all the digits of my wife's phone number. After two tones, someone picked up. But instead of the wo man I thought would pick up, it turned out to be some old man speaking Spanish.

"Andrea?" I ask, with the slightest hope that somehow I will be able to find my wife.  "Que?" The man replies.  I repeat myself.  My hopes deplete like a balloon that has lost all of its helium. The line goes silent. I double check the phone number. Everything seems correct, but why would someone else answer her phone? As I contemplate the few plausible reasons someone else would have my wife’s phone, the nurse comes into my room again.

“No luck?” She asks. I can hear the pity in her voice. She suggests that I get some shut-eye. She promises me that my wife would call the hospital later, offering me more reasons she would not answer the phone.  I could hear the doubt in her voice.  However, I am quite exhausted and decided to listen to her advice. Maybe everything would be back to normal when I wake up. 

                I awake from my endless sleep.  I look around the room.  Most things seem to be the same as before.  A women walks into my room.  She looks familiar.  I ask where Ms. Smith was.  She looks at me, puzzled, and tells me that she is Ms. Smith.  I stare at her with blank eyes.  Though she did look eerily similar to my previous nurse, there was no way they could be the same person.  I tell her the impossibility, that just hours previously, she was years older.  She seems perplexed, and tells me that she will be back in a few minutes.  The thoughts of what could possibly be happening to me race through my head.  Obviously, I had to be dreaming, I mean, that’s the only possibility, right?

                ‘Ms.Smith,’or at least the woman who claims to be her, returns with a doctor by her side.  She is whispering to him. He shows me the same confused look that she had just minutes earlier.

“Hey buddy,” the doctor starts speaking to me, He has a condescending tone with me, as though he  thinks he is better than me.  I introduce myself, the best way that I can considering I don’t remember my name.  After my meager introduction, he asks me to explain what I was thinking.  After some time contemplating my wording so that they wouldn’t think I was crazy, I tell them what I think.  That just hours previously, Ms. Smith was my doctor.  But she wasn’t this Ms. Smith, well she was, except she was older, like thirty-something, and now she is younger.  As I talk I can tell the doctor is ready to send me to the Looney-bin.  I explain to them that this has to be some sort of dream.  A terrible, horribly realistic dream. I pinch myself to show them that this isn’t really happening. Ow. That actually hurt.

Ok, now I am just as confused as my doctors are.  What could possibly be happening to me? Is this not a dream, but instead some sick reality?  My breaths start to shorten and I feel as though my lungs are collapsing. What year is it? I demand the answer as if this is a life or death situation. The doctor is taken aback by my abruptness.  He tells me to calm down. I repeat myself, with more anger in voice.  Ms. Smith finally answers me. 1994, she says. 1994. 1994. 1994.  The one year just repeats in my head, over and over again, until it has become meaningless.

I start to hyperventilate. My breaths feel short and my mind is racing.  Ok, so before I was in the accident, it was 2014.  And now, it’s 1994.  What happened? How did it happen? Why me? Then, I passed out. 

                When I regained consciousness, I was greeted by a whole new cast of doctors and nurses. I immediately demanded what year it was.  Their response, just as I had guessed, 1984.  Ok, so this had to happen every time I fell asleep.  But the question is, how do I stop it from happening? Everyone needs sleep.  If I don’t sleep, then I will die.  Am I already dead? Is this some twisted hell. 

I start to get up as the doctors are motioning for me to stay down.  I stare at my arm, and rip out the IV like one would rip off a bandaid.  Now the doctor and nurse are yelling at me and forcefully pushing me back onto my bed.  I ignore them.  I wobble my way to the door. After some time, I am able to walk faster, and head towards a discreet hallway.  The Doctors and nurses pass the hallway I am in, franticly searching for me.  When they pass, I sneak towards the exit.  I push through the doors and breath in the fresh, damp air.  It is drizzling outside, the clouds looking ominous.