Pinky and Brain

My left foot slid across the thick black stone. A crack echoed through the air.

I remember looking around in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation before me. "What happened?" I asked as my memories refused to rewind themselves. Something was wrong. Though no one had said a word, I could feel the anxiety radiating off the people around me like a cloud of dust rising on a hot summer day. The fear emanating in the gadget-filled sterile room had its own auditory form that shot through my body like streaks of lightning. It was then that I felt fear for the first time.

Every time I think back to moments that were meant to be tragic, I'm flooded with vivid memories in the woods. Honest to God, there is a lot about those days that are fuzzy. I can easily label those three days as the worst of my life and leave it at that. Or I can try to inject some bullshit optimism into my story.

Day 1: I was in and out of consciousness, and my eyelids felt as if they were weighed down with bricks. My body was leaden and uncooperative. My stomach growled and rolled as I fought wave after wave of nausea. At some point, I registered a cold chill in the air, and my skin was wet. I'm not sure if it rained or if my body was in the habit of making gallons of sweat. My legs were unresponsive, and I wished for the sweet release of death; however, it was not to be.

Day 2: Let's call my second day eternity. It was more of day one, except for two small gray blobs that took what seemed like hours to inch close enough for me to see them. They did not cower as I had expected. Instead, I felt a deep shame wash over me as I realized that my size and strength meant nothing in the face of their fearless courage. One had a small pink nose, and the other was a bit more curious, sniffing and running around me in circles. Their presence reminded me of something other than the hunger and thirst that unknowingly gripped me. The small one I named Pinky, and the other Brain. As I laughed at the irony, I felt relaxed.

Day 3: As the sun rose and painted the sky in spectacular washes of color, ranging from warm sunrise oranges to cool blues and yellows at dusk, I made a silent vow to Pinky and the Brain that we would one day take over the world. But I was convinced that I would be wandering around Dante's Inferno before I could act on that promise. I found myself overwhelmed by an unimaginable pain that coursed through my throat like fire; even trying to scream out for help was a feat I could not manage. All I could do was lay there, Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" repeatedly playing in my mind until my vision dimmed to darkness.

I've always heard that memory is unreliable. I guess that's why I couldn't help but feel betrayed when I realized I had forgotten about Pinky and Brain. As I scrolled through the morning news a week after D-Day, it wasn't my face and story that shocked me. What caught my attention were two furry companions I was found holding. It was like discovering a long-forgotten string of characters saved in your notes app before deciding to reset your password. It was a relief. Pinky and Brain - how had I forgotten them?