A Pendant With Two White Elephants

The sound of people whispering behind me woke me up. There was something covering half of my face. I started to panic. I sat straight on my seat and brought my hands to my mouth. After I realized I could take it off without resistance, I calmed down a little. I kept it on since I could breathe just fine with it. I looked around. I was on a train. The wagon was almost full. I wasn’t the only one wearing a mask; there were a few others. What was going on? I tried to remember, but there was nothing. I started to panic again. There was absolutely nothing. Nothing. Nothing about the mask. Nothing about the train. Nothing about who I was. I looked outside the window, but there were only indistinguishable fields. The grass was yellow. It looks like it didn’t rain for a while.

Losing both parents is a sign of carelessness, Oscar Wilde said. What about losing everything, including my memory? Except for this quote, apparently. I shook my head. Given the choice, I might not have chosen to remember this quote. English literature is not the most practical thing in times like these.

I stood up and walked to the bathroom. I expected to have trouble walking or, at least, feel nauseous. I was a little weak, but nothing serious. Nothing that would be a sign of physical injury like head trauma. That was good news, but I was still clueless about my memory loss. I walked slowly, just in case, but steady. In the bathroom, there was a mirror. I felt relieved. Knowing what I look like was somehow comforting. My hair was in a loose bun. It was holding a pair of sunglasses. The mask on my mouth was black. The only jewelry I was wearing was a necklace with a pendant. It was two small elephants: an adult and a baby, with a little heart-shaped diamond on each of them. It was pretty, but there was nothing special about it. I was wearing a black shirt with black leggings. There were any pockets. Nowhere to put anything, in or out. No passport. No train ticket. No identity card. No phone. It’s like I didn’t exist, like I was never here.

Since I woke up, I could feel something itchy in my bra. I finally got to take a look. There were a few twenties.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Is anybody in there?”

I opened the door without answering. Some lady came in with a reproachful look on her face.

I went back to my seat with two twenties in my hand. I put the rest back where I found them.

I sat down and looked outside, I tried to figure out where we were, but there was little to see: mostly fields and a few trees in the background. According to the orientation of the sun, I would say we were going south. Maybe southwest.

I wish there were something that would help me remember or figure out what happened. There was nothing. I was getting a headache trying to remember, but I had nothing to go on. I looked at everyone in the wagon, but nothing unusual was happening. Everyone was keeping themselves busy as people do on trains.

The train attendant was walking in the alley, pushing the service cart.

When she stopped at me, I asked for coffee, a water bottle, a croissant, and a bag of chips.

I drank of few sips of coffee and ate the croissant. It felt nice and calming. It was calming my headache too. So, I took a break trying to figure it out and enjoyed the meal.

Then, I opened the chips. The smell made me dizzy. I ate one chips. I was not feeling too great. The headache got worse, and the flashbacks started. I couldn’t make much of them, they were too fast and too brief. But it was violent. I was outnumbered. I didn’t want to be there, but I couldn’t get out. I shook my head to make the memories disappear.

I was feeling sick. So, I went back to the bathroom. I threw up. Everything that was in my stomach went out. I cleaned up the mess as best I could. I sat down on the toilet, crying. I was holding my head with my hands. After a while, I couldn’t guess how much time had passed, I stood up. I put some water on my face before leaving the bathroom.

As I was walking back to my seat, a little girl talked to me:

“Hi, miss.”

“Hi.”

“I like elephants. I have one at home, but it’s pink. I like your white elephants. Have you named them?” She asked as she pointed at my neck with her index.

White elephants.

“Ernest. They are both named Ernest.”

“It’s pretty. My parents say being earnest is important.”

“Yeah. Parents would say that.”

I waved her goodbye and went back to my seat. I put the sunglasses on and sat down quietly.

I was still curious as to why we were wearing a mask.