writing adventure 31- Remember

     He loved a girl once, but he can't remember her name, so he pretends her name is Abigail. She had beautiful blue eyes, the type of blue that seems surreal the first time it's seen, like it should only exist in picture books or the bottom of the ocean.
     He thinks he told her that, but he can't remember what her reaction was. The only thing he can remember are Abigail's eyes. They were beautiful, and a very deep blue. Had he remembered that already?
     Anyway, Abigail was pretty, but he only remembers the vague sense of her beauty, like it left an afterimage in his mind that he can't shake. He sits very still so that it will never go away. The doctors ask him to explain why he can sit so still and so silently for days, but he can't tell them. What if he opens his mouth and it goes away?
     He realizes the wall is a deep, gorgeous blue, and then he gets scared. He can't remember if her eyes were blue, or if it was just the wall that he's been imagining all this time.
     He blinks. The wall is white again. He has a small sigh of relief before he closes his mouth and resumes staring at the wall.
     This is how he remembers. He loved a girl once, but she's dead now. He thinks her name was Anna, or something with an "A" at the front. Anyway, it was a pretty name, and she had pretty eyes, and they were so blue, like the blue someone sees when they see spots in front of their eyes. He shakes his head, he wants to remember more than a color. Color doesn't matter, he thinks to himself.
     But it does matter, and his eyes tear up from staring so long. Or was that from guilt? The tears come faster. Did he really forget a girl he loved?
     The doctors come, and they ask him more questions, but he doesn't answer because the wall has turned blue again and that's scary. He doubts, and the doubting makes him want to scream, but the screaming makes him want to sit perfectly still and remember Amanda's calm blue eyes. They were calm, right until she died. He thinks she died in his arms, but he can't be certain.
     The wall is red now. He blinks, but the wall remains red and the tears remain in his eyes. He knows it means something, but his brain has forgotten so much that he can't remember a connection. Did she die a bloody death? Did she have red curtains on the window by her bed, on the window he stared out of, watching the police surround her apartment?
     The doctors blindfold him, but the red remains, and he knows now. He knows everything and nothing at the same time, and it frightens him how much he can recall. It frightens him how he killed her because he was different, because he had a disease, because she had to call the police on him when he stopped taking that medication.
     It frightens him that he had the ability to murder a girl that had such pretty blue eyes.
     The blindfold comes off. The doctors ask questions but retreat with empty notebooks. The wall is white again, and he remembers only that there was someone he knew who may have been named Alice. He can't remember why he cares.