Remembering

                        1.

        Ida Kushner stood before her class and read
from the story book.

        "Mrs. Smith had no idea what had happened.
A freshly baked pumpkin pie, steaming hot from the oven,
had disappeared from the counter.  The turkey had
vanished from the roaster.  Her stove was empty of pots,
lids, and ladles.  The burners were cool.  Her dinner
guests would be arriving in an hour, and she would have
nothing to serve them.  It was so strange -- as though
she had never begun dinner that morning, that all of
her preparations had been part of a dream."

        Ida glanced up from the page and spied
the clock.  In another ten minutes, she would be
jockeying in traffic, bound for an airport packed with
last-minute travelers.  There, she would greet her
mother, now enroute from Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving.
In the two seconds it took her to turn the page, she
heard the shuffling of her fifth graders.  Each
of them watched the clock, the black hands ticking
toward three o'clock.  She felt one of her students
agonizing over the slowness of these last few minutes
of class.  She tasted Thanksgiving dinner through the
thoughts of another student.  Their energy poured 
through her mind, distracted her from the reading
assignment.  She suppressed a smile and smelled the
comforting scent of book paper.  

        Ida envisioned her mother emerging from the
access tunnel, a bright smile upon her face as she
towed two enormous suitcases.  Ida's children
shouted with glee as they dashed to embrace their
grandmother.  Their father stood clear of them,
frowning as they charged thoughtlessly through a
crowd of disembarking passengers.

        "Ten more minutes," Ida thought, as the joy of
the holiday season brimmed in her heart.  A month of
planning, shopping, cleaning, and baking approached 
fruition.  She inhaled, prepared to read the next page.

        Suddenly, a loud screech pierced the classroom.
Ida glanced up with recognition, her gaze passing through
the windows to the highway lying beyond the schoolyard.
The ugly sound grew louder, as wheels locked, tire rubber
slipped in fits and starts across the rain-slicked
pavement.  She felt her skin growing hot, her throat
drawing shut.  She watched two cars spinning out of
control, horns blaring.  The screech lost presence and
texture.  It became a hollow scream, echoing through the
dark tunnel into which she descended.  The classroom
grew clouded and shrank into a singular point of light.
Paralyzed, she tried to swallow.  There was a deafening
crunch, and everything went black.

                        2.

        She opened her eyes, slowly.  The lids were
heavy, her eyes unpleasantly dry.  She blinked, then
focused upon the square arrangement of white ceiling
panels.  Several people whispered.  She struggled to
discern words.  A man's face drifted into her vision,
floating inches above her own.  He sucked a breath.

        "Carol?" he said, his words muffled.  An airy
rushing sound filled her ears.  She inhaled, flared
her nostrils, and felt the plastic tubes which trailed
from her nose.  Another face, that of a young boy, moved
into view.  His large, brown eyes glistened with tears.
His lips quivered as he tremulously voiced "Mommy?"

        She struggled to acknowledge these people
hovering just above her, their faces filled with joy
and terror all at once.  There was hopeful expectation
in their voices -- hopeful that she remembered them.
She rolled her eyes downward, felt abrasion within the
sockets.  A dull pain throbbed beneath her forehead,
and she exhaled, now further awakened by the flow of
oxygen.

        "Who are you?" she said to herself.

        Her memory remained silent.  She saw a blackboard
along one wall of an empty room.  The slate was recently
washed, streaks of yellowed water still drying upon its
surface.  She searched for chalk, found erasers instead,
just beaten together, the air smelling of chalk dust.
Turning to the world, she opened her chapped lips and
spoke.  The first word was hoarse, raspy, but she
continued.

        "Who am I?" she said.  "Who are you?"

        The boy's face frowned, eyes spilling tears.
The man's face blanked.  He blinked his eyes quickly,
pulled his jaws together as he swallowed hard.  He
turned to the boy, eased him from her vision.  The
boy cried more loudly, wailed as a woman tried to calm
him.  The man's face turned down upon her.  He grew
large, and she felt his lips upon her forehead.  A
moustache tickled as his kiss wet her skin.  She
smelled a strange man.  Then he withdrew.

        "I love you."  His voice strained higher
in pitch as he bit his lip.  He cleared his throat and
continued.  "I'm Ted, your husband.  We have a son.
Matthew.  Please try to remember, Carol."

        "I'm trying."  Guilt attacked her.  A family
stood before her, begging her acknowledgement.  She
felt the tubes in her nose again, heard the whir of
electronic equipment behind her.  Her fingers flexed
upon the cool sheets.  A whole life eluded her grasp.
Judging by her husband's face, about forty years of
memory lay hidden from her.

        "Happy Thanksgiving, Carol."  This time, his
voice was more solid, confident.  She recalled some
meaning to "Thanksgiving," and she held onto that
thought, dragged her consciousness, one hand in
front of the other, along this singular connection
to reality.  There was more pain, from her legs.
She tried to move them, without success.
Electricity surged near her waist.

        "My legs!"  she said.  Her heart raced out
of control.  A shrill alarm beeped behind her,
excited her further.  A nurse, dressed in white,
appeared beside Ted.  She looked toward the wall
behind Carol's pillow.

        "Try to calm down," the nurse said firmly.
The nurse's commanding voice eased Carol, and she
breathed deeply.  The alarm ceased.  She looked to
her husband, losing the battle against his own
tears.

        "What happened?" Carol said.  "Tell me."

        Her husband reached down, cradled her chin
gently between his soft, warm hands.

        "You were in a car accident," he said,
"a very bad one."  His voice trembled as tears
trickled down his cheeks.  He inhaled sharply and
continued.  "You were unconscious, in a coma, for
three days.  We're so glad to have you back."

        Carol saw fear in his eyes.  Tears blurred
her vision as she struggled to smile.  She ached
to tell him something.  That despite everything,
she knew what all of this meant to him, to their
son.  She understood motherhood, the boundless love
for a child, for a husband.  She would have to be
content with that memory for now.

                        3.

        The school alarm rang shrilly, and Ida
blinked her eyes.  Children leapt from their seats
and ran from the classroom.  She remained there for
several minutes, heart racing, hands shaking as 
the vision faded.  She turned to her desk, saw the
calendar blotter, peppered with dates.  There was
her daughter's dental appointment, marked in red,
and a stain from Tuesday's coffee spill, the paper
brown and warped.  She sat the story book upon the
desk and heard sirens, saw the flicker of red
lights upon the walls.

        "My name is Ida Kushner," she said loudly.
And then she felt better.

        Ida saw the twisted wreckage upon the
road, as rescue workers began tearing through
doors with hydraulic jaws.  Paramedics climbed
from two ambulances and got to work as a crowd
gathered nearby.  The rain began to beat again
upon the windows.  Ida stared out into the
blurry world.  She wondered if Carol had been
been a victim in the crash.  Ida closed her eyes
and said a prayer, that the woman would live,
walk again, and, most of all, that she would
remember.

        Ida put on her coat and left for the
airport.