Redshirts

it?” you asked. “About me after the accident.”
    “Your parents wouldn’t let any of us see you,” Sandra said, and her face got tight, the way it did when she was keeping herself from saying something she would regret later. “They didn’t even call us,” she said after a second. “I found out about it because Khamal forwarded me the L.A. Times story on Facebook.”
    “There was a story about it?” you said, surprised.
    “Yeah,” Sandra said. “It wasn’t really about you. It was about the asshole who ran that light. He’s a partner at Wickcomb Lassen Jenkins and Bing. Outside counsel for half the studios.”
    “I need to find that article,” you said.
    “I’ll send it to you,” Sandra said.
    “Thanks,” you said.
    “I resent having to find out you were in a life-threatening accident through the Los Angeles Times, ” Sandra said. “I think I rate better than that.”
    “My mom never liked you as much after you broke my heart,” you said.
    “We were sophomores in high school,” Sandra said. “And you got over it. Pretty quickly, too, since you were all over Jenna a week later.”
    “Maybe,” you said. The Jenna Situation, as you recalled it now, had been fraught with fraughtiness.
    “Anyway,” Sandra said. “Even if she or your dad didn’t tell me, they could have told Naren. He’s one of your best friends. Or Kel. Or Gwen. And once we did find out, they wouldn’t let any of us see you. They said they didn’t want us to see you like that.”
    “They actually said that to you?” you asked.
    Sandra was quiet for a moment. “They didn’t say it out loud, but there was subtext there,” she said. “They didn’t want us to see you in that condition. They didn’t want us to have a memory of you like that. Naren was the one who pushed them the most about it, you know. He was ready to come back from Princeton and camp out on your doorstep until they let him see you. And then you got better.”
    You smiled, remembering the blubbery conversation the two of you had when you called him to let you know you were okay. And then you stopped smiling. “It doesn’t make any sense,” you said.
    “What specifically?” asked Sandra.
    “My dad told me that I’d been recovered and awake for days before I got my memory back,” you said. “That I was acting like myself during that time.”
    “Okay,” Sandra said.
    “So why didn’t I call you?” you said. “We talk or see each other pretty much every week when I’m in town. Why didn’t I call Naren? I talk to him every other day. Why didn’t I update Facebook or send any texts? Why didn’t I tell anyone I was okay? It’s just about the first thing I did when I did regain my memory.”
    Sandra opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it, considering. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “You would have called or texted, if for no other reason than that any one of us would have killed you if you didn’t.”
    “Exactly,” you said.
    “So you do think your parents are lying to you,” Sandra said.
    “Maybe,” you said.
    “And you think that somehow this is related to your medical information, which shows something weird,” Sandra said.
    “Maybe,” you said again.
    “What do you think the connection is?” Sandra asked.
    “I have no idea,” you admitted.
    “You know that by law you’re allowed to look at your own medical records,” Sandra said. “If you think this is something medical, that’s the obvious place to start.”
    “How long will that take?” you asked.
    “If you go to the hospital and request them? They’ll make you file a request form and then send it to a back room where it’s pecked at by chickens for several days before giving you a précis of your record,” Sandra said. “Which may or may not be helpful in any meaningful sense.”
    “You’re smiling, so I assume there’s an Option B,” you said to Sandra.
    Sandra, who was indeed smiling, picked up her phone and made a call, and talked in a bright and enthusiastic voice to whoever was on the other end of the line, passing along your name and pausing only to get the name of the hospital from you. After another minute she hung up.
    “Who was that?” you asked.
    “Sometimes the firm I’m interning for needs to get information more quickly than the legal process will allow,” Sandra said. “That’s the guy we use to get it. He’s got moles in every hospital from Escondido to Santa Cruz. You’ll have your