Jake Who?

• Rishi Hyanki, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2008

I open my eyes. Everything is blurry. I close and open my eyes again. A boy’s pale face comes into focus. I sit up and rub my head.
I am in a garden that I don’t find familiar and I am looking at a boy who I don’t recognise. He has jet-black hair and a stubby nose. “Are you okay, Jake?” asks Stub-Nose. I notice a cricket bat in his hands. “Who’s Jake?” I ask, my head hurting crazily. “Who are you?” “It’s me, Ben,” replies Stub-Nose, sounding scared. “Don’t you remember me?” “No,” I reply, “What happened?” “We were playing cricket,” explains the boy called Ben. “The ball beaned you in the head!” “Where am I?” I ask. “You’re in my garden,” answers Ben. “My parents are out and we’re having a sleep-over.” “So I’m Jake, am I?” I ask, trying to make sense of everything. Ben gives me a funny look.
“You must have amnesia,” he says. “I think the best cure is to do what you usually do.” “So what do I usually do?” I ask desperately. “Well, you like Playstation,” says Ben.
I follow him into a nice-looking house. We sit on a cushiony couch and Ben hands me what looks like a misshapen rock with buttons and knobs all over it. “What’s this thing for?” I ask, looking at the funny buttons and mushroom-shaped things. “It’s a controller,” replies Ben. “Don’t you remember?” “No!” I cry. “I don’t remember anything!” I feel lower than I’ve ever felt in my life – I think. “Maybe a good, long sleep will refresh your memory,” says Ben hopelessly. “Get some sleep and see how you feel tomorrow, okay?” “Okay,” I mumble, collapsing onto a mattress.
The next morning, I still don’t remember who I am. I sigh and rub my head, which still hurts. “Do you feel any better?” asks Ben hopefully. “No,” I sigh. We sit there in silence for a few minutes, until Ben says: “Let’s get some breakfast.” We go downstairs, and Ben puts some bread into a funny-looking machine. “It’s called a toaster,” he explains, in reply to my quizzical look. We wait for a couple of minutes, then smoke starts coming from the toaster. “Ben, help!” I yell, grabbing a knife. Before Ben can do anything, I jam the knife straight into the toaster.
“YYEEEOOWW!” I yell. Sparks are flying from the toaster; pain is shooting through my arm …
Now I’m engulfed with memories; I remember Ben, my Mum, and me, Jake. I fling the toaster away and release the knife. There is a flood, and an “Ow!” I fall to the floor, panting.
I remember who I am! I’m Jake, Ben is my best friend, and our parents organised a sleep-over! I leap up, cheering, then I look down. Ben is stirring, the toaster lying next to him. He opens his eyes. “Ben!” I gasp. “Are you okay?” Ben stares at me confused.
“Who’s Ben?”