I find myself standing at an open window. It is spring, the sun is shining warmly, and birds sing in the trees outside. I don’t know what building this is, but I’m on the third floor. It is 1975, and I am 18. My name is Eric.

I hear a noise behind me. I turn to find an unfamiliar man in a white coat standing there. “Hello,” I say cheerfully.

“Eric.” he replies. “Do you remember what we were just talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We’ve not been introduced. How do you know me?”

“You were admitted as a patient here in 1975, 35 years ago.”

“That can’t be,” I reply with confusion. “I’m only 18 years old.”

He hands me a mirror. The face that looks back at me is the face of someone in their 50’s, but it is also my face.

“Your brain was injured in 1975, and you have permanent anterograde amnesia. You can’t develop new memories. We’re doing your annual physical. If you focus, we can complete it.”

Tires screech on the road outside. I turn to look.

I find myself standing at an open window. It is spring…