3:15

 3:15                                                                                                                             272 words

Matt glanced at his wrist. It was exactly 3:15, but this was not his watch. Odd, he thought, and worse. As he looked about the room nothing looked familiar. Matt approached a fellow who had a smile on his face. “Hi,” Matt said, taking the smiling man’s hand and shaking it. “My name is Matt.” 

“My name is Matt,” said the smiling man.

Matt said, “Can I ask you where we are?”

The smiling man just shook his head and pointed to another man across the room.

Matt walked over to him, a man hazily familiar. “Hi, my name is Matt. What is this place?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” the man said. “We’re waiting for more people to come. For now, why don’t you go back and wait with the man across the room.” 

Matt returned to the smiling man. He extended his hand. “Hi, my name is Matt.” The smiling man just smiled and said “My name is Matt.” 

This the smiling man had done for the past 17 years every time Matt approached him. For both were long-term residents of State Psychiatric Hospital. Forgetful Matt succumbed years before to brain damage from alcohol toxicity. His memory traces were faint, and lasted clearly for only one or two minutes. He remembered his name only with constant repetition. Smiling Matt suffered from a pervasive developmental disorder. His real name was Gary, his speech echolalic. He could only repeat what he had just heard. On Matt’s broken watch, it was always 3:15. The two were the sad Brothers Matt, lost in time, lost in space, and with lost identity.