The Beginning

"All right," said the psychiatrist, "Mr (she pauses to look at her clipboard) Squarepants, is it?"

"Uh ha," Spongebob answered.

"Tell me," The professional continued, "When did you first feel the way you do now?"

"Well," Spongebob began in a sad tone, "It all started a few years ago. It was a day like any other. I was excited to finally be the manager. (The poor sponge holds his head in pain.) How I became the manager is still so foggy. I remember going to work that day but I can't seem to recall what happened there."

"Do you recall anything after work," said the psychiatrist glancing up from his notes, "forgetting small details, like an uneventful afternoon, is common for most."

"Well," Spongebob continued, lowering his hand back down, "I remember crying like something sad just happened. Then everyone was changed, Patrick was more aggressive, Mr. Krabs was greedier, and Squidward was meaner."

"What makes you so sure they might have been different?" Asked the psychiatrist.

"I don't remember for sure," He responded sadly, "But somehow I can feel like something's not right."

"Like an instinct," asked the professional, "or something deeper?"

"Something deeper," Spongebob answered, "I can feel it, in my heart."

Spongebob placed his hands over his heart.

"They are, after all, my friends", Spongebob finishes optimistically.

The psychiatrist finishes her notes and adjusts her glasses.

"Well Mr. Squarepants," The psychiatrist said finally, "Sounds like you had amnesia, but your slowly regaining memories."

"So what can I do?" asked Spongebob, "If I'm remembering things again, why is it just in bits in pieces?"

"Be patient," answered the professional, "over-coming amnesia is no fast and easy task."

She stood up from her seat and walked over to a nearby bookshelf. She took a book from the shelf and opened it. She removed a polaroid.

"Here," She said, "does this look familiar?"

She hands him the image. Spongebob looked at it. It was a shell-shaped sign with two large, blurred lines. He squinted and, for a split second, the lines were words.

"What does it say," He asked meekly, "I saw words where those lines are."

"You have to discover that for yourself," said the psychiatrist, smiling warmly, "You can keep that photo and look at it whenever you feel like your remembering something again."

"Thank you," he said, sitting up, "I'll keep this handy."

The buzzer went off. Spongebob slid off the couch. The psychiatrist escorted him to the door.

"Good luck," She said to Spongebob as he walked past, "old friend."

She closed the door, just as Spongebob heard the last part.

"How peculiar," He said, walking away, "I don't remember meeting that fish before. My amnesia must be strong."

He went to the front desk to pay for his therapy. He went home that night to contemplate what the psychiatrist said.