NaNoWriMo Story
Word Count: 10,643
Today's Goal: 10,000
Words per day to target: 1968
Target: 50,000
We drive on in silence for a while. There is not much to say. I do not know anything about her, and she does not know anything about me. I watch the sky slowly becoming brighter though the windshield. We pass a peculiar landscape which alternates between farms and suburban sprawl. Here a buffalo farm. There a bank branch and a modern court house.
I am starting to think that I should not give her too much time to consider her situation and quiet contemplation. After all, she is giving a ride to a man who is a total stranger, and, one might argue, technically crazy. I think that having no memory is somewhere in the realm of crazy.
“So, Allison,” I begin, trying to make conversation, “besides waitressing and driving wandering fugue victims to the hospital, what do you like to do with your time?”
She laughs. “Fugue. Big word there, Mister No Memory.”
“I can't remember anything useful, so I might as well remember things that are impressive. Besides, it's not that big a word. It's only five letters.”
“Heh, I should have tried losing my memory before exams,” she quips.
I look over at her. “You in college?”
“Not anymore. I was going to Mount Holyoke for a while, but it didn't really work for me. I couldn't justify spending that much money when I didn't know what I wanted to do, so I decided to take some time off and look around a bit,” she explains.
I look back out the window. “Bet your parents loved that.”
She gives a short, bitter laugh at that one. “Well, my father was furious. He told me...” She does her best deep father voice, “Allison, if you don't go to college, you'll never amount to anything. Do you want to be one of those welfare mothers you see in the supermarket, because that's what you'll be if you drop out!”
I am startled, but feel like I have heard such stories before. “Wow, what did your mother say?” I ask.
This time, the voice she gives her mother is soft, soothing, and condescending. “Whatever makes you happy, honey.” She laughs again. “I think if I told her I wanted to go play in traffic while juggling knives, she'd say that, whatever makes you happy, honey.”
She gives me a quick glance. “Normally, I'd ask you what you do, but I think I know about everything about you that you do.”
I nod. “Probably more. If there were a sign on my back, you'd know about it and I wouldn't.”
We both laugh again. At least I found someone personable to guide me on this leg of the journey. Sure beats catching a ride with a large, hairy trucker.
“So, you took a break from college and started waitressing?” I ask.
“Oh, no. I hitchhiked across the country.” No wonder I do not scare her. After hitchhiking coast to coast, I probably look like a friendly teddy bear. Either that or she knows Kung Fu and can snap me in half if I get rowdy. “Yeah,” she continues with an almost proud expression. “I just shipped all my stuff back home and started walking. Took about a year out and back. It was the most amazing experience.”
“Not to be all paternalistic, but isn't that dangerous?”
Her expression tells me that she has heard this question many times before. Hopefully, she will not find it too frustrating from someone who does not remember yesterday. “William, life is dangerous, but the worst thing that can possibly happen in life is to reach the end of it and look back and say, 'I wish I had gone past that horizon.'”
I think on that for a moment. It sounds like something I agree with. “I like that.” I pause. “I wonder if I lived that way,” I muse.
“Well, you do have a jaunty hat, and that is an excellent start towards a life worth remembering.”
“I certainly hope my life is worth remembering. Otherwise, I am about to go through a great deal of effort for nothing.”
We finally reach the hospital, and the parks in the visitor lot. I start to get out of the car and thank her for the ride.
“Oh, I'm not just leaving you here. You have piqued my curiosity. I want to know who you are. I'll wait with you, if you don't mind,” she protests.
I do not know if it shows on my face, but I am very relieved that she will be staying with me. I know that I have finally gotten to a place where I can get assistance from trained authorities, but I remember a line from somewhere, “A hospital is no place for a sick person.” I know I have to go here because I need to make sure that there is no serious underlying medical problem, but what will happen once I am pulled into that system.
I am reminded of a thought that I had earlier in a different context. Having no memory could be considered being crazy. They like to take crazy people and lock them up in psych wards. This does not seem like a place I would find productive for the purpose of finding who I am. Fortunately, I know I am not crazy, so I just need to convince them of this fact and I will be just fine.
I look at the hospital, a relatively unimposing, four story modern brick building. It looks like a school or maybe an office building where graphic designers work. How bad can this be.
I turn to Allison, trying not to let my anxiety show. “Let's go and make sure that some hidden brain aneurysm doesn't cut our exciting adventure short.”
Apparently, I do not do a great job of masking my anxiety. She takes my hand. “You'll be fine. Really, if there was anything wrong, I think you'd know by now.”
I squeeze her hand back. “I know. Honestly, what I'm more worried about is that they try to say I'm crazy and lock me up.”
She appears to be thinking about this one. I suspect she had not thought about that before. “But you aren't crazy. That will probably help.”
“Reality and bureaucracy don't always go well together,” I point out.
She nods thoughtfully. “Who is the President of the United States?” she asks.
“Barack Obama,” I reply, confused.
“What year is it?”
“2010?”
“2009,” she corrects. “You should study harder. Your address?”
I suddenly understand what she is doing. She is asking me the questions which they will ask me to make sure I understand my surroundings. I pull out my wallet, and study my license to know my address. I even try to remember the license number. I look through and try to remember a few other key bits of data.
Allison is good enough to quiz me once I am feel I am ready to pass this most peculiar of tests. We head in to the Emergency Room.
Just before we reach the door, something occurs to me and I stop. “Allison?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“What's the date?” I ask.
She bursts out laughing. “Right, I guess that wouldn't be in your wallet would it. Today is Tuesday, October 13th.”
I turn and look at the sky, by this time, almost fully light. “October 13th,” I proclaim. “The first day of the rest of my life.”
“Very profound. Now let's get on with it,” she declares as she takes my shoulders and pushes me towards the automatic doors.
Today's Goal: 10,000
Words per day to target: 1968
Target: 50,000
We drive on in silence for a while. There is not much to say. I do not know anything about her, and she does not know anything about me. I watch the sky slowly becoming brighter though the windshield. We pass a peculiar landscape which alternates between farms and suburban sprawl. Here a buffalo farm. There a bank branch and a modern court house.
I am starting to think that I should not give her too much time to consider her situation and quiet contemplation. After all, she is giving a ride to a man who is a total stranger, and, one might argue, technically crazy. I think that having no memory is somewhere in the realm of crazy.
“So, Allison,” I begin, trying to make conversation, “besides waitressing and driving wandering fugue victims to the hospital, what do you like to do with your time?”
She laughs. “Fugue. Big word there, Mister No Memory.”
“I can't remember anything useful, so I might as well remember things that are impressive. Besides, it's not that big a word. It's only five letters.”
“Heh, I should have tried losing my memory before exams,” she quips.
I look over at her. “You in college?”
“Not anymore. I was going to Mount Holyoke for a while, but it didn't really work for me. I couldn't justify spending that much money when I didn't know what I wanted to do, so I decided to take some time off and look around a bit,” she explains.
I look back out the window. “Bet your parents loved that.”
She gives a short, bitter laugh at that one. “Well, my father was furious. He told me...” She does her best deep father voice, “Allison, if you don't go to college, you'll never amount to anything. Do you want to be one of those welfare mothers you see in the supermarket, because that's what you'll be if you drop out!”
I am startled, but feel like I have heard such stories before. “Wow, what did your mother say?” I ask.
This time, the voice she gives her mother is soft, soothing, and condescending. “Whatever makes you happy, honey.” She laughs again. “I think if I told her I wanted to go play in traffic while juggling knives, she'd say that, whatever makes you happy, honey.”
She gives me a quick glance. “Normally, I'd ask you what you do, but I think I know about everything about you that you do.”
I nod. “Probably more. If there were a sign on my back, you'd know about it and I wouldn't.”
We both laugh again. At least I found someone personable to guide me on this leg of the journey. Sure beats catching a ride with a large, hairy trucker.
“So, you took a break from college and started waitressing?” I ask.
“Oh, no. I hitchhiked across the country.” No wonder I do not scare her. After hitchhiking coast to coast, I probably look like a friendly teddy bear. Either that or she knows Kung Fu and can snap me in half if I get rowdy. “Yeah,” she continues with an almost proud expression. “I just shipped all my stuff back home and started walking. Took about a year out and back. It was the most amazing experience.”
“Not to be all paternalistic, but isn't that dangerous?”
Her expression tells me that she has heard this question many times before. Hopefully, she will not find it too frustrating from someone who does not remember yesterday. “William, life is dangerous, but the worst thing that can possibly happen in life is to reach the end of it and look back and say, 'I wish I had gone past that horizon.'”
I think on that for a moment. It sounds like something I agree with. “I like that.” I pause. “I wonder if I lived that way,” I muse.
“Well, you do have a jaunty hat, and that is an excellent start towards a life worth remembering.”
“I certainly hope my life is worth remembering. Otherwise, I am about to go through a great deal of effort for nothing.”
We finally reach the hospital, and the parks in the visitor lot. I start to get out of the car and thank her for the ride.
“Oh, I'm not just leaving you here. You have piqued my curiosity. I want to know who you are. I'll wait with you, if you don't mind,” she protests.
I do not know if it shows on my face, but I am very relieved that she will be staying with me. I know that I have finally gotten to a place where I can get assistance from trained authorities, but I remember a line from somewhere, “A hospital is no place for a sick person.” I know I have to go here because I need to make sure that there is no serious underlying medical problem, but what will happen once I am pulled into that system.
I am reminded of a thought that I had earlier in a different context. Having no memory could be considered being crazy. They like to take crazy people and lock them up in psych wards. This does not seem like a place I would find productive for the purpose of finding who I am. Fortunately, I know I am not crazy, so I just need to convince them of this fact and I will be just fine.
I look at the hospital, a relatively unimposing, four story modern brick building. It looks like a school or maybe an office building where graphic designers work. How bad can this be.
I turn to Allison, trying not to let my anxiety show. “Let's go and make sure that some hidden brain aneurysm doesn't cut our exciting adventure short.”
Apparently, I do not do a great job of masking my anxiety. She takes my hand. “You'll be fine. Really, if there was anything wrong, I think you'd know by now.”
I squeeze her hand back. “I know. Honestly, what I'm more worried about is that they try to say I'm crazy and lock me up.”
She appears to be thinking about this one. I suspect she had not thought about that before. “But you aren't crazy. That will probably help.”
“Reality and bureaucracy don't always go well together,” I point out.
She nods thoughtfully. “Who is the President of the United States?” she asks.
“Barack Obama,” I reply, confused.
“What year is it?”
“2010?”
“2009,” she corrects. “You should study harder. Your address?”
I suddenly understand what she is doing. She is asking me the questions which they will ask me to make sure I understand my surroundings. I pull out my wallet, and study my license to know my address. I even try to remember the license number. I look through and try to remember a few other key bits of data.
Allison is good enough to quiz me once I am feel I am ready to pass this most peculiar of tests. We head in to the Emergency Room.
Just before we reach the door, something occurs to me and I stop. “Allison?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“What's the date?” I ask.
She bursts out laughing. “Right, I guess that wouldn't be in your wallet would it. Today is Tuesday, October 13th.”
I turn and look at the sky, by this time, almost fully light. “October 13th,” I proclaim. “The first day of the rest of my life.”
“Very profound. Now let's get on with it,” she declares as she takes my shoulders and pushes me towards the automatic doors.