The Lost Days
Page 7
Friday
Saw the shrink again today, but nothing about my former life is getting clearer. Shrink-man says to just give it time, and until I get my memory back, he will keep telling my parents I shouldn’t go back to school yet. (Doesn’t he realize that’s really not good motivation?) He also says writing in this journal is counterproductive to my goal of regaining my identity, so this will probably be my last entry.
So I guess this is it. Bye, Dear Diary.
Whatever.
Later
There are doubts! There are serious doubts!
I hate to say it…
BUT
I may not be Molly Merriweather after all.
(!)
Things fell apart after dinner tonight when Sharon asked me what I wanted to drink with dessert, and I said black cherry soda, and she laughed and said, “There’s orange pop in the fridge.” POP!!! I am not from this household, I tell you. And if I had ever actually lived here, those ponies would know me.
ALSO: I don’t recognize the taste of the air, the smell of the water, the kind of towels in the bathroom, the mac’n’cheese, the night sounds, “my” stuff, or “my” name.
Am feeling VERY confused. Not sure what to do. Am going to start with some straight talk with Sharon and George.
Later
Evidence pointing to me being Molly:
My old friend Curls thinks I’m Molly.
Sharon and George think I’m Molly.
Ditto our housekeeper, that kid I saw downtown, and the neighbors.
Lots of photographic evidence.
Leaving this boring place seems like something I’d do.
Ditto taking on fictional identities.
Molly is/was an animal lover. I can relate.
I am having a hard time beating any of the high scores on the video games in the house.
Molly has won 3 science fair trophies. Sounds like something I could do.
As for the popularity thing, Shrink-man says a change in personality could happen after head trauma.
Sharon and George say we have no relatives my age at all, let alone any that look like me.
Extreme unlikeliness of ANYONE (relative or not) looking so much like me.
I SOMEHOW ended up in the same town as Curls. What are the odds?
Evidence that I’m not Molly:
Sharon and George agree that I seem different than normal.
They say I used to be a day person.
Pop vs. Soda.
Ponies do not know me.
I don’t know how to ride the ponies. To be specific, my BODY doesn’t know how to ride the ponies. My bum is still yelling at me about the pain.
Am horrified by thought of being popular. No desire to see my former friends.
Formerly candidate for winning Best Dressed; now I prefer to wear the same thing every day.
Though a winner of science fairs, Molly was not known as mechanical genius. Stereo still in dire need of modifications. Toaster oven in kitchen needs a tune-up. Etc.
Sports lover. Ewwww.
Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Ewwwwwwwwww.
My hair is in a different style in all those photos.
Bedroom seems way too tidy.
I just don’t feel like Molly.
Still, I don’t know if I can really BELIEVE that I’m not Molly Merriweather without further evidence.
For example…meeting Molly Merriweather face-to-face.
Will just have to go find her.
Much later
Waited until Sharon and George were asleep, then snuck out and walked around until I found that kid again who knew me, or thought he did. I asked him where everyone was and he said at the usual spot. I said let’s go and I let him lead.
We got to this overpass where a bunch of scruffy-looking kids were hanging out and as we walked up, sure enough, they were all like “MOLLY!” and “Where have you been?” and stuff, but then, when I got into the light from the trash-can fires, they kind of got silent and were all staring at me, maybe because I still hadn’t said a word, and then this one girl was like, “Hey, Molly—you seem…different?” and I told them I was Molly’s cousin and I was trying to find her, and then everyone had their story to tell:
Molly had, like, MAJOR problems with how boring her parents were.
Molly ran away, like, all the time.
Her parents never even freaked out when she left, as long as her grades were good.
Molly and I look SOOOOOOO much alike omigod!!!!! 5. Molly was, like, the BEST at making up her own funny lyrics to popular songs.
Everyone had an AKA that Molly gave them, but she would never let anyone give her a nickname.
But she would always invent a new, like, identity for herself whenever she bailed town.
Molly often handed out the big wads of cash her parents gave her.
Molly had these awesome ponies that she trained herself.
Molly (and everyone else in Zigzag) would say “pop” not “soda.”
Molly was tight friends with this kid Ripper who had been running away since he was, like, six months old or something, and was a total pro at it, and the two of them knew runaways in just about every town in the country by now.
Molly was pretty much the most popular girl anyone knew.
No one knew where Molly was this time around, but this one girl said Molly always used to bust a gut over towns with funny names, so if SHE were looking for Molly, that’s where she’d look.
It appears as though I was a rich, popular, well-dressed girl who kept a neat bedroom and hung out under the overpass at night with a bunch of runaways. Oh. Except I WASN’T.
Later
Went down to the local bus depot and searched the departure list for the town with the funniest name. Am now scheduled to leave for Monkey’s Eyebrow, Arizona, in twenty-three minutes. Fingers crossed that my instinct is correct, and I find Molly under the first overpass I check.
Am reeeeeeeally hoping that I will soon know for sure whether A) I am not (and never have been) Molly Merriweather, or B) I used to be Molly Merriweather, but have lost all trace of my original personality due to pesky amnesia. [Shudder.]
Day 16
No Molly in Monkey’s Eyebrow, though she (or I?) was here (going by “Tigra”) about a year ago. After searching all the overpasses and talking to all the runaways (most of whom had stories to tell about the legendary Ripper), I took the next funny-town-name bus out of there, and am now on my way to Pflugerville, Texas. I can only hope that the runaway network there knows something. Anything.
Day 17
Nothing in Pflugerville. Have moved on. Am on the bus now to Willacoochee, Georgia. Wish me luck.
Day 18
All this travel and meeting strangers is crushing my spirit. Really miss those times in Blackrock when I would do a lot of silent communing with the cats as therapy. Am extremely sorry I don’t have the cats with me.
Anyway, this kid in Willacoochee thought I was “Bunny,” but had not seen me (Molly?) in about two years. Am on the bus again, about an hour away from Sopchoppy, Florida. Could use a lucky break.
Later
Am sick to death of hitting one random town after another looking for Molly. Was “recognized” as “Squid” in Sopchoppy. I guess Molly was there about six months ago. Or I was. Hard to say who is who at this point. Maybe Tigra, Bunny, and Squid are separate people. Maybe there are even more of us. GAHHHH.
Later
Finally, a lead. Some kids on the bus recognized me (as “Yodi”) and said they saw me in a town called Blandindulle just two weeks ago. Am on my way there now. Fingers crossed.
Day 20
HEY, AMNESIA GIRL!
YOU ARE NOT MOLLY MERRIWEATHER!
I had to tear out the stuff I wrote about what’s going on. I CAN’T KNOW IT, this is very important. I just hope I can do…what I need to do…this time.
Later (same day???)
OK.
Here’s what I know, tak
e 2:
I’ve been sitting on this park bench for at least two hours.
I’ve got no actual memory of anything I’ve done before that. In my entire life.
I’m really glad to have this notebook full of information, which I’ve just read three times.
Based on my notebook and what I can see around me (e.g., the completely pointless ten-foot wrought-iron gate with no fence to go with it, and the plaque on the bench that says EMMA LeSTRANGE), I assume I’m back in Blackrock.
Something happened to me between Day 18 and Day 20 that gave me amnesia. Again.
No telling if I actually made it to Blandindulle or not.
No telling if I actually found Molly Merriweather or not.
No telling WHO I actually am, besides (obviously) being Amnesia Girl. But I guess I’m not Molly Merriweather.
There’s something I need to do in Blackrock that requires me to have amnesia.
In my pockets I found a slingshot, a pen, and some pieces of folded paper (pasted in below).
Certain people I’ve read about in this notebook are going to want explanations for why I’m back in Blackrock. Explanations that I better come up with.
I am going to need a new fridge box for tonight.
I have some cats to meet.
Here is the first piece of paper I found in my pocket:
I immediately unfolded it and found this one:
I opened that one and found this one:
So I guess I’ll wait it out. Am not happy, though.
Later
These are some goooooood cats, all right, but I don’t have the tiniest memory of them.
Found a fridge box tucked away behind the Dumpster in the alley. Am hoping it was mine before and that the cozy slept-on spot was not made by some other homeless person. Am writing EARWIG on the inside of the doorflap in case of future attacks of amnesia.
Wish I could delay going into the El Dungeon but am starving. Do not want to talk to anyone. Hope I will recognize who is who. Hope I do not make too big a fool of myself.
Later
Am sitting in the El Dungeon eating the most excellent sandwich. CounterChick/Raven was very happy to see me. At least, I mean, she said “Uhhhhhhhh, hi” in a kind of lively way. Have not explained myself to anyone. Should probably track down this Schneider person and tell him the scoop, though.
Later
Am avoiding talking to anyone about anything. Am hiding behind the counter of the El Dungeon, staring at the regulars through my spyhole. Am pretty sure I recognize HamHawk by his chessboard and mini Magic 8-Ball, but I kind of have no clue about the rest, so I’m reassigning nicknames randomly. Have not seen anyone that could be Curls.
Later
In the interest of wasting time, I sorted a huge pile of junk mail for Raven and found a letter addressed to EARWIG! It was from my old fake mom, Sharon. Here’s what she had to say:
* * *
Dear Earwig,
I’m really sorry you decided to leave us but I just wanted to write and tell you that I understand. I’m hoping you eventually go back to Blackrock so you get this letter. I didn’t know where else I could send it.
I realize now that you are not Molly. It was your dress that really clinched it for me. Molly is a special girl but as far as I know, she does not have any dresses that can hold a laundry basket full of rocks and pop cans in the pockets.
If you happen to see her in your travels, tell her we love her and hope she is coming back soon.
I hope you regain your memory and find your real home. If you don’t, you can always come back here.
Your “other” mom,
Sharon
P.S. George says hi too!
* * *
Zang, what a relief to know they won’t be coming after me to take me back to Zigzag! Good point about the dress, too. Seems like I never really thought about that before. Will investigate carrying capacity of pockets when I feel up to it.
Later
Went out to the impound lot with the cats to check out that cool van I’d been reading about. No security in sight (probably doughnut break time), so I was able to pick the lock in peace. Then the cats and I settled down inside the van, which was even cooler than it seemed from what I’d written about it. I don’t really know if I still think it’s just an art car. For example: There’s this crazy glass thing bolted to one of the side panels that, at first glance, you might assume was just some kind of sculpture. But now I notice there’s traces of chemicals on the inside, and scorch marks on the outside. So maybe the van actually IS some kind of mobile laboratory…and it’s just kind of out of commission at the moment.
I also rediscovered the now-empty secret compartment where I found Sabbath’s collar. I think I was right to assume that the cats and the van belong to the same person, since the upholstery seems to be made of about 45% man-made materials and 55% black cat hair, whiskers, and claw fragments. I guess I should be disgusted by that, but it seems kind of comforting. Took a looooong nap in there with cats piled on me. Good stuff.
Later
Was hanging out at the minipark when this man walked past, did a double take, and said, “Ear—Moll—Earwig? What are you doing back from Zigzag?”
ME:
Let me guess, you must be Schneider.
SCHNEIDER:
[Looking at me like I am on fire.] Ummm…you KNOW I am.
ME:
I do now.
S:
[Sitting down on the bench.] What happened?
ME:
Well. I somehow found out I’m not actually Molly Merriweather. And then I lost my memory again.
S:
Wow. Um…. bummer.
ME:
For real.
S:
[Long pause.] So, any leads?
ME:
Nope. Well, I guess I’ll go visit that vet, I mean, your grandma, and ask her if she’s the one who stitched up Sabbath’s ear. You know, maybe she knows something about his owner.
S:
Good thinking! Great plan! You never know what one small lead can…uh, lead you to! Well, keep me posted on your progress!!!!
Man, was Schneider always such a spazzy cheerleader? All that encouragement seemed suspiciously over the top. Or maybe it’s normal for him. I really have no idea. Since I essentially just met him a minute ago.
Amnesia, Part I was bad enough, but Amnesia, Part II is full-on loathsome.
Later
Decided it was a bit too late in the day to make a social call to Schneider’s grandma, so instead I went to re-meet Jakey and apologize for not saying bye when I left to go be Molly. One nice thing about that kid is, if you ever need to apologize to him, you don’t really need to do it out loud.
I apologized out loud, anyway. I thought it was better manners.
JAKEY:
Don’t worry about it. Wow, you have a lot more in your mind these days. And…also a lot less. Too bad about Amnesia, Part II. Good thing you keep that notebook, huh.
ME:
Huh. Anything interesting?
J:
Eh, the ponies sound cool, but the rest of the Molly stuff is kind of…kind of not you.
ME:
Yeah. Pretty glad I turned out not to be her.
J:
What about your dress, though?
Me:
Huh?
J:
Don’t you think it’s kind of, uh, unusual that you could fit all that stuff in the pockets?
ME:
I guess.
J:
[Looking awkward.] Sorry to be nosy. It’s just, I’m supposed to be on the lookout for, uh, you know, unusual stuff. For Attikol.
ME:
[Getting nervous.] Why would Attikol care?
And that’s when I heard all about Attikol’s fascination with the Magical World of Magic. Apparently he fancies himself quite the Mystical Dude, although he has absolutely no unusual talents aside from whatever a boatload of money can buy. He believes
, get this, that many, many generations ago, his ancestors were robbed of their Great Mystical Power, and it is his DESTINY, handed down through a long line of rich jerks much like himself, to find and steal back the secret source of this power. Oh, my. I have to admit that did cheer me up quite a bit. Nothing like a belly laugh at someone else’s expense to chase away the Amnesia Blues.
Then, of course, Jakey told me the sad part, which is that he hasn’t seen his mother since he was a year old, because Attikol keeps him traveling from town to town, looking for that magical something.
ME:
But what are you looking for, exactly?
J:
Anything…unusual, I guess. Some kind of magical recipe in someone’s mind, or whatever.
ME:
[Feeling uncomfortable.] Are you going to tell him about my dress?
J:
[Looking uncomfortable.] Um, well, I don’t know, I mean, I probably SHOULD…
ME:
[Feeling even more uncomfortable. Giving Jakey a “Don’t Betray Your Only Friend” look.]
J:
[Looking SUPER uncomfortable.] Uh, well, it’s probably not what he’s looking for, anyway. I guess.
ME:
[Somewhat relieved.] Yeah, no point bugging him about a little old DRESS, right?
J:
[Looking very relieved.] Yeah, no point talking to him about ANYTHING if I don’t really have to.
Um, CREEPY!
I am feeling kind of afraid of Attikol right now.
Also, poor Jakey. Eight-ninths of his life on an adventure he doesn’t want to be on. I mean, my adventure has only been twenty days long, and that’s about twenty days too long for me.