The things I do remember tend to be things most people wouldn't remember. What's lost to me is my whole life, to others what is lost to them is if they made a lunch to go with them to work. I just remember one day waking up and my name was Allen. I wouldn't call it amnesia, my dreams are faded and clouded with memories of a childhood, but I can briefly remember them.
This place, Auburn, feels like its my hometown. A place of forest and farms, but also cities. I remember the cities even though, those are the roads I less frequent and travel. Sometimes, like now, I feel stranded. The engine of my car gave out and I just stand here at the side of the road looking at the forest, the row of trees how inviting it all seems to dive right in and find my way through it. But instead I sit here near my home waiting for any frequent miracle that seems to occur in my life.
I only ever knew one person in my life. Peter Glassglow from Auburn hospital. He was there the two times, I seemed to fail some sort of message of life. I barely remember my teen years, I barely remember my childhood. Like this temopral space time continuum. Where my very existence has been destroyed. Or maybe it hasn't. And I sit at the edge of the forest, all I see are trucks and deers pass by. Until a van comes rolling around on the oncoming traffic side. I don't stand up, only knowing most pass me. I deny two or so theories about my existence, the first that I am an alien. This cannot possible be true because I have no forthought of some superior sense and the simple fact that I am not a genius, I remember Auburn sometimes seeing buildings and getting feelings of deja vu. The other theor is that I am a ghost of some sort. I know I'm alive. I even had Glassglow test it out for me. I am alive. I want to make that clear.
I watch as the van comes to a slow. The windows are clear and I can see four children, two young kids a boy and a girl. Two teenagers also a boy and a girl. A woman comes out the passenger side, she scowls at my car for a second. She sees the blankets and the mess that I ahve seemed to have created. But that's the mess that comes with living in your car.
"Are you okay?" she ask.
Her brown hair waves in the wind of spring.
"I like sitting at the side of roads and watching cars pass by," I replied rather absent to a real answer.
She stares and goes to walk off and I get up. She looks shocked as she sees me, everyone gets that look for reasons I'll never understand.
"My car's engine gave way," I said, "I was making a joke."
"Oh...oh," she smiles but she cannot laugh.
"How about we take you to the mechanic?" she asked.
"That would be fine," I said sticking my hands in my pocket and taking out a wallet.
She stares another look of surprise on her face, as she stares at the hundreds in my wallets. I give her a hundred dollar bill to her and she looks at me, trying to give it back.
"No, I owe you," I said.
The only thing I have ever had with me was my name, my car, my maps, and my wallet with nothing other than money. It was always full no matter how many times I emptied it. She gave me a silent thank you and walked over to the van to inform her husband what was going on. I was more interested in the back seat. Where as the two younger members seemed to be getting along. The two older ones seemed to be fussing, over a music machine. Those Ipods of the day.
The woman made a hand motion and I walked over. Again with another thank I ended up behind the kids in the last row of backseats. Comfortable leather seats and everything was new and less outdated then my car.
"So, what's your name?" she asked, "I'm Nina Webb and this is my husband Colin."
"Allen," I said.
"Allen?" Nina asked.
"Just Allen," I said.
"All right," she didn't pursue any further.
Not like I could give her a last name. I didn't even know it. Only the name Allen ringed in my head.