We get out of the truck and cross the highway. It’s technically a highway, but it’s still a country road.

Joey rubs his belly a bit, points to the ground, and says: “I think you were about there when I found you.”

“You didn’t see a phone or a wallet nearby though, did you?” I ask.

“Well no Tulsa, but I suppose that other guy must’ve lifted it off you.”

“I’m sorry? Uh, other guy?”

“No need to be sorry man. When I found you, there was a guy rifling through your pockets. I stopped to see if I could help, and he threw a book down on you, got in his truck and drove off.”

“Did he take my phone and wallet?”

“Well, he could have. He would’ve been there alone with you before I got there,” Joey says.

“So, if this is where I was, I must have come up the hill there.” I point down the hill.

The hill did look a bit disturbed, like weeds and small plants had been ripped out of place or stomped on. I start walking down the hill and Joey follows me.

“So, you got amnesia you said, right?” Joey asks.

“Yeah, I guess from the head injury.”

As we reach the bottom of the hill, Joey says: “I don’t think so.”

I’m fairly distracted now, trying to figure out which way I came. I hear a dog barking off in the distance. I remember that sound, so I follow it. Joey comes with me and continues talking.

“You remember everything except stuff about yourself, right?” he asks.

“I don’t remember anything about anyone, not just me.” I offer.

As I get closer, I hear the dog barking louder.

“Sure, but other people are part of you, part of your identity. You remember how to talk, how to use a phone, and I’m assuming a bunch of other stuff. Do you remember the alphabet?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the colour blue?”

“Yes, yes,” I say, but I’m getting annoyed now.

“Amnesia from a head injury isn’t selective. You might forget how to read, write, speak, and stuff like that. Head injury amnesia just bangs out a part of your memory. You done experienced something fucked up and traumatic, so bad that you don’t know who the fuck you is. I saw this shit on a documentary.” He pauses. “You understand what I’m getting at Tulsa?”

Son of Sappho Through the Gates , ,

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