The Lost Days (13 page)

And I hustled out of there. Am now waiting for Schneider at the minipark. Cannot wait to tell him I would really, really appreciate it if he would locate the Merriweathers and tell them Molly needs to be picked up RIGHT AWAY AND THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

Later

My parents are on their way to Blackrock. I am dizzy with success and information. And espresso. Met Schneider at the minipark,
then sprinted back to the El Dungeon to interrogate Curls and collect my belongings.

Here is what I’ve been able to find out about ME, MOLLY MERRIWEATHER, from Schneider and Curls:

1. I live in Zigzag, Oregon!
   
2. My parents are George and Sharon Merriweather!
   
3. I’m an eighth grader at Gallmark Junior High School!
   
4. I have been reported missing (and subsequently found) three times in the past four years!
   
5. I’m not currently on the “missing” list, and Schneider has been promising to give my parents a hard time about that!
   
6. Curls says he hadn’t seen me for about four months before I showed up here, but last time we were hanging out, some kooky old lady told us we would enjoy this town called Blackrock!
   
7. But Curls and I went our separate ways there in Turniptown, Pennsylvania!
   
8. And he came here by himself about three weeks ago!
   
9. And has been working on getting himself a job with the traveling medicine show ever since!
   
10. And was only a little surprised when I showed up nine days later, “pretending” to have severe amnesia!
    
11. He is also relieved that I am finally “out of character” so he can ask my advice about how he can get more popular with the Ümlauts!
    
12. I hate to think what #11 tells me about myself as a person!
    
13. I am starting to feel afraid, very afraid, of the reality of my parents, my home, my belongings, my IDENTITY, all of which are about to hit me, whether I am able to remember them or not, with great force, much like something traveling at huge speed would hit something else of unimaginable mass and density!
    

Later

Have reunited with my parents!!

I’m in their luxury sports utility vehicle and we’re headed back home to Zigzag, Oregon. I should be more excited to be leaving Blackrock, but all I can think is: I never said goodbye to the cats. I never said goodbye to Jakey. I really hope Raven understood when I told her I was rescued and she should NOT have Ümlaut and Attikol pay Schneider to fetch me back. Really wish I had brought the cats with me. REALLY, REALLY, REALLY wish I had the cats.

George and Sharon

—OK. Back to Sharon and George.

I started out with “Mom” and “Dad.” But that just wasn’t rolling off my tongue right. So they said it was OK for me to say Sharon and George while I still had the amnesia. They said I’d be going to a fancy specialist about the amnesia. They described my spacious, stylishly decorated bedroom and its entertainment system. They talked about the ponies. The ponies!!! I hope they’re real. I hope there’s at least the ponies.

I asked them if I had a yacht but they laughed and said oh no honey you don’t have a yacht and it felt like it was the first time anyone had ever called me honey and it was GREAT.

Later

The drive home has wiped me out. Have been staring intensely at the passing landscape trying to recognize a landmark, or eliminate amnesia from my brain by force of imagination alone, or something. Saying “Molly” over and over in my mind. Asking Sharon dumb questions about my habits and preferences. (“Hey, Sharon, do I take baths or showers?” “Both, sweetheart.”)

Can’t wait to be home can’t wait to be home can’t wait

Next day-Tuesday

There are actually ponies. More on them later.

I slept in my own bed last night and let me tell you it was ALL RIGHT! Actually I had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, so
I didn’t get to enjoy the approach to the house. Woke up just long enough to stagger inside and fall into bed, then gaze at the ceiling for a delicious minute, tracing the dreamy shapes in the plaster illuminated just a lick by the bluish moon; anticipating the day I’d have my memory back and could revisit the homegrown constellations I’d surely seen there and named in childhood. What would they be? The Dancing Tarantula? The Disbelievers’ Chorus? The Party of Blackbirds? The Nettle’s Tongue?

It felt like I slept about 100 miles deeper than I have in the past two weeks.

MUCH Later

Looking back, this one thing is obvious: Before I contacted my parents and told them to come get me, I should have asked myself
why I ran away in the first place.

My parents are nice, nice people, but awfully tiresome. They actually seem kind of excited about my amnesia, since it gives them a reason to torture me with a full-scale, never-ending tour of my own home in excruciating detail. Did you know that wooden floors hold up better to foot traffic if you rotate the runners every four months? Or that your rumpus room will stay perfectly tidy all year round if you keep it locked up tight? Or that Sherman’s, downtown, does by far the most reliable job of framing family portraits in the most tasteful way possible?

Is it grossly self-centered of me just to want information on MYSELF?

We did eventually get to that, of course. The history of my life has been very well-documented in dozens of albums of photos, some home movie footage, and many crates of memorabilia. But I haven’t had any quality alone time with that stuff, believe it, because Sharon and George thought it was more important to give me the guided tour of EVERY SINGLE OBJECT in my room: