Who Am I?

I don’t know who I am. I know that’s weird to say, but it’s true. It’s been a year since the incident that caused all my memories to fade away. Some guy found me wandering around a park with a huge gash in my forehead.

The man who found me was kind enough to take me to his home to shelter me until he could get me to the orphanage the next day. The counselor at the school quizzed me and found that my memory was not affected when it came to my education. That was when they had come to the conclusion that I was about seventeen and they needed to keep me for another year before letting me free in the big bad world. 

Since I couldn’t remember my name, they gave me one. Actually, it was a little twerp by the name of Darrell. He called me “Ami”. It was short for “Amnesia.” The counselors thought it was cute. Darrell, the ten year-old who came up with it was just being a jerk. I hated him for it ever since.

The day I was allowed to leave the doors of the orphanage was the best day I could remember. I smiled at my small joke. I smelled the sweet air and stepped outside. The counselor had given me a slip of paper with an address on it. It was to be my new home. Of course, I sensed it was a drab apartment with only one window that overlooked a bad part of the city, but it was a start. I smiled. The orphanage was out. My new life was in and I was going to figure out who I was eventually.

I glanced at the slip of paper in my hand: “118 South Redwood Street #3”. I folded it up neatly and shoved it back into the pocket of my blue bell-bottom jeans. I did not have the slightest idea where that was, so I decided to go to the market to buy some food. When I got there, I knew my fridge would surely be empty.

The market was just around the corner from the orphanage. Sometimes, the cooks would take some of the oldest kids with them to help pick food out for the next meals. I never cared for the field trips, but I was still thankful for them because I at least knew where the market was located.

In front there was a lovely selection of fruits and that was where I decided to start. Not long after I arrived, I heard someone yelling a name. I couldn’t make it out at first, but then it sounded like, “Shaelyn.” It didn’t sound familiar, so I kept looking through the fruit. Then, a hand tapped on my shoulder.

“Shaelyn!” A man with blue eyes and brown hair that was just beginning to gray spun me around. “I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve been missing for a year!”

“Do I know you?” I asked a bit rudely. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A look of hurt crossed his face momentarily, “Shaelyn, you ran away or were kidnapped over a year ago… September 14th, 1971. Whatever happened, you disappeared. We haven’t found you. I’m a friend of your dad’s. You don’t recognize me?”

I looked him over. He was wearing dark and light blue checkered bell-bottoms with a matching collared shirt. His hair was curled in an afro, that I could tell was definitely not natural. I turned up my nose.

“No, I do not remember you,” I turned back to my shopping.

“Shaelyn, I know you never liked me. But I’m Roger. Roger Williams? You know me. I was there when we taught you how to ride your first horse. I was always there with your Daddy Bruce,” he said so sincerely.

I looked upwards as if thinking about it. Was my dad named Bruce? Nah, it didn’t click. “I don’t think so. You don’t sound familiar and I don’t think my dad’s name is Bruce. You’re a creep. Not groovy at all.”

“I think I have a picture of us together,” he dug around in his wallet as I leaned backwards, ready to run if I had to. If this picture was anything rated more than G, then I was bolting. He pulled out a Polaroid and handed it to me. My jaw dropped.