Wind of Chimes

Part One.

It was my tenth birthday, and my dad had just wrapped his cold fingers around my eyes. My parents then led me outside, hyping me up for my present. He uncovered my eyes and the sun burned them as they adjusted to the brightness. There, in arms reach, was my new, blood red bike. I screeched with excitement, clinging onto my dad and embracing my mom with gratitude. I caught a strong whiff of my mother's sweet perfume, and my dad's thick laundry detergent scent.
I ripped the big blue bow off of my bike handle and asked for permission to ride it down the street. My parents both agreed, but insisted that I only ride for one block and then return home. I wheeled my bike down the driveway, glancing back at them with the widest grin. Little did I know it would be the last time I would see my parents, until ten years later.
I hopped on my bike and the gears turned smoothly, the ground was slowly moving beneath me. As the wind rippled through my hair, I peddled faster, and soon I was four blocks away from my house. Behind me, I could hear the faint noise of a loud pick up truck. I turned my head to check, and pulled over towards the curb. I studied it for a moment. A nineteen-seventy four Chevrolet, short bed. It was chestnut brown with a light tan stripe on the side. Rust grew on the underside of the truck body like weeds in a garden. I thought the pick up would pass me, but as the noise grew louder, I become more nervous. I turned my head once more to check of the distance between me and the pick up truck, it wasn't going to pass me, it was coming straight at me. I squirmed to move out of the way, but the nose of the truck collided with my back, knocking me hard on the ground. I wheezed in pain, I could feel my body aching. Then, everything went pitch black.
That's the last thing I remember, and that was ten years ago. That day was painted in my memory like a world famous painting. The pain, the noises, the smells, all of it. I even have dreams about it reoccurring. If I could go back, I would've never rode my bike. When I opened my eyes to the bright sun, that was the only memory my mind left me with. All I know is my name, and nothing else. I wonder if my memory gave me that one moment to keep, to haunt me. Maybe one day, the rest would fall into place, but right now, the puzzle pieces of my mind are scattered, and I can't seem to find them.
I shoved my hands in my jean pockets and shivered in the wind. My black hoodie was wearing thin, and my Jean's had several holes in them from wearing them variously. These were the only clothes I owned, since I didn't live anywhere. I bounced around from homeless shelters and park benches. But I've been wearing these clothes for four years straight now. The only source of income I had was random change I found on the street.
I ended up in New York when I was about fifteen. I've been roaming the streets ever since. The cold wind was now nipping at my skin, I could feel the chill in my bones. I hugged myself and slipped into the train station, rubbing my hands together for warmth. I was getting tired of New York, I wanted to relocate. I pulled out the change in my pocket and glanced at it. I couldn't even remember how to count. I sighed angrily and watched the people that came into the train station. Many were wealthy, more fortunate than me. My eyes wandered the large map on the wall in front of me. I walked towards it, finding my location and reading carefully over all the states and cities. But one in particular caught my eye, Mississippi. Something sparked in my brain, it was awfully familiar.