Blank Slate Kate

Chapter 2

Can he be telling the truth? Have I really lost years of my life? I'm too stunned to do anything but restate the situation. "You say it's 2011, but I think it's 1996."

He nods.

"So..." My head hurts too much to do the math. "If you're right, how many years..."

He licks his lips. "Fifteen."

I'm not almost seventeen any more. I'm...

Dear God, I'm almost thirty-two. Ancient! I'm shaking my head even before I realize it. "No. No, I don't believe you. Why are you doing this? What crazy game are you playing with me? Take me home right now!"

"Kate, I--"

I burst out with, "Why do you keep calling me Kate?"

"Because you said it was your name. Told me like three times." He studies me, his eyes narrowing. "So what's your real name then?"

"I don't know," I say slowly. "Kate doesn't feel right but I also can't think of anything else. If I'm not Kate, I don't know who I am."

The truth of that rises in me, panicking me, and I curl into a ball on the couch and say, "Even if my name is Kate, I don't know anything else. How can I not know?"

He ignores my fear and says in a commanding tone, "What's your last name?"

"Anderson," I say at once, then stare at him. "I think it really is. That feels right."

He smiles. "Good job. Kate Anderson."

That feels less right but it still could be true. The more he calls me Kate the more it seems to fit. "Ask me more stuff," I say, eager to get my life back.

He does, firing questions at me, and while I can't answer anything about how I got to his bar or where I live now since the condo building burned down we soon know that I was born August seventh, 1979, to Allen and Betty Anderson.

"Nice job, Kate," he says, excited. "Let me think of a few more."

While he thinks, I think too, trying to organize the facts in my mind. Kate Anderson. Birthday August seventh, 1979.

My birthday. Nearly thirty-two years ago.

For one second I believe that I've lost fifteen years of my life.

But then I recoil from it. It's not possible. It can't be. "Prove it."

He blinks, coming back from trying to find more questions. "What?"

"Prove it's 2011. Show me a newspaper."

"I don't have one. I get my news online from tweets."

From... "Birds?"

His eyes widen and I make another connection. "Like my duck tattoo. Did you get me tattooed because the birds told you to? You're insane!"

Strangely, his expression says I'm the crazy one. "Kate, look. I didn't get you tattooed. I met you last night."

I leave the bird thing aside for now. "Tell me what happened."

"I work at a bar down the street. I got there at eleven in time to see the end of a fight. You and another girl. She supposedly stole your money from your pocket and you attacked her. But her friends swore she didn't do anything. My boss Grant was going to call the cops because you started a fight but she said not to and took off. Grant told you to leave and went back inside but I couldn't leave you there. You seemed so scared and confused."

My throbbing head. "Did she hit me? In the head?"

He nods. "You have a bump. At least you did last night. But you calmed down once she'd left and insisted you didn't want a doctor. You told me your name was Kate. I got you a Coke and told you to stay nearby but then lost sight of you while I was working."