Forget Me Not
His eyes flutter as he slowly begins to gain consciousness. Someone screaming at the top of their lungs? He slowly lifts his head and the screaming stops. Realization that wasn’t screaming, but rather a car horn. His head was resting on the center pad of a steering wheel. Of a van cradled on the shoulder of a road; teetering above the shoulder storm drainage. Memory… faded… amnesia… who is he? Why was he in a van? Where was he? Pain. Reaching for his nose, he finds blood. A glance in the rear-view mirror to confirm his nose broken. And that’s when he realizes he’s not along. Three others tossed about on the back bench-seat, another slumped in the passenger seat beside him. All unconscious if not dead. He reaches for his wallet, reading his driver license, “John Hastings of Los Angeles, CA.” Moaning foretells at least someone else alive, “What happened? Who are you? Who am I?” John can only offer, “I’m as clueless as you little lady; but I’d suggest you check your purse for an ID.