He asks me this as I return to the table in fresh clothes and shoes. My feet ache dully in their new enclosures, but I'm grateful for a barrier between them and the sticky diner floor. There were glasses in the bag. I slid them on my face while in the bathroom and the blurriness subsided a bit, along with a bit of the tension I'd carried in my head. Their light pressure keeps my tender nose front of mind.
I sit back down in my seat, unsure of how to answer. Do I know which part?
"We haven't heard anything from you in three days, Ella. What do you remember?"
"The woods," I start, "I remember being in the woods. Not much before that."
"Interesting."
"How do you know who I am?"
He looks immediately disappointed, then realizes his expression, tries to hide it.
"We have known each other for many years, Ella. Do you remember anything at all from before the woods? Basic things?"
"Of course I do, I..." I trail off. The memories feel fuzzy, just out of reach. I shake my head abruptly as if to shake off a creeping spider. "Can you please tell me your name, at least?"
"Herman."
"Really?" He doesn't look like a Herman.
"No. Not really. I told you my name was Terry a few moments ago when you asked me. Do you not remember asking me?"
"No, no, of course, I do," I say, "I think something has happened to my head. Nothing feels like it's processing quite right."
"So let's start again," he says, and pulls a small notebook from his pocket, flipping to an open page. "Basic things. Ella, what is your last name?"
A word emerges from the fog. "Mason."
He smiles, makes a mark on the page. It must be correct, then?
"Ella Mason, where do you live?"
"Right now? I'm not sure. Am I far from home?"
His mouth becomes a line and he makes another mark in the book.
"Okay, let's try this: where did you grow up?"
"Alberley. Wisconsin."
"And what do you remember about living there?"
Not much. It was a small town. Quiet. Not exciting, not offensive. Like everything else feels right now: indistinct.
I sit back down in my seat, unsure of how to answer. Do I know which part?
"We haven't heard anything from you in three days, Ella. What do you remember?"
"The woods," I start, "I remember being in the woods. Not much before that."
"Interesting."
"How do you know who I am?"
He looks immediately disappointed, then realizes his expression, tries to hide it.
"We have known each other for many years, Ella. Do you remember anything at all from before the woods? Basic things?"
"Of course I do, I..." I trail off. The memories feel fuzzy, just out of reach. I shake my head abruptly as if to shake off a creeping spider. "Can you please tell me your name, at least?"
"Herman."
"Really?" He doesn't look like a Herman.
"No. Not really. I told you my name was Terry a few moments ago when you asked me. Do you not remember asking me?"
"No, no, of course, I do," I say, "I think something has happened to my head. Nothing feels like it's processing quite right."
"So let's start again," he says, and pulls a small notebook from his pocket, flipping to an open page. "Basic things. Ella, what is your last name?"
A word emerges from the fog. "Mason."
He smiles, makes a mark on the page. It must be correct, then?
"Ella Mason, where do you live?"
"Right now? I'm not sure. Am I far from home?"
His mouth becomes a line and he makes another mark in the book.
"Okay, let's try this: where did you grow up?"
"Alberley. Wisconsin."
"And what do you remember about living there?"
Not much. It was a small town. Quiet. Not exciting, not offensive. Like everything else feels right now: indistinct.
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