Emily The Strange_ The Lost Days Part 12

Later Have reunited with my parents!!

I'm in their luxury sports utility vehicle and we're headed back home to Zigzag, Oregon. I should be more excited to be leaving Blackrock, but all I can think is: I never said goodbye to the cats. I never said goodbye to Jakey. I really hope Raven understood when I told her I was rescued and she should NOT have umlaut and Attikol pay Schneider to fetch me back. Really wish I had brought the cats with me. REALLY, REALLY, REALLY wish I had the cats.

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George and Sharon -OK. Back to Sharon and George.

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I started out with "Mom" and "Dad." But that just wasn't rolling off my tongue right. So they said it was OK for me to say Sharon and George while I still had the amnesia. They said I'd be going to a fancy specialist about the amnesia. They described my s.p.a.cious, stylishly decorated bedroom and its entertainment system. They talked about the ponies. The ponies!!! I hope they're real. I hope there's at least the ponies.

I asked them if I had a yacht but they laughed and said oh no honey you don't have a yacht and it felt like it was the first time anyone had ever called me honey and it was GREAT.

Later The drive home has wiped me out. Have been staring intensely at the pa.s.sing landscape trying to recognize a landmark, or eliminate amnesia from my brain by force of imagination alone, or something. Saying "Molly" over and over in my mind. Asking Sharon dumb questions about my habits and preferences. ("Hey, Sharon, do I take baths or showers?" "Both, sweetheart.") Can't wait to be home can't wait to be home can't wait Next day-Tuesday There are actually ponies. More on them later.

I slept in my own bed last night and let me tell you it was ALL RIGHT! Actually I had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, so I didn't get to enjoy the approach to the house. Woke up just long enough to stagger inside and fall into bed, then gaze at the ceiling for a delicious minute, tracing the dreamy shapes in the plaster illuminated just a lick by the bluish moon; antic.i.p.ating the day I'd have my memory back and could revisit the homegrown constellations I'd surely seen there and named in childhood. What would they be? The Dancing Tarantula? The Disbelievers' Chorus? The Party of Blackbirds? The Nettle's Tongue?

It felt like I slept about 100 miles deeper than I have in the past two weeks.

MUCH Later Looking back, this one thing is obvious: Before I contacted my parents and told them to come get me, I should have asked myself why I ran away in the first place.

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My parents are nice, nice people, but awfully tiresome. They actually seem kind of excited about my amnesia, since it gives them a reason to torture me with a full-scale, never-ending tour of my own home in excruciating detail. Did you know that wooden floors hold up better to foot traffic if you rotate the runners every four months? Or that your rumpus room will stay perfectly tidy all year round if you keep it locked up tight? Or that Sherman's, downtown, does by far the most reliable job of framing family portraits in the most tasteful way possible?

Is it grossly self-centered of me just to want information on MYSELF?

We did eventually get to that, of course. The history of my life has been very well-doc.u.mented in dozens of alb.u.ms of photos, some home movie footage, and many crates of memorabilia. But I haven't had any quality alone time with that stuff, believe it, because Sharon and George thought it was more important to give me the guided tour of EVERY SINGLE OBJECT in my room: "So, this bedframe, we bought you at Gooding's last March, to replace the last one that got nicked by your riding boots."

"And this jewelry box, we gave you that for your thirteenth birthday, and it came from Bick's, and so did your charm bracelet, but we gave you that when you were nine."

"And THIS sweater came from Four Daughters, and so did this dress and these pants, and most of your underwear."

...AND SO ON until I actually put my head down on the pillow and pretended to go to sleep. If tomorrow is anything like today, it may destroy me.

Later Went and hung out with my ponies.

George told me their names were Tuffy and Tweety. When he saw the look on my face, he said, "Well, you named them when you were about five, if that makes you feel any better." It sure didn't.

Ponies are beautiful, intelligent creatures, you know, so it was all the more disappointing when they put their ears back and bared their teeth at me. George said they were probably just upset that I'd been gone. He got me saddled up for a ride on Tweety, and I felt like a dumb muppet up there, without a clue what to do. So I got a long and awkward riding lesson (because of which, by the way, I now have to put a pillow down before I sit!). "I thought horseback riding was one of those things, like riding a bike," I said to George. "You know, once you learn it, you never forget?"

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He scratched his head. "Well, do you still know how to ride a bike?"

Turns out I do. Very well. SIGH. I will keep working on the ponies.

Later Pretty boring day. I have a feeling that boring is normal here.

I do not understand my bedroom at all. Why is it so painfully tidy? It needs major reorganizing. Don't really feel like it at the moment, but maybe tomorrow. First thing, I think I'll hide away the trophies.

Later I have serious concerns about how bad all of my music is. Have spent some time skimming through my collection of cardiofunk, yacht rock, arena boogaloo, heartland country, and frat rap. I can safely say that I now find all of this COMPLETELY UNLISTENABLE and will need an all-new music collection as soon as possible.

Wednesday Met the housekeeper. I don't recognize him even one tiny little bit. Asked Sharon when I would be seeing the specialist and she said tomorrow. Worked on my riding skills even though my b.u.m feels like it's made of fire and broken gla.s.s. Ponies are no longer baring their teeth at me, thanks to lots of apples and sugar cubes, but they also aren't galloping majestically toward me with their manes billowing out behind them when I go out to their corral. Instead, they look depressed and disappointed. Am doing what I can to cheer them up. Renamed them Bratwurst and Toulouse. Since I cannot work myself up to actually saying their former names out loud.

Sharon was full of hugs and sugary snack treats today. She also spent a lot of time staring at me with her forehead all wrinkled when she thought I wasn't looking. She sort of half-tried to persuade me to start wearing the clothes in my large, unfamiliar closet instead of this black dress I've been wearing since Blackrock. I did let her launder it, but I took a long bath while I waited. I don't know, I just feel funny putting on anything else. Will tell the shrink about that if he seems to be of any use.

I also spent some time with the top-of-the-line entertainment system in my room. I immediately saw the need for some minor improvements, and got it rewired within a few minutes. I know I could really get it sounding good if we just had a soldering iron, but apparently we DON'T. Which I really don't understand. I also don't understand why I haven't already customized the spit out of this stereo. It looks as clean and perfect as the day George and Sharon paid a huge heap of money for it. Ended up tuning the radio to static, which was better than nothing, and WAY better than Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Who, I'm mortified to say, used to be my favorite band.

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That's not the only thing in my room that I have issues with. Here's another good example: On my dresser there's this large framed photo of me with a big group of fun-looking people my age. Probably, like, twenty-three of my closest friends. My hair's in a different style and I'm wearing the most perky grin you ever did see. Obviously, I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. With that Big. Group. Of Fun-Looking. People.

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Please tell me the camera was LYING!!!

Later Have had some quality alone time with the photo alb.u.ms, the home movies, and the crates of keepsakes and other doc.u.mentation of my life history. I don't know if I feel like writing any of it down. I mean, what it adds up to is: I was born. I grew some teeth, lost them, grew some more. I've spent time in school. I have relatives, friends-lots of friends-and ponies. I've been to Disneyland. Etc. Etc. Etc. I think the most informative...uh, information about myself came from my school yearbooks. Each one must have been signed by the entire student body and most of the faculty. I read through all the messages people wrote to me over the years and here are a few representative entries: [image]

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It appears as though I was am a rich, popular, well-dressed girl who keeps a neat bedroom and wins trophies at everything she does. But I can't say that any of this seems familiar to me. Let alone flattering.

Thursday Losing my will to write regular entries. What's the point? The shrink says he will have me cured of amnesia in three days, tops. Waste of time to keep writing...it's just a habit that I'll soon be over.

A lot later Not over the habit quite yet. In fact I feel like dwelling on my memories of Blackrock. It's such a novelty for me to have MEMORIES of anything. I've been thinking about the day I came back to the El Dungeon with Schneider after Wichita, and both Attikol and umlaut tried to take credit for bringing me back, and Raven had already forgotten she ever missed me. Ahahahha hah ahha. And the time Schneider was asking my parents why I hadn't been reported missing. "Well, this was the eighth time, and she always came back on her own..." Weirdos. And that time Attikol asked Raven if she would let him romp through her hair some moonlit night, and Raven was all, "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh...no?" HAHAHA! And that especially rowdy game of Calamity Poker when Attikol challenged umlaut to recite Shakespeare's Sonnet 18...in Morse Code. "Deeet de deeet deeet deeet de de deeet de de de de deeet..." And most of all: finding the cat collars and learning Miles', NeeChee's, and Sabbath's real names. McFreely's real name will probably remain a mystery forever now. Belgium!

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Oh, that reminds me. I never did go see Schneider's grandmother, the town vet, to ask if she had st.i.tched up Sabbath's ear. Probably my only lead on the cats' real owner. Had a moment of sadness for whoever that person might be, because let me tell you, they are missing some goooooood cats.

Then had an hour of sadness for myself, because I am also missing some gooooooood cats.

Much later It's late, late, late. I snuck out and walked around downtown Zigzag for a long time looking for something familiar. If you can believe it, and this is kind of embarra.s.sing, I almost had myself convinced that me being here was all a big mistake, and these nice people were just complete idiots who were mistaking me for their daughter. And then this kid on the opposite corner called my name, and I thought about how even I recognized myself in all those pictures, and I should just give it up and figure out how to be Molly. Anyway, I let the kid do the talking. Not that it made any sense. Something about a comic he was knitting? About this girl who made the ultimate sacrifice-for beets! Or something like that. And he asked me if I'd be meeting up with the others later and I said yeah but then I bailed on actually going. Maybe tomorrow. Not sure if I am actually interested in rejoining my extensive circle of well-dressed, chipper friends.

Not sure if I am actually interested in ANYTHING related to being Molly Merriweather.

Ehhhhhhhhhh.

Friday Saw the shrink again today, but nothing about my former life is getting clearer. Shrink-man says to just give it time, and until I get my memory back, he will keep telling my parents I shouldn't go back to school yet. (Doesn't he realize that's really not good motivation?) He also says writing in this journal is counterproductive to my goal of regaining my ident.i.ty, so this will probably be my last entry.

So I guess this is it. Bye, Dear Diary.

Whatever.

Later There are doubts! There are serious doubts!

I hate to say it...

BUT.

I may not be Molly Merriweather after all.

Things fell apart after dinner tonight when Sharon asked me what I wanted to drink with dessert, and I said black cherry soda, and she laughed and said, "There's orange pop in the fridge." POP!!! I am not from this household, I tell you. And if I had ever actually lived here, those ponies would know me.

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ALSO: I don't recognize the taste of the air, the smell of the water, the kind of towels in the bathroom, the mac'n'cheese, the night sounds, "my" stuff, or "my" name.

Am feeling VERY confused. Not sure what to do. Am going to start with some straight talk with Sharon and George.

Later Evidence pointing to me being Molly: 1. My old friend Curls thinks I'm Molly.

2. Sharon and George think I'm Molly.

3. Ditto our housekeeper, that kid I saw downtown, and the neighbors.

4. Lots of photographic evidence.

5. Leaving this boring place seems like something I'd do.

6. Ditto taking on fictional ident.i.ties.

7. Molly is/was an animal lover. I can relate.

8. I am having a hard time beating any of the high scores on the video games in the house.

9. Molly has won 3 science fair trophies. Sounds like something I could do.

10. As for the popularity thing, Shrink-man says a change in personality could happen after head trauma.

11. Sharon and George say we have no relatives my age at all, let alone any that look like me.

12. Extreme unlikeliness of ANYONE (relative or not) looking so much like me.

13. I SOMEHOW ended up in the same town as Curls. What are the odds?

Evidence that I'm not Molly: 1. Sharon and George agree that I seem different than normal.

2. They say I used to be a day person.

3. Pop vs. Soda.

4. Ponies do not know me.

5. I don't know how to ride the ponies. To be specific, my BODY doesn't know how to ride the ponies. My b.u.m is still yelling at me about the pain.

6. Am horrified by thought of being popular. No desire to see my former friends.

7. Formerly candidate for winning Best Dressed; now I prefer to wear the same thing every day.

8. Though a winner of science fairs, Molly was not known as mechanical genius. Stereo still in dire need of modifications. Toaster oven in kitchen needs a tune-up. Etc.

9. Sports lover. Ewwww.

10. Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Ewwwwwwwwww.

11. My hair is in a different style in all those photos.

12. Bedroom seems way too tidy.

13. I just don't feel like Molly.

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Still, I don't know if I can really BELIEVE that I'm not Molly Merriweather without further evidence.

For example...meeting Molly Merriweather face-to-face.

Will just have to go find her.

Much later Waited until Sharon and George were asleep, then snuck out and walked around until I found that kid again who knew me, or thought he did. I asked him where everyone was and he said at the usual spot. I said let's go and I let him lead.

We got to this overpa.s.s where a bunch of scruffy-looking kids were hanging out and as we walked up, sure enough, they were all like "MOLLY!" and "Where have you been?" and stuff, but then, when I got into the light from the trash-can fires, they kind of got silent and were all staring at me, maybe because I still hadn't said a word, and then this one girl was like, "Hey, Molly-you seem...different?" and I told them I was Molly's cousin and I was trying to find her, and then everyone had their story to tell: 1. Molly had, like, MAJOR problems with how boring her parents were.

2. Molly ran away, like, all the time.

3. Her parents never even freaked out when she left, as long as her grades were good.

4. Molly and I look SOOOOOOO much alike omiG.o.d!!!!! 5. Molly was, like, the BEST at making up her own funny lyrics to popular songs.

5. Everyone had an AKA that Molly gave them, but she would never let anyone give her a nickname.

6. But she would always invent a new, like, ident.i.ty for herself whenever she bailed town.