November 6, 2007

Cold. He could feel the cold of an unusually chilly November morning sink into his body. The wind was calm but a bitter cold still swept through, leaving his ears pink with cold. He wondered if he would get frostbite.

He had only just arrived in New York. He had been all across the country in the short span of only 10 months. He had visited Chicago where the wind was heavier than it was here. He had gone through Idaho, Utah, Oregon, Colorado and Nevada to end up in California. He had never liked the beach so he traveled to Texas. He liked Texas for some unknown reason. It reminded him of something…or someone. But he couldn't remember.

His last stop before New York had been Washington DC. He had liked it there too. There was something about the men in suits, the white buildings, and everything he seemed to like but couldn't remember why. He stood out among the crowd of senators and congressman. He had jeans and a t-shirt and a dark coat that didn't fit with the cleat cut men of Washington. Not to mention his dark, messy hair and scruffy beard and mustache. He must look homeless to them. Maybe he was homeless.

New York was different though. It was cold, but it felt like home. He found his feet leading him down streets. He was heading toward an apartment building. Maybe it was his? He didn't know. He was wandering around aimlessly, his road trip being the only memory he had.

---

"I found him lying on the street. I hope he's ok. Poor thing," an old woman said softly. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a hospital, as far as he could tell. He barley had enough strength to open his eyelids. He looked to his left and saw an old woman speaking to a nurse outside his open door. The nurse looked his way, looking surprised.

"I think he's awake!" she said coming over. The old woman followed.

"Hello?" the nurse said speaking to him. He just fluttered his eyes, trying to move his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. He felt pain all through out his body. He noticed a cast on his leg and he looked for more ailments. He moved his hand slowly, rubbing his forehead. There was a bandage rapped around his head.

"Where…where am I?" he whispered slowly, meeting the nurse's gaze. Just then the doctor came in, holding his clipboard.

"You are at St. James' Memorial Hospital," the doctor answered. He looked at the clipboard and turned to the nurse.

"Where?" he asked again. He was confused and his head was throbbing.

"Hartford, Connecticut, Mr…" the doctor looked at him expectedly. The patient didn't answer.

"Sir, what is your name?" The nurse said kindly. He looked at her. He thought about it then stopped. It hurt to much and nothing was coming.

"I..don't…I don't remember," he answered truthfully. He looked at the old woman curiously. He didn't know who she was or why she was staring at him with such worry.

"Who are you?" he asked. The old lady smiled.

"Mrs. Harper found you and brought you here," the doctor said. Mrs. Harper nodded.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Two weeks," The doctor said. He turned to Mrs. Harper "If you don't mind ma'am, I need to speak with the patient in private."

"No, it's fine. I just came to see if he was ok," Mrs. Harper left. She gave him a wry smile and then she left.

"Now, you say you don't remember your name. Can you remember anything?" The doctor said. He tried to think again but nothing came to him. It was like his mind was an empty slate. There was nothing to remember; No one to remember.

"Oh. Then it seems you have an acute case of amnesia," the doctor said. He looked up at the doctor, still feeling the pain in his head.

"No one's come to see me, beside Mrs. Harper," he said. He was feeling weak. His voice was barley a whisper.

"No, I'm sorry. We weren't able to find a wallet on you so we are still unsure of who you are and who to contact," the doctor said. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering if he even had a family at all. Maybe one day he would remember. But today wasn't that day.

---

It sill wasn't that day. And after 2 months of rest and therapy, he was admitted from the hospital. He had chosen a new alias for himself. He was now James Austen. He had never liked it when he was called John Doe in the hospital. So they gave him the name James instead. He still wasn't sure it was his real name, but it was better than John.

Maybe New York would help him bring back memories. Connecticut certainly didn't. He didn't remember anything there. And to this day, he still didn't know how he ended up lying in the street. He was beaten and bruised, and had even suffered some burns. It had all healed now, except for the scar on his forehead.

He headed down the street, hoping he had enough cash to buy a pretzel. He was wearing a suit when he found them, so he wasn't homeless like he had first thought. In fact, there was tons of money in the pockets, just no ID. That was the only way he could afford traveling the country, searching for his identity.

He searched his pocket, found a dollar and bought a pretzel. It was warm, what he needed during this chilly day. He looked at the posters on the side of the buildings as he passed. He saw one was torn slightly, another poster lay behind it. He turned around to see if anyone was looking. The streets were empty considering it was 10 AM on a Wednesday. So he peeled the poster slowly, but before he could get past the words "Vote", he heard someone speak behind him.

"Defacing public property, huh?" he said. James turned around to see a man staring at him. He was wearing an old sweater and jacket and his messy, dirty blonde hair told James that he wasn't going to reprimand him. His blue eyes twinkled with laughter.

"I just wanted to see the poster," James said. He didn't know why he was explaining himself to this man.

"That's alright mate. You're new around here aren't you?" he said in his obvious British twang.

"Yeah, is it that obvious," James said.

"Don't worry, I'll show you the ropes. And you are?" he said, his eyes still twinkling.

"James. And you?" he said. He didn't know where this boldness suddenly came from. Maybe he had always been this bold?

"Claude. C'mon mate!' he said. This time he was really laughing. And James smiled for the first time he could remember.