Memoirs of a Forgotten Man
Part One

A man wakes up in a strange room. In a strange hotel. In a strange city. A note is taped to his forehead. He removes it and strains to read the handwriting in the dark. An impulse leads him to turn on the bedside lamp. The writing becomes clear.

- I am you. You are me. You remember nothing. Good morning.

Indeed. This man remembers nothing. What he did the night before. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Where he grew up. Where his parents are from. Who his parents are. No high school sweetheart memories. Doesn't even remember what he likes to eat for breakfast. Until he finds the next note. This one rests on a desk. Turns out there are hundreds of notes lying around the room. This one states that it should be read first.

- Go downstairs to the deli. The man there knows what you like to eat.

Taped to the note is a currency note. Again, an impulse leads him to pocket the note. And a pain he understands as hunger leads him downstairs.

At the deli, a man at the counter recognizes him. And begins to scramble some eggs. The man objects and orders a donut instead. And some coffee. And he sits down.

As he eats, the man does not remember a time long ago when he ordered donuts and coffee and walked along a beachfront boardwalk and met his first great love. No, he simply eats because he is hungry and the donut looked appetizing.

As he leaves the deli, though he remembers nothing, the man understands 2 things -- he is alive and very dangerous.

And he heads back upstairs to his room. To read. And discover who he is... and what he is going to do next.


What are we without memories. Why is it, when we recount the events of our lives, instead of celebrating the event, we say things like "Ah, the Roaring Twenties, so many great memories..."? And what's with all the pictures people take and all those camcorders I see covering up the faces of many a tourist? It seems that people would rather capture the moment than live the moment.

Deja Vu. I've got a theory about that. I believe that, much like computers, our bodies are a complex machine that requires memory to function. And, just like computers, out bodies "back up" all those pieces of data at various intervals. And in this process, some memories get mixed up with whatever you are currently doing. And therefore, you find yourself remembering what you are doing at the moment.

When we remember, do we remember the events themselves or do we remember our memories of the events?

Some artist paint portraits. Some artists paint landscapes. Some use oils or watercolors or pastels. Some capture the smallest of details. Other capture an impression of an object or a scene.

Some artists paint what is there. Some artists paint what is missing.

~ ~ ~

Read Part Two

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