Lost.

It was just after midnight with myself trapped by the bar holding
onto a third drink, I didn't need but wanted. I wouldn't remember the
next day though, but when you are on the road by yourself there is
little else to do. A tall redhead was stood a couple of feet to my
left, she was gorgeous to look at, and the more I drank the less
inhibited I felt to doing just that. She had naturally rosy cheeks
which rose when she smiled and for one reason or another she seemed to
smile a lot. Our eyes had crossed a few times, there was a slight
lingering before letting go again, a silent battle of will and want.
She wore one of those black strapless tops, too low cut to avoid the
top of her breasts, but I was past avoidance anyhow. Tight blue jeans
which were rolled up down below and reached halfway down her calves,
combined with some flat pointed shoes, she had some of those rockabilly
qualities I had always found hard to resist.
A long time ago the bar would have been filled with smoke and a four
piece band in the corner. Nowadays, smoking was banned and a four piece
band didn't come for free. The music sounded from speakers dotted
around the room, probably sounding better than any four piece band
would ever do too, but then there wasn't any of the bravado which came
along with those. I had been on the road for the best part of the last
two weeks and with only an empty motel room to wait for my return I was
eager to stay out and find some conversation. Although as yet I had
failed to talk more than was necessary to get a drink, however it felt
good being around people.
Again I nodded to the redhead and raised my glass wishing she would
just come over and strike up a conversation, but there was little
reaction. It wasn't the way it goes in books where the hero dashes
across the floor while pulling a gun to safe the day. I looked at the
barkeep who was busy polishing glasses and restocking depleted stocks.
My eyes wandered along the shelves behind the bar, till they stopped at
a fine bottle of single malt of which I ordered a glass with a dash of
water. The music kept playing and I could feel my eyes doing things
they weren't supposed too, but then it had been a long day. Again, I
turned my head slightly to admire the woman next to me but my vision
started to blur and my step became unsure. I held onto the bar, just
enough to stay seated, just enough to come across as not yet gone. Then
I felt her arm tuck under mine, a blurred smile and a voice I could not
decipher, she led me from the bar while I hadn't quite finished
yet.
I came around when I could feel the pain behind my eyes, and although
those were still closed I knew there was light. There was a fine
drizzle which was blown into my face and the wind and rustle it awoke,
was the only sound about. I slowly edged one eye open, staring straight
into a fluorescent tube somewhere above. Then the smell hit me,
pungent, sickeningly sweet, revolting and about to make me vomit. I
scrambled up realising that I was inside a dumpster, furthermore
realising that said smell had become an inherent part of myself. I
climbed onto what was a wet narrow backstreet, careful not to move my
head more than necessary, breathing shallow through mouth, avoiding
vile stench, or as well as was possible. I had no idea where I was, as
for the time, it was dark, anything valuable had gone from my pockets
and that included my name.

I hated the feeling of not knowing, yet I barely knew that I didn't
know. I looked down the road first this than that way and started to
stagger, like a fly would fly, in the direction of the bigger light
source, eventually reaching what looked like a main road. The feeling
of recognition however eluded me, the light bounced of the ground
creating a haze through which I started wandering towards city. City
seemed miles away, but gradually grew taller, another corner separated
me from its centre. When I reached, the light was everywhere,
billboards of coloured light beaming down from high above, a whitening
smile so big that I was dwarfed by a single tooth.
Suddenly I was shoulder to shoulder with what seemed to be millions
certainly thousands, I was pushed about, till I fell into pace and
followed the flow. The pink of sun started crawling up the horizon, as
I started to wonder where I was heading. When the sun hit the still
moist street steam started to rise, the entrance to a park appeared to
my right and eager to leave the crowded streets I entered, seeking
shelter on a bench below a tree, the sun shone through the sparse
leaves and with the steam rising from the ground it looked like a haven
of peace. I sat, stretched, checked on the odour oozing from my suit,
which was near negligible by now. Then I started to think. I carefully
went through all my pockets piling all trace of who I was next to me. A
small pocket knife engraved with the initials V.D. A booklet of
matches, the sort you get in restaurants or bars, the sort that usually
carries an address, just that in my case it didn't. A ripped off piece
of newspaper with a barely readable email address scribbled onto. Some
change which would buy me a coffee and sandwich leaving me with a
little for emergencies. The thought of how little, made me laugh, I had
humour and not all was lost. I stared at the small pile, then put it
back into pockets.
A short distance from the park, was where I found a caf?, you got free
web access with a coffee, and a coffee came with a sandwich. I got on
one of the machines which powered up as I sat down in front, opened a
web browser then stopped, realising that I would need an email address
myself to make contact in the first place. I went to yahoo to open a
new account, V underscore D at yahoo dot com was what I became then
logged on, I went to look for the person who's email I had, there was a
profile: female, 29, was all it said and she was online. I connected
via instant messenger.
"Morning from the City, do you know what V.D. stands for?"
"Venereal Disease!" came the answer after just a few minutes.
"Any other idea, such as a name of sorts, one for a person rather than
a disease?"
"Vernon Dwayne."
"Who is Vernon Dwayne?"
There was a pause.
"You still there? Who is Vernon Dwayne?"
"Who are you?"
"Male, around 33, short dark hair, about 1,80 meters."
Another pause.
"What do you want?"
"Who is Vernon Dwayne?"
"Just a guy I met in a bar the other week. Are you police or
something?"
"I think I may be him."
"Vernon?"
"Yes."
"You think?"
"I woke up in a dumpster, I don't remember."
"Where are you?"
"The City - you?"
"Memphis. Can you send your image?"
There is a cam on top of the screen, I release the shutter and my
picture is being sent right over.
"It's you, you don't look so good though. Come over."
"I have no money."
"You left a parcel, I can courier it over."
"What's in it?"
"I don't know, you mentioned you may call for it."
"Can you open it."
A pause.
"A wallet, a phone, cards, some cash, the cards are in your
name."
"OK, send it to the station, care of me, what does n_corn stand
for?"
"Nancy Corn, my name."
"Thanx Nancy."
"It's ok, I get the parcel off now, it should be with you in the
afternoon, do you have a number?"
"No number, I will check my mail v_d@yahoo.com."
"OK, I'll be online."
I quit the program, the connection stops and the screen returns to its
homepage. I wondered who Nancy Corn was. Why would I leave my wallet
and phone with somebody I briefly met in a bar a week back.

It didn't make much sense, I had presumed I had been robbed, now my
papers and phone showed up somewhere else. And who if not someone I
already knew was Nancy.

When I checked with the station 5 hours later, I had mail. A wallet
which has a familiar feel and a phone filled with numbers, the bonus is
a handwritten note from one Nancy Corn inviting me to see her in
Memphis, and a number to reach her on. There was little to lose I
hadn't lost already and somehow gotten hold of again, Nancy was the
closest link to any memory I had, and she had been kind enough to help
me out. It was easy to get on a flyer to Memphis, hook up and make
sense of the gaps in the story, be that hers or mine. I looked through
the wallet again, there was a distinct lack of personal belongings, no
pictures, no notes, no numbers, addresses or any other scribbled down
reference to me or anyone. I wandered through the city, trying a few of
the numbers on my phone, most of which seemed to lead to an
answerphone, some lead to a busy person promising to ring back
shortly.
"Not a good time right now Vernon, let me call you back later." And
then the click when the handle was being pushed down as you got cut
off. It felt like a door being slammed in your face everytime, no
matter how hard I tried to ignore it. My phone was useless, the only
number I would get through to would be that of Nancy, I knew without
trying.
I arranged for travel to Memphis, resigned to the fact that there was
nothing else to do. The flight was pleasant enough, I was upgraded to
first without so much as a word, the food was exquisite and the
stewardess assigned to me one of the most desirable women I had ever
come across.
Then we landed.

Memphis. I took a deep breath, the weather clung to me like a wet
towel. Getting on the bus that would take me into town was one thing,
when I got off I stood and stared. The sun was starting to set at the
far end of the road. I walked that way, just like I had followed the
light earlier. Straight down till I turned into a diner for a bite to
eat. And then a beer, the jukebox was playing what Memphis was known
for and I started to see Elvis wherever I turned. I hadn't made any
calls since landing, but the phone was burning a hole in my
pocket.
Vernon Dwayne was who I was, but that was all I knew about myself. I
would have to get in touch with Nancy, hoping that she would be able to
fill some of the gaps which became more apparent as I went along. I was
hoping to recognise something, when I got here but it was as alien as
the City had been.
Nancy!?
I left the diner and carried on walking, passing through some of the
seedier parts of town. The neon of strip clubs lit the roads and women
of disreputable profession clustered around corners, as if the neon
drew them out of the dark. Then the ladies became more infrequent and
the strip bars faded making space for gun shops, tightly packed next to
each other one and another and then again. There was Gun's R Us,
Guntronics, Luke's Gun's, Pete's Gun's, Customized Guns, Second Hand
Guns, Rent a Gun, etc. etc. I wondered whether to rent a gun or better
someone with a gun, just to keep an eye on me, just to make sure I
wasn't about to lose myself again.
The street changed when I entered the town centre the buildings grew
more elaborate and the establishments more expensive. I sought out
character, trusting intuition when I walked into a bar down a basement.
The walls were made from bare brick and the wooden tables solid and
heavy, a hint of must was in the air, the space larger than was
expected.
A loose after work crowd had assembled, to my right a sweaty man with
to tight a collar laughed a hearty laugh which carried across the room.
He was sat with a slightly overweight woman in her mid forties, they
were hitting it off without realisation. I clambered onto a chair by
the door then changed my mind and moved over to the bar, signalled the
barkeep for a beer, looked around seeking to catch gaze of someone,
interact, invent personality for myself. I stayed silent by the bar,
watching through the mirror behind as people entered or left. I felt
like a wild cat on the jump ready for attack, resigned to waiting,
drifted, one thought let to another and I was somewhere else, someone
else, there was aim and focus as to what I wanted to be in that other
place. But I couldn't hold on to the image like a dream from which you
wake slips into darkness, I never caught more than a glimpse.
The bar started thinning out, one crowd replaced another this one came
from an altogether different place one that was made up of nights, one
where the sun had no place in.
I stayed, lost in thoughts finishing one than ordering another drink. A
rosy faced woman with a thick bundle of dark red hair entered from
behind, smiled a knowing smile through the mirror then stood somewhere
to my left. She had me, there was something vaguely familiar, something
in her mannerism that I recognised.
I threw her a limp smile, withdrew, then looked away, I couldn't figure
it out.

© Marcus Bastel