Erasure

I awoke with a splitting headache. I had not known a headache could feel like it was splitting your skull in half before. At least, I don't think I knew that. I can't remember much of anything right now. All I know is that I've messed up some kid's chalk drawing of an airplane by landing face first on the sidewalk. Looking at the buildings around me gives me no sense of recognition. Either I was placed here or I was out for a walk someplace I've not been before. I place my hand to my forehead and feel the beginning of a solid bruise and the seeping of bloody scrapes from hitting the sidewalk.



The sensation coming from my head as I place my hand on my face helps me to pinpoint where the real point of pain is centered. Feeling behind my right ear, I feel a piece of metal protruding from deep within my skull. Gripping it tightly, I tug it quickly out and the world spins as I slam down to the pavement again. It takes a minute for my senses to return and I move my body into a seated position. I play with the metal rod in my hand for a few seconds before my sight returns enough to confirm it is a nail.

A few sidewalk squares behind where I am currently seated, I can see a stack of lumber and a partially finished staircase in front of a three story brick building. The sign welcomes me to the new development and invites me to stop on by and check out this reasonably priced four bedroom three and a half bath duplex down. It appears that the penthouse unit is already spoken for, so I am not invited up there.

Back on my feet, I peer around the staircase, but I do not see anyone working there, so I start walking towards the nearest corner to get a point of reference. A few more steps and I find myself down on one knee getting light headed from the hole left by the nail. With no medical supplies to help me, I jam my right thumb over the hole and feel a little better. I'm now slightly nauseous, but there's no guarantee that I wasn't already that way and distracted by the fainting spell.

I look upward and find myself staring at two green metal street names that could be on the moon for all I know. Wellington and Barry. Do I know these streets? Would they mean anything to me if I hadn't been mistaken for a 2x4 while someone played with a nail gun? Then, it struck me. Who am I? Thinking as if I should feel confident in who I think I am at this moment, I feel that who I am is a person that would not go wandering the streets without a wallet.

Reaching down with my left hand, I begin patting down my pockets. As luck would have it, I'm right handed and my wallet is in my right rear pocket. I forget for a moment what my right hand is doing and the world swims in its fish bowl for a moment as I let go and pull the wallet from my pocket. It's a bit thick. I should really clean this thing out when I get the chance. Luckily for me, I didn't clean it earlier. In side the bi-fold brown leather wallet, I find a pictures insert with some people I don't recognize. Three couples smile at the camera, two in wedding dresses and tuxedos, but none stand out as anyone I would know.

Flipping past the pictures I see the Illinois driver's license and pry it from the mesh canvas. The picture looks like one of the couples in the photo. Digging backwards, I find the picture of the couple with the strapless wedding gown standing near a marble pillar smiling so happily. Is this me? A dark brown mop of hair lays across my skull and somewhat larger front teeth. It all seems familiar, but I can't be sure until I walk to a van parked near the corner and twist the side mirror outwards to see my face. The hair is similar albeit a bit windblown and the face behind the blood looks to be the same shape. A smile shows the larger front teeth and I decide that I must be the man in the picture and on the ID. My name is, looking downward at the ID in hand, Joshua Gardner. I am five feet eight inches tall and I am an organ donor. Good for me. More importantly, I have an address and cash in the wallet.

At the corner I look in each direction and find some cars coming my way down what appears to be Wellington. The fourth car I see is a cab and the top light is on. Somewhere in my brain, I remember that means it is available for hire. Excited for my first memory that helps me, I flag down the driver and hop in despite his hesitant expression. I tell him I fell and I just need to go home to get cleaned up. As he asks where to go, I give him 1620 North Burling and throw a $20 up front so I can sit back and continue to hold my consciousness in my right hand.