My First Amnesia Question: Who am I?

NOTHING GOES AWAY

I’m not myself. I’m not Michelle Kathleen O’Kane. Now. I’m now a soggy, foggy photo of the person I used to be.

Now. I’m an instant photograph. I’m searching for light to provoke my emulsion. Collecting layers — bipolar layers. Layers of pieces of me diffuse into the painstakingly. Slowly developing monochromatic image — that was me. She.

I’m not (not really) an amnesiac. I, Michelle Kathleen O’Kane, am a Time Traveler. An object.

An object in time travels if and only if the difference between its departure and arrival times as measured in the surrounding world does not equal the duration of the journey undergone by the object.

That memory is never the same twice.

This place. The soft grey shawl is my WIP on my bed. The book on my nightstand. French.

Me Before and Me After incessantly converse about me. About myself. Every memory used to be my life.

My life used to encompass the world of seeing new places on other continents. And writing romance novels while I still believed in romance and excitement and love.

Memories of sharing many meals with people I loved.

I wake up while driving in various cars, and I’m always the driver. Frequently, I am 280, approaching the 92 exchange. Aware. While I’m driving, I surround myself with the color-changing hills. I’m humming along with Elvis Costello. I’m watching the detectives. (The Angels Wanna Wear) my red shoes.

I’m now pointed west, driving to Half Moon Bay. I own various makes of cars. Today I’m driving a clutch — my blue Ford Ranger. This is the car I purchased with the money I received after my mother died. I am now 18, and she died just a few months ago, while I was 17.

I drive past memories. The Half Moon Bay Nursery, on the south side of 92. on the south side of the road, and now I’m just starting to drive through the outskirts of the town. My town. My ocean and sea salt and blue blue blue sky and sea, white wavy clouds tying the sun and sea together.

I’ve finally come to realize and understand how crazy I am.

I haven’t watched a movie with another person in over 5 years. I haven’t laughed with someone in as many years. A few times, something I’m watching or hearing has caused the sound — the sharp chirp of a laugh. The noise scares me. Hearing my own laugh is such an unfamiliar sound that it shocks me. Then, of course, I’m sad.

I’m rolling myself down a hill. I’m on my side. Gravity is giving me no rolling across the green, touching damp grass leaves with my fingers and toes. A 5’4” lane that is created as I roll away.

That’s me. Again.

I’m jealous of so many things I see on TV. Landscapes, cities, and people at tables with white espresso cups.

Lives.

“You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.” — Margaret Atwood.