I heard the words, but at first, they meant nothing at all. They were noise. After a moment, though, they seemed to click into place as language. I understood them. It took me a moment longer before I realized that I should answer. I couldn’t remember ever speaking to another person, and at first, I wasn’t sure I could do it.
I opened my mouth, cleared my throat, coughed, then finally managed to say, “I … am. Yes, I am all right.” My voice sounded strange and hoarse to my own ears. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t recall speaking to anyone else. I couldn’t remember ever speaking at all. Yet it seemed that I knew how.
“No, you’re not,” the man said. “You’re soaking wet and filthy, and … God, how old are you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I didn’t have any idea how old I was or why my age should matter.
“Is that blood on your shirt?” he asked.
I looked down. “I killed a deer,” I said. In all, I had killed two deer. And I did have their blood on my clothing. The rain hadn’t washed it away.
He stared at me for several seconds. “Look, is there someplace I can take you? Do you have family or friends somewhere around here?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“You shouldn’t be out here in the middle of the night in the rain!” he said. “You can’t be any more than ten or eleven. Where are you going?”
“Just walking,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say. Where was I going? Where would he think I should be going? Home, perhaps. “Home,” I lied. “I’m going home.” Then I wondered why I had lied. Was it important for this stranger to think that I had a home and was going there? Or was it only that I didn’t want him to realize how little I knew about myself, about anything?
“I’ll take you home,” he said. “Get in.”
I surprised myself completely by instantly wanting to go with him. I went around to the passenger side of his car and opened the door. Then I stopped, confused. “I don’t really have a home,” I said. I closed the door and stepped back.
He leaned over and opened the door. “Look,” he said, “I can’t leave you out here. You’re a kid, for Godsake. Come on, I’ll at least take you someplace dry.” He reached into the backseat and picked up a big piece of thick cloth. “Here’s a blanket. Get in and wrap up.”
I wasn’t uncomfortable. Being wet didn’t bother me, and I wasn’t cold. Yet I wanted to get into the car with him. I didn’t want him to drive away without me. Now that I’d had a few more moments to absorb his scent I realized he smelled … really interesting. Also, I didn’t want to stop talking to him. I felt almost as hungry for conversation as I was for food. A taste of it had only whetted my appetite.
I wrapped the blanket around me and got into the car.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked when he had gotten the car moving again. “Were you in someone’s car?”
“I was hurt,” I said. “I’m all right now.”
He glanced at me. “Are you sure? I can take you to a hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” I said quickly, even though, at first, I wasn’t sure what a hospital was. Then I knew that it was a place where the sick and injured were taken for care. There would be a lot of people all around me at a hospital. That was enough to make it frightening. “No hospital.”
Another glance. “Okay,” he said. “What’s your name?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. After a while, I admitted, “I don’t know what my name is. I don’t remember.”
He glanced at me several times before saying anything about that. After a while he said, “Okay, you don’t want to tell me, then. Did you run away? Get tired of home and strike out on your own?”
“I don’t think so,” I frowned. “I don’t think I would do that. I don’t remember, really, but that doesn’t feel like something I would do.”
There was another long silence. “You really don’t remember? You’re not kidding?”
“I’m not. My … my injuries are healed now, but I still don’t remember things.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, “You really don’t know what your own name is?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you do need a hospital.”