Adventures of Amnesia Girl

The storm raging outside the car mirrored my own turbulent emotions so closely they could have been a physically manifestation of them as I flew down the highway, praying that the cops had found something else to do in the storm than run radar. It had been fifteen years since I had been home so I wasn’t sure where the speed traps were these days. But, given the hard rain falling from the sky, I doubted any patrol officer was going to be looking to hand out tickets. Even if I did find a Johnny on the Spot, I had the perfect story to tell him to explain why I was going twenty over the limit.

Three hours ago I had been in my apartment in Kansas City enjoying a quiet evening which had been shattered with a phone call. The officer on the other end of the line was calling to inform me that my grandfather had been missing for three days and was presumed dead after a boating accident. He had been out fishing on the lake with some of his buddies when the boat capsized. His buddies had surfaced unharmed, but, my grandfather had never resurfaced. Since he wasn’t wearing a life vest and had been drinking, they assumed he had drowned. They apologized for not contacting me sooner, thanks to my estrangement with my grandfather and everyone else in that town; they had had to track me down.

After the call I frantically threw some clothes in my suitcase before dashing down to the parking lot where my Wrangler was parked. I threw my suitcase into the uncovered cargo area and jumped into the driver seat before peeling out of the parking lot. Around the hour mark I’d been forced to pull over to put up the plastic cover when the perfectly clear sky suddenly darkened and fat rain drops started to fall.

In the three hours I’d been on the road, my emotions had ranged across the board covering everything from anger to denial. A deep gutting wrench sense of loss tore at my stomach. How could it have been more than ten years since I had spoken to him? I’d always assumed we would reconnect at some point. My dad had taken off before I had been born. His father had stepped into the role of father figure. Then when I was ten my mom died and he took me in and did his best to raise me. Unfortunately, our relationship had tanked somewhere around freshman year. After graduation I had left town and never looked back. A few years later I’d called when I had gotten engaged. I’d thought maybe walking me down the aisle would improve our relationship. He made it clear he was not interested in reconnecting. I hadn’t made any other overtures and nether had he. And now he was gone. The storm kicked it up a notch by adding hail to the mix as the tears I’d been holding at bay were now streaming down my cheeks.

What felt like an eternity later, I pulled to a stop in the driveway of my childhood home. I stared at the maroon three story Victorian manor. Last time I had been here, there had been pastures filled with cows surrounding it. Now, there were houses and sidewalks and streetlights. Granted the houses were on big lots unlike they would have been in the city and the street lights were elegant, they didn’t fit the memories from my childhood. This didn’t feel like home. Surprisingly, that made it easier to get out of the car. I was thankful that the driveway had been paved somewhere during the fifteen years I had been away as I dragged my suitcase to the white wooden stairs that lead to the wrap around porch.

Relief flooded me when both the screen door to the porch and the heavy wooden front door opened

with ease. The officer that had called me had made good on his promise to leave the house unlocked for me.

The foyer looked exactly like it had the day I’d stormed out vowing never to step foot in this town again. Right down to the yellow wallpaper with the pink flowers still covering the walls and the dark gleaming hardwood floors. I ran a hand over the mahogany hall tree after I slipped off my boots per the rules of the house then braced myself to move further into the foyer. The sight that greeted me when I turned took my breath away. I had forgotten how beautiful this house was. The foyer was a huge open two story space with an imperial staircase with a landing in the middle before curving into two hallways running along the foyer. The banister was a carved mahogany piece of art that was mirrored on the banisters that lined the hallways on the second floor, giving the illusion of two balconies. What I could see of the formal dining room through the arch under the landing looked just as I remembered it. The huge elegant dark wood table that could seat twenty in a pinch with ornate high backed chairs surrounding it still had the white lacey runner with an appropriately big flower arrangement sitting in the center. Feeling overwhelmed, I carefully carried my suitcase up the staircase on the right.

More memories flooded me as I stepped through the door to my room which could have doubled as a time portal. Everything was where I had left it. Even the posters I had used to cover up the hideous flowery wallpaper. I stretched out on the 90210 comforter on the bed and rolled up eyes to the ceiling with a smile. New Kids On The Block were still on my ceiling. I had a moment of incredulous laughter. Here I was in my mid-thirties, in my teenage bedroom, wishing my poppy would come in and yell about how loud my music was. Quickly, I jumped to my feet and then dashed to the hall bathroom.

The ornate mirror reflected a woman with shoulder length red silky curls, bloodshot green eyes and pale skin with a smattering of freckles who desperately needed to pull herself together. I splashed some cold water on my face and then looked myself in the eyes.

“Kenna McIntosh, you will pull yourself together. You will get through this.” I looked in my red rimmed,

bloodshot eyes again. “You can do this!”

First things first, I need to know what supplies were in the house. I did a quick inventory of the bathroom. Towels and toilet paper. Check. I ran down the back stairs to the kitchen to look over the food supply.

The kitchen looked about like I remembered plain white cabinets and white appliances. Just to prove you couldn’t have too much white, the counters were a white laminate. The floor was still covered in the black and white checkered tile that I was pretty sure was original to the house. Even the gaudy chandelier still hung in the middle. There were no decorations in here; everything had a function, either used for food prep or food. It had been much prettier when I was younger. But after the third time the kitchen flooded, pops stopped putting much effort into the repairs. I opened the pantry door to do inventory. Pops had quite a bit of food on hand that only required the microwave. Guess he still hadn’t learned to cook.

The thought of my grandfather sent me to the foyer where I had left my backpack which I used as a purse. In a matter of seconds I had it dumped upside down, its innards spread over the wood floors. “No, no no!”

How could there not be a pack of smokes in it? Yes, I know I’m trying to quit. But, if this didn’t deserve a cheat day, I didn’t know what did. I grabbed my keys and my wallet and ran out the door. Thankful the storm seemed to have subsided since I had left my umbrella on the hall tree. I fired up the old Wrangler before following the gps directions on my phone to the nearest gas station.

I was smiling when I slid back into the driver’s seat. I’d gotten a couple of packs for about half what I was paying back home. The smile died as soon as I turned the key. The engine made some weird sputtering, whining nose, gave a heck of a shake, and then died. Nothing happened when I turned the key again. Fudge sticks! Giving a deep sigh, I closed my eyes. I knew I should have gotten the check

engine light looked at as soon as it lit up. Last month. I’m sure the four hour drive at ninety miles an hour tonight did not help things. Since I was only a few miles from the house, I jumped out and locked her up before starting the walk.