by Lynn, Davida
Keeping my eyes forward, I told myself to head back to the apartment and figure out a better plan. Despite that, when Thunder revved his engine, I looked over to him. He gave me the international sign for roll the window down, and I did.
“One more thing,” he pulled his shades down, making him look almost sinister. “I ain’t that good of a man, Patience.”
The entire drive back to the apartment, my eyes were in the rearview mirror. I was half expecting to see Thunder come out of nowhere at any second. A cold sweat broke out, and the drowning feeling of loneliness took me over. I sat in the parking lot at the apartment complex for a few minutes without moving. Every bit of my focus was on listening for a howling motorcycle engine growing closer. Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t been followed, I went through every inch of the interior, minus the glove box.
Trash and papers littered the back seats, but nothing with any real information. While I was still sitting in back, I reached under the passenger seat. I pulled out a tube of lipstick, an empty book of matches, and a dirty water bottle. Still, nothing helpful.
I found myself talking out loud to calm myself down, “Maybe I should go to the police. Who knows, my prints could be on record or something.”
For whatever reason, my heart ground to a halt. Adrenaline began to surge through my body out of nowhere. The only clues I had to my identity where these instinctual reactions coming from somewhere deep within my mind. Why would my heart race when I thought about the police? Another mystery that only shoveled more weight onto me.
I had stopped trying to search for answers in my own head.There was only one way I would find out who I was: someone else. Somebody else knew who I was. Somebody had to know who I was. I hated the fact that certain things were triggering me. The real me was in there somewhere. Somewhere deep in my mind, I was looking out for Patience; whoever she was.
The trunk was all I had left. As I got out of the car, I crossed my fingers that there would be a purse inside with a wallet inside of that. I knew the odds were low, but there’s nothing wrong with hoping. If the trunk is empty, we check the apartment, again. If the apartment is empty, we might have to go to the police. The pep talk got my heart pumping hard, again, but I had no choice.
The trunk lid clicked, and I lifted it up. It was in pretty much the same shape as the car. There was some trash in there, but not much else. I sorted through all the papers, throwing the useless ones into a Kmart bag that had been stuffed under a seat. One by one, I went through the papers and receipts, but found nothing useful. A scrap of lined paper caught my eye. Actually, it was the handwriting that caught my eye.
It was my handwriting. I don’t know how I knew that it was mine, but I did. I hadn’t written anything since waking up with no memory, but I knew it was mine. I grabbed it and tried to smooth out the note.
There wasn’t much to it, but it was better than nothing: Putah Diversion Dam, 9PM tomorrow
It felt familiar, like nothing else the entire day had. I didn’t remember writing it, but reading that note was like placing the first piece of a large, confusing puzzle. The first question that popped into my mind was whether the appointment had come and gone, already. If it had, it was useless to me. If not, what would I find there? Who would I find there?
A car pulled into the small parking lot, and I felt the strong need to get back inside. I felt like I was being watched, and I started listening for the motorcycle, again. I slammed the trunk lid down, wadded up the bag of trash, and headed for my door. Once inside, I turned the locks. I had to lean into the door to get the deadbolt to close, but I managed.
Whatever it took to start a new life, I would do it. If Patience really did live like this, something had to be done. I wasn’t Patience, and I wasn’t going to live in some shit apartment. If she was a stripper, I was quitting and going to night school. Whatever reason she carried handguns in her car, I would leave it behind. As far as I was concerned, Patience was no more. The final nail in her coffin would be the moment I found out my real name. Somebody at the Watering Hole knew it, and I’d be there at eight to find out. Even if they didn’t know it, at nine, I’d be at the dam.
The bar looked completely different at night than it did during the day. Between all the lights shining on the place and all the bikers in the parking lot, the bar actually passed as decent. There were easily ten motorcycles for every car in the gravel lot. I lost count somewhere around fifty bikes. There was no doubt that it was purely a biker bar.
I pulled around to the back, sliding my car between two tall pickup trucks. For a few minutes, I sat there; engine still running, lights still shining on the cinderblock wall. My entire day had been spent walking into the unknown, but that bar was something else entirely. I knew my past was inside. The past that was Patience and my real past. My future was west of town at a small creek.
Before I left my apartment, I thought about the glove box. I thought about the glove box for a long time. What to do with the guns? I sat on my kitchen table staring at them both. I brought them in from the car wrapped in a sweatshirt and laid them on the table as if they could go off at any moment and in any direction.
At first, I wanted to leave them back at the apartment, but I decided against it. I was heading to the stomping grounds of a biker gang, after all. I was sure on one thing: I didn’t need two.
The pistols were identical. Black Smith & Wesson’s with wooden handles. I only knew the manufacturer because it was stamped on the guns. For long while I stared at them there on the table. When my body would remain still any longer, I picked one up and found the button that slid the clip from the handle. It dropped right into my hands like it was choreographed. The magazine was full, and with a quick shove, I slid it up into the grip. I pulled the slider back and found a bullet in the chamber.
My brow wrinkled in confusion at how effortless it had been. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew what to look for, and I knew how to handle the gun. It wasn’t my first time holding a gun, even if I couldn’t remember doing it. It all felt way too comfortable. Nevertheless, I picked up the second pistol and did the same thing. Both magazines were full, and both guns had a bullet in the chamber. I double checked that the safety was clicked into place on both.
Back at the bar, I stared off into the distance as I thought about the guns. One had been hidden beneath my pillow, and the other sat in the glove box next to me. It felt like my hand had a mind of its own. It wanted to reach for the glove box. It wanted to take the gun out and slide it into my jeans before I stepped out of the car.
With no memory, I told myself that I couldn’t trust my own instincts. I was trapped in a world where I couldn’t trust anyone; least of all myself. That thought made me want to take the gun. But the very same thought made me think I couldn’t be trusted with the gun. What if some other lost instinct kicked in, and I opened fire? No. I couldn’t chance it. The gun would stay where it was.
Even from inside the car with the windows up, the music was blaring. When I opened the door, the sound hit me hard. I looked up to see speakers aiming down at me from the roof. I hadn’t noticed them in the daytime. To be fair, Thunder had me pretty distracted, and then I had found the guns.
I headed around to the front of the bar, weaving my way between bearded, tattooed bikers of all shapes and sizes. There were some old man that I probably wouldn’t have trusted behind the handlebars, and there were younger guys that could barely growing facial hair at all. I looked into every face and expected to see Thunder. I expected him behind me every time I looked over my shoulder, too.
He scared me. I didn’t know why, but he did. At the same time, though, in my addled brain I wanted to see him again. He was a man with secrets, but he was my only connection to the real world. I was in doubt about just about everything. Everything except the sexual tension between us. It had obviously been there, but that memory was gone with all the others.
Focus, Patience, I told myself, or you’ll be Patience forever.
S
tanding outside the door to the Watering Hole, I took a deep breath. My past was inside that place, at least in some way. Somebody in there knew who I was. Checking the crap digital watch I had found my apartment, I noted the time. I only had a half hour inside before I had to head to the dam. I hoped to God I wouldn’t need that long. I grabbed the worn metal door handle and pulled it open.
The place was packed. My first thought was that I’d have to yell to be heard. There was laughter, singing, and the almost constant clatter of glasses ringing out. Directly inside the bar was a handful of tall tables and stools. The first thing that caught my eye was the back of somebody’s leather vest. In large letters across the top and bottom, it read RISING SONS MOTORCYCLE CLUB. In between the curving letters was a stitched picture of light beams coming from a skull’s mouth. It was morbid and poetic at the same time.
Somebody at the table must’ve noticed I was staring, “You still hung over or something?” He raised an eyebrow at me. The other two men with their backs to me turned.
My mouth dropped open a little bit as my heart sped up. His voice and eyes were hostile, and I felt more out of place than ever. I wanted to turn around and bolt, but I had to know the truth.
If I wanted to get answers, I had to fit in. Giving him my cutest smile, I said, “Just a little. Mind pointing me towards the bathrooms?”
His eyes and traveled up and down my body, and I’m sure they weren’t disappointed. Patience only had the kind of clothes that bikers probably loved. Her wardrobe consisted of skintight jeans, skintight T-shirts, and barely there underwear. I picked the best of what I could find, and apparently it was doing the trick.
He tilted his head behind him, “Back of the bar; where it’s always been.” As I walked past him, I saw a recognition in his eyes. He knew me, or he knew Patience. Had she already checked him off the list? More questions without answers. He grabbed my arm before I got too far away.
“I’ll let the boys know you’re here.” He had to shout the words over the noise of the crowd, but the sexual tone was unmistakeable.
Not knowing what to say, I smiled. Why should they care that I was at the bar? I headed deeper into the bar, keeping an eye out for Rising Sons vests. If Patience had been making her way through them, they were the ones I wanted to focus on.
It was hard to see through the crowd. I would spot a Rising Son through the crowd, but with all the people, getting to any of them was tricky. The crowd opened up at the actual bar, and I figured while I was there, I would get a drink. I had probably never needed one more in my life.
“Patience! Hey, girl. Glad to know you survived last night.” A woman in a Hooters top smiled and waved me over. I found an empty spot and leaned in.
“Yup, I made it through.” I didn’t want to jump straight in with who the hell am I? I already thought I was crazy, I didn’t need everyone else to, as well.
Priorities, I told myself. “Hey, did I happen to lose my phone in the fight?” If my cell phone turned up, I could find out everything I needed. I’d have access to my email, contacts, everything about who I was.
Her face went wide with surprise, “Oh my God, you’re carrying a cell phone now? It’s about time you get out of the Stone Age. Every time we have a girls’ night out, you are always the hardest one to hunt down. This is fantastic, let me get mine and grab your number!”
So I didn’t have a cell phone. Maybe Patience really was from the Stone Age. I was going to have to spill the beans. My clever attempt was a failure.
The woman behind the bar turned back to me, and I destroyed her elated face, “No cell phone, sorry. I’ve actually got a bigger problem, though.”
The look in my eyes must have been enough to convince her that I was serious. “You need to talk?” I nodded. “ Patience, what did you do this time?”
I didn’t know how to respond, “I… I don’t know.” All the frustration that had built up throughout my entire day came out.
There was disappointment on the woman’s face. My heart ached just to see it. Whatever kind of woman Patience was, she did make life easy for those around her.
She shook her head and lowered her voice, “Give me a minute to get the bar covered. I’ll meet you out back.”
Down the hallway with the bathrooms, there was a backdoor. I followed the bartender out the back and into the relative quiet of the world outside.
She gave me a look that told me she had children of her own. I saw disappointment and shame in the bartender’s eyes. I didn’t know what I had done, but I felt my own shame. I felt sorry for what I had done, or what I must have done.
“Please, I don’t know anything, and I need your help.”
She shook her head, “Patience, if I had a nickel for every time you’ve asked me for help, I’d buy you a god damn clue, woman. When are you going to get your shit together?”
I grabbed onto her hands. I hoped for a touch of familiarity, but there was nothing but the cold look in her eyes. She pulled away, “Patience, don't suck up to me. I have enough to worry about. You of all people should know that.”
“But I don’t.” There was fire in my voice, and she must have seen it in my eyes, too, because hers went wide. “I don’t remember anything since waking up this morning. I woke up next to Thunder with no memory at all!”
She shifted her look back and forth. The bartender was lost, and I could sympathize. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, “I don’t know your name. I don’t know my name.”
“Your name is Patience.”
“My real name. Believe it or not, that’s not my real name.”
Her blank stare wasn’t helpful. I extended my hand. It was cheesy, but cheesy was about all I had. She looked down at my hand, then gave me a cock-eyed look, “Um, I’m Donna, I guess?”
Donna gave me a smile, even if she was still digesting what I had told her.
We shook hands, “I’m Patience, for the time being. Look, if I don’t have a phone, and I didn’t leave my purse here last night, I’m screwed. There’s nothing in my car and nothing at my apartment with my I.D. on it. Thunder is the only person I know.”
“You...you aren’t kidding.” Donna broke the handshake. “The fight?”
Giving Donna a shrug, I looked around, “That’s the best guess that Thunder could come up with. I woke up with one hell of a headache and no memory.” I raised my hand up to the back of my head. The huge went was still there. “He told me about the fight. Nothing came back to me. I don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent.”
“Patience, oh my god!” She threw her arms around me, and for the first time since waking up, I felt a hint of compassion. Thunder had helped me, but he was a stoic man. I couldn’t imagine him with his arms around me, at least not the way Donna’s were. Thunder was probably more of a throw-me-up-against-the-wall type.
Donna rocked me back and forth, still taking it all in. “You poor thing. What are you going to do? Does anyone here know your real name?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s why I’m here.” I let out a groan as she squeezed a little too hard, “Oh god. I’m hoping someone here knows my real name. So far, nothing.”
She pushed me away, a serious look on her face, “Did you go to the police?”
While trying to come up with a decent reason why I hadn’t, she beat me to it. “Of course you didn’t. With your history you probably-- Wait. If you don’t remember anything, you don’t know your history, but you still didn’t go to the police? I don’t get it.”
“Thunder told me as much as he knew. I figured I’d try and get ahold of a purse or phone before I went to the police.” Her words caught up to my brain. “What history?”
Donna pulled out a pack of smokes. She leaned toward me and pulled out two cigarettes and handed me one, “You’ll need this, trust me.”
Apparently Donna and I had been close ever since I appeared at the bar. That was the word she used: appeared. She made it sound like I apparated from nowhere. I just showed up
at the bar one day and started notching my belt when it came to Rising Sons. She told me that with my looks, it wasn't much of a challenge. Donna’d worked at the Watering Hole since the Sons opened it, and we became fast friends.