Monday, January 25, 2010
Quite The Trip
The police officer snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. I can tell that he doesn't believe me. I really don't believe it myself. The story of what happened keeps running over and over in my mind.
I was on my way to visit my family in Montana. I couldn't remember the last time he had seen them. In fact I couldn't remember much of anything at all. A recent car accident made me lose some of my memory. The doctors said that I was probably going to gain back my memories in a year or two and that it was only a matter of time before I would be completely back to normal. The problem was that I didn't really have anyone to try to help me gain back all the memories. My parents both died while I was still rather young. I had no siblings and no close relatives. I also kept having frequent blackouts. But I decided to make the trip to see them. It was a long trip from my home in Denver, but I figured it was probably for the best.
The motel clerk was nice. She was pretty too. I subconciously reached to flatten down my incorrigible hair. Her nametag said Rachel. The motel was completely empty and looked like it was in a state of decadence.
"We haven't had a lot of customers lately. Most people don't take this exit off the highway anymore. The owners are thinking of closing up. Anyway....Room 2...enjoy your night!"
"Thanks," was all I had said as I signed my name on the register. Roger Monnern. I paid in advance because I felt I might leave earlier to get a head start on the road. Traffic wasn't usually too big of a problem on these highways and back roads, but I wanted to get out early anyway.
I took a shower and sat on bed. I was tired but couldn't sleep. I felt like an insomniac, even though I was pretty sure that I was not one. I realized that I had not had anything to eat since the morning. I decided to go back to the motel office and see if they had any food to eat. I walked into the office and promptly blacked out.
I woke up in my motel bed. I wasn't sure what happened. At first I was lethargic, but I slowly moved out of bed. It was only 5:48, but I decided to head out to the highway anyway. The office seemed empty, but it didn't matter since I had already paid. The highway was pretty empty as I expected. I turned on the radio and glided down the pavement. I felt carefree, for a while it was laconic. But then all these thoughts began to crowd my mind, which for a while had been graciously vapid.
"Just who am I anyway? I don't know. Why do I have these blackouts? I don't know. What was Roger Monnern like before the accident? Why do I keep having these blackouts all the time? I don't know."
That was the only answer I had. It was terrible feeling like a mystery to myself. I felt like I was an anathema. I knew a lot about the world. I could remember presidents and events in history. But I knew very little of my own history.
I pulled off the highway at about eleven to fill up on gas. The gas attendant had a scowl on his face, he looked as though someone had done something to provoke his anger.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Our gas supply truck is late. We're almost all out. I hope you don't need gas?"
"I'm afraid I do. My tank's already pretty depleted."
He was able to fill the tank up halfway, which I figured would be enough to get me to a rest stop or another gas station.
I took an exit off the highway. It was getting more crowded and I was getting a headache from the noise and exhaust. It was a nice country road with little farmhouses and juxtaposed against the highway, it was like a little slice of heaven, the paragon of country beauty. And then it happened. I ran out of gas. My swearing was probably audible for miles. That was one thing I really remembered. I walked up to the nearest house for help. It was a large old farmhouse that had probably seen better days. A man probably in his early thirties opened the door.
"My car just ran out of gas outside. Can I call a towing company?" I asked.
"Unfortunately the phone is not working. I'd give you some of my own gas, but we haven't used a car here for years and years..."
"Oh" was all I could manage to utter. I was probably showing a little anger at that point.
"You are welcome to come inside and eat with us. We, my mother and I, were just about to have dinner."
The man whose name I learned was Ted, introduced me to his mother Martha. She was standing at the stove. She was preparing a chicken.
"We haven't had a guest for dinner in ages. I'm afraid this little town....well you can't even really call it a town. There are only six families in the whole area! Well my point is, we don't get much company around these parts. You could say there's a paucity of people."
I didn't eat much. Martha encouraged me too, but the chicken just wasn't appealing. I was hungry but it just didn't satisfy my appetite. Martha tried to add levity to dinner by telling some jokes. Ted was kind of loquacious and tried to ask me more about my life but I had to hedge around his questions. I was definitely aloof. Ted started to look strangely at me. I could tell he had trepidations about me and really didn't trust me too much.
Anyway, we sat around talking for a while. Around eleven Martha decided that it would probably be best for us to go to bed. She put me in a bedroom upstairs. A small room with just one window. It didn't take me long to fall asleep. At about two o'clock I decided I was very hungry. In fact my stomach was screaming for food. I went down to the kitchen and blacked out when I saw Ted standing there.
When I came back to reality I was in the back of a police cruiser. They took me to this local jail. That's pretty much the situation now. A man comes in and gives the officer an official-looking report.
"Well, it's official." he says.
Trust me, I am completely suprised to learn that I, Roger Monnern, am a cannibal.