My brain is filled with useless information. I giggle to myself as I realize I’m humming the theme song of my favorite childhood cartoon, a show I haven’t watched since sometime in the 1980’s.
Jem is my name/no one else is the same/Jem is my name/Jem!
I still remember the combination of the first locker I was ever assigned in middle school. 11-1-11. The full name of the first boy I kissed in sixth grade. Allen Richard Thornton. The first thing I ever stole. A faux leather wallet with a picture of the Spice Girls.
I marvel at my good fortune for the 100th time as I settle into a lawn chair in my secluded, newly-renovated, backyard. The sun is bright. It’s a good day to tan. I chuckle as I think of all those losers fighting for space on the highways and expressways on their way to jobs that are slowly killing them inside.
As I close my eyes, my most important memory plays for me. My neighbor is standing in his driveway in the middle of the night, dumping a human-shaped bundle in his trunk. His wife hadn’t been seen for days. I snapped a photo for good measure, but there really was no need. Like I said, I remember things.
Even though my eyes are closed, I notice the light above me has changed. I open them to see my neighbor’s shadow falling over me like a dark blanket, and I shiver. He is blocking my sun. I wonder what he wants.