A Fog...

I’m so lethargic today. I have had many set backs, realizations, and have not felt much like writing the last couple of days.

I have realized I cannot remember my name. This is shocking to me. I’m questioning everything. I remember hiking. I remember my friends. I remember a life outside this camper. I have a friend named Kris…I think. Am I wrong?

I found my camping gear under the cot the other day and a wallet that I know is mine. He has taken my license out and replaced it with a black and white picture of Shirley Temple he cut out of some magazine and colored with high lighters. There are also pictures of people I can not seem to remember. A girl: She is maybe fifteen or sixteen? Her hair is red and she has big brown eyes. She poses with a blond woman. Is this her mother? Sister? Is she my sister? There is a cut out picture of Kool-Aid and a ten dollar bill and four ones. I can’t imagine Kool-Aid picture belongs to me. Why did he leave the money?

I’m beginning to itch. I have either scabies or ringworm. I can hear kittens under the camper which now smells like cheap perfume and cat piss.

I fell asleep and when I woke I was wearing a leopard print pleather mini-skirt and a red tank top. I found a pair of flip-flops that I think might be his. It is cold in here so I wear a sleeping bag around my shoulders during the day. Along with the water He has started turning the heat off when he is not here.

He put a larger lock on the door. I am giving up on picking or breaking the lock open while he is gone.

The flip-flops are too small for me, but I’m not walking barefoot in this trailer; not since I stepped on what I think was a ball of phlegm. My eyes have stopped burning and I can see now. Theses are good things.

He has taken a soccer ball and glued tiny pieces of broken glass and aluminum foil onto it. It is now hanging from the ceiling over the television. I’ve given up trying to figure out why he has done this, but I have gathered it is a gesture to please me. It’s his way of showing me attention or affection or something. I look at it and smile when he is around. I hope it will keep him from killing me.

I’m beginning to think he is preparing me for some sort of Appalachian prostitution ring. I know my ass is bigger thanks to the damn Twinkies and I can only deduce that having all my teeth is a also a major selling point in the redneck flesh trade. I think the voices on the other side of the door are the other women he has working for him. I can not hear exactly what they say, but they are feminine and they bitch…a lot.

He has two VHS tapes that I can find. Girls Gone Wild and the reruns of Everyone Loves Raymond He had taped on a blank tape. I did find two CDs. One is Rupert Holmes Greatest Hits and the other is Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. I listen to The Pina Colada Song and Running Up That Hill all day. I do anything I can to jog my memory.