Page 11 of Townshipped
“A little queasy. Or maybe I’m just hungry,” I tell him without hesitation. He seems familiar, yet I can’t place him. Wouldn’t I remember a man who looks like that? He’s not a relative. Tell me he’s not a relative.
“I’m Aiden,” he says.
Okay. So I don’t know him? Or should I? The confusion makes my head hurt in a dull, but overwhelming way. My thoughts feel like a series of urgent riddles I’m being forced to solve.
“Do I know you?” I ask, feeling a blush creep up my neck.
He smiles and shakes his head.
The cry of a goat comes through the doorway more distinctly this time.
I hesitate, but feeling bold and needing to sort things out, I ask, “Am I a goat farmer?”
I can’t be a farmer, can I?
But why am I obviously on a farm?
I feel like I’m the lead in aTwilight Zoneepisode.
Twilight Zone. A show? Did I watch it? The details won’t come into view.
Aiden shakes his head. His eyes fix on me, soft and kind.
“You crashed your car outside my property yesterday afternoon during the snow squall. I brought you into my place since your car was totaled and the roads were unsafe. I gave you my shirt and stayed with you. You don’t seem to have a concussion. You made it through the night just fine.”
He nods to a chair in the corner where a quilt is folded neatly.
He stayed up watching over me?
“I’m sorry you had to do that,” I say, hesitating before I ask him, “Do I know you?”
“No. We’ve never met. I’m pretty sure you were just driving through town, though I can’t say why you would be. Your license plate says Massachusetts. Otherwise, the letters got crunched during impact and the only ones I can make out now are a B and an eight. You’re in Bordeaux, Ohio, a town of twenty-five hundred. I actually live outside town.”
I look down at myself. I’m wearing a crimson shirt with the letters OSU on the front. It’s faded and well worn. I pull my legs back under the covers and tug the blanket back up over me, feeling suddenly more exposed than I’d like. Did Aiden change me into this shirt last night? What happened to my clothes?
As if he could read my mind, Aiden explains, “I put your clothes in the wash this morning. They had a little blood on them. You changed yourself in my guest bath last night.”
I blow out a breath as I try to piece together what would have me out driving in a snowstorm. Where was I coming from, and where was I headed? I can’t recall any of those details. Massachusetts? Ohio? Those states. I can’t remember much about either of them off the top of my head.
“I … I don’t remember … I mean … I can’t …” My mind seems incapable of even deciding what to say. Trying to make sense of my situation makes my head swim with confusion.
“I couldn’t find your wallet or ID, so I don’t know much about you. Your phone and computer were cracked beyond repair in the accident. I think you hit your head pretty badly.”
Aiden must see the rising panic in my face.
He steps a few more paces into the room but keeps his distance.
“Let’s not stress out,” he says. His voice a calm that settles my rattling nerves. “We can’t go anywhere today anyway. The internet’s down from the storm. I promise to keep you safe, warm, and fed. We’ll figure out the rest after the roads clear and we can get online again. Okay?”
I nod. What else can I do? Something tells me I’m safe here with Aiden, even if I don’t remember who I am or where I’m from.
A name crosses my mind. It’s like seeing an image off in the distance, faint and small.
“M … M … M,” I say, almost in a whisper.
“Em?” Aiden repeats. “Is that your name?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
