I don’t know who I am or who I even belong to for that matter. But I have supporting evidence that I belong to these strangers who live in a middle class house in a small, but quant neighborhood. They found me at a hospital, not long after the “event.” As I look at them threw a picture album, they clamed to be mine, I can se a resemblance but of no significance.

I get to a picture that has seven children in it. They seem to be friends, all smiling and hugging one another. One child, in particular, catches my eye. She looks to the age of six and is wearing mostly blue. There is nothing special about her, but she looks familiar. As if I have seen her a-million times in a reflection pond that has evaporated into nothing. I close the book because I am becoming depressed from memories I don’t have. A voice from the outside of “my bedroom” door is calling my name for dinner. I guess that it was my mother’s voice, but I haven’t gotten used to hers yet. I hop off the bed and open the door. Sure enough she is standing there, smiling a smile that wouldn’t convince the blind.

“Is pot roast okay?” she asks in one of those baby voices, sounding all protective.


“I guess, I really don’t know what it tastes like.” And that was true. Ever since that dreadful day, everyone seems to remember but me, I lost all memory of who, what, when, where, and why.


Everyone was gathered around the dinner table. Most of the time someone was looking at me, and then quickly turning their heads when they saw that I had seen them. Even though the family I was seated with, tonight, were complete strangers, I couldn’t help but feel some sort of connection or bond that was linking us together. But even though I was finally becoming comfortable after three days, there where still times were I felt left out or unable to fit in. I couldn’t believe that I was supposed to be part of their family when I didn’t even know myself very well.

The night they took me to their welcoming home, I wrote down some key facts about myself on a piece of paper that I now keep with me at all time. As everyone was filling their plates with green beans, mashed potatoes, and roast, I pulled out the little slip of paper and reread it for the seventh time;
Things to know:
1. My name is Katie Blake
2. I have a family of five including myself
-my mom: Sarah –my dad: Carle –my brother: Ben –sister:

Carrie

3. I am 13 years old, born on April 17, 1995

4. I am allergic to rabbits

5. I wanted a bike for Christmas

The last two were given to me by my sister. I guess that she already got me a bike for Christmas and always wanted a rabbit.

“What are you reading?”


“Carrie, that is her business and she will share if she wants!”
Even though my mother-figure was just trying to be nice, she sounded a little rude to my sister-figure. “Oh, no, that’s okay. It’s just a list that stated things that make me, me. Things that I should remember. So far I only have five.” Everyone looked at each other as if they were surprised or impressed that I would make a list. I guess I never did that in my former life.
“Do you want any more facts about yourself?” my brother asked. I was a little surprised that my mother didn’t get all over him for saying it.
“Sure,” I said, “more the merrier!”
Everyone smiled at each other and started naming things left to right. As they were doing so, my father-figure got up and got me a pin to write with. As he handed it to me he said, “You hate pencils and use a pin whenever you get the chance.”