I awake to a bright light shining on my face. After many failed attempts to get more sleep, I try getting up. Almost immediately I have to stop because of the excruciating pain in my arm. I peer down at my arm, fearing what I might find. To my surprise, there is a tribal tattoo on my shoulder. What could this mean? Where am I? Why am I even here? How come I can remember nothing of my life before this? What happened to me?
Eventually, I decide to leave the beach to find answers. I quickly look down at my appearance to see if I am presentable. As I check myself over I see that I am wearing dirty light wash shorts, an old tattered tank top with a dolphin on the front , and Converse that may have once been white, but are now stained brown and green. I hopelessly try combing through my long mess of hair, and vow to chop off most of it as soon as I can.
I start trudging up a hill of sand in no specific direction. Little grains of sand start filling up my shoes so I take them off and carry them. The sun’s rays beat down on my back as I finally make it over the hill into civilization.
I am in awe as I see the immense crowds of people and the colorful houses. Where do I even begin to start? I decide to just go with the flow of the crowd and see where it takes me, hopefully towards some answers. I end up following a huge sunburned man in a bright blue shirt with a whale on the back that says, “Help set us free!” At first I don’t know why my subconscious chooses this man in particular, but then I notice a tribal tattoo on his ankle. Could this be a coincidence? Should I continue following him to see where he goes, or should I just tap him on the shoulder and demand answers? After debating this for a while and continuing to follow him, I end up taking a deep breath and tapping his shoulder. The man immediately whips around and scowls at me. I gulp and speak in a pitch higher than usual, “Um, sorry to bother you, but, uh,” I bite my lip, “I was wondering if you could tell me what your tattoo means?” As an afterthought I add, “Please?”
He peers down at me over his Ray Bans with a twinkle in his eye and laughs uncontrollably in a very deep voice. I am stuck gawking at him for five minutes in the middle of the road, while he continues to chortle at me. When he finally regains his composure, he answers my question by saying, “No.” After giving me such a wonderful response, he walks away laughing once more. I am not sure what overcomes me, maybe it's the stress of not knowing what will happen to me or the desperate need for answers, but at that moment I do something that I will probably regret later. I tackle the whale of a man and pin him to the ground. He makes a low loud noise, before falling. Once I am sure that he can't escape, I start demanding answers without hesitation in my voice this time, “Okay sir, if you want to live to see another day, you better start speaking. Got it?” He manages a small nod in reply, and then I continue, “Alright, what does your tattoo mean? Why do you have it? Where did you get it? Oh, and why do I have one?”
He shifts underneath me and says, “At first I have a question of my own.”
“No way! You can answer my questions first, and then I'll answer yours!” I shout at him in outrage.
He yells back at me, “Gosh, all I was going to ask is if you could please get off of me! You know I would be a lot more comfortable telling you such a long story if I was sitting in a chair eating shaved ice, rather than laying on the pavement with a strange girl on me!”
I can only say, “Oh,” as I hurriedly get off of him. “Sorry,” I add afterwards with a sheepish smile. I help him to his feet and ask, “Do you know any good shaved ice places where we can discuss these matters, sir?”
He brushes himself off and answers, “You can call me Wally, and as a matter of fact I know just where we should go. What should I call you?”
“That sounds great, Wally!” I reply with a smile. This could be my chance at answers. “I don't know what my name is, though. I can't remember anything from my past. At least nothing before this morning, anyway.”
Wally tries consoling me, “That’s okay! I can give you a name if you'd like.”
“That would be great!” I say as he leads me to a small shack, not too far away. We are greeted by a woman wearing a turtle shirt. When she gives Wally and me a hug, I notice that she too has a tribal tattoo. Before I can fully register this information, a little boy with shaggy blonde hair and tan skin hands us two mango shaved ices. Wally gestures to a neon green picnic table and we sit. Once I'm all settled in, he begins to speak, “This tattoo means born of water in the ancient language of Wallamenko. Every member of the Wallamenko tribe has one. They link us to the ocean and our animal forms.”
“Why do you think I can't remember anything?” I curiously ask.
“That I do not have an answer to. I have never heard of that happening to a Wallamenko. Usually we are born with the tattoos and we have no problems remembering things. My best bet is that you are a threat to someone, so they took your memory.”
“What should I do?”
“Go to the ocean,” his face dead serious. “That's the only truly safe place for Wallamenko. If someone really is after you, you can escape there. The other Wallamenko can give you more answers and advice than I can.”
“Thank you for all of your help, Wally. What should I call myself?”
Wally thinks for a moment before responding, “Actually, I don't think you should give yourself a name. After all what if you really do have an identity among them? You don't want to get used to your new name, just to have it changed once you meet everyone that already knows you and your name.”
“Okay.” Wally is such a nice guy. Even though we just met, I feel like we've been through alot together. He's been really helpful. “I hope I see you again someday, Wally. I'm sorry for tackling you earlier. I'll miss you. Thank you so much again for helping me.”
He gives me one last smile and then I grab my Converse off of the table and walk away. I walk down the hill that leads to the beach where I woke up this morning while thinking, it's all downhill from here. I dismiss the thought and walk to the edge of the coast, the barrier of land and sea, of my confusion and my chance for answers. I look down at my shoes in my hands one last time, before throwing them as far as I can. I put a foot into the ocean and then begin swimming into the unknown, blindly driven by hope for answers to my past.