Stand-Off On Memory Lane (Kai Kiriyama)
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
John Black sat curled in a blanket on a bench under the town’s bridge. The spot had a magnificent view of the sunrise and protected against the cold winds. Every morning John would wake up to watch the sun and to start off each new day he liked to remind himself who he was, so he would never forget.
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
Peoples names are very important, John thought nodding to himself, vital even. A person’s name is their identity. A person’s name is the label that encompasses their personality.
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
When the sun was in the sky, freeing the world of darkness, John decided to begin his day. “Today is going to be a good day,” he said to no one with a perky smile. John packed his blanket into his backpack and headed towards the center of the town. It was still early in the morning, so only a few joggers passed him by on his way to Mc Donald’s. However, as he entered the restaurant a small line was already formed. Normally, that would irritate or upset someone, but not John Black.
John Black had patience and didn’t mind waiting in lines.
John Black was just happy to be alive.
“Good Morning Mr. Black,” said the cashier when it was finally his turn. “Did you want your usual; black coffee and an egg Mc muffin?”
“That would be splendid,” John replied offering a smile.
While he waited for his order, John relieved himself in the lavatory. Washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. Doubt began to creep, scratching, at the corners of his mind as he looked at himself.
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
John Black looked haggard and frail yet almost beast like with his hair on his head and face growing wild in every direction. His eyes hung droopy and were bloodshot. Dirt clung, as if plastered, to his skin and his teeth, what was left of them, shone a glossy yellow. Normally, someone would be filled with shame being out in public like this, but not John Black.
John Black didn’t believe in vanity.
John Black was just happy to be alive.
His order was waiting for him on the counter, and with it in hand he merely walked back out onto the street.
“Well, what should I do today?” John asked a pleasant looking man, wearing a stiff black jacket and pants, walking by.
“Get a fucking job you bum,” the man spat.
Normally, that would anger someone and offend their pride, but not John Black.
John Black doesn’t succumb to violence and is not provoked by petty name calling.
John Black was just happy to be alive.
“But good sir, I don’t need a job. You see if I hold out this cup,” John said lifting his own cup of coffee into the air. “Money magically appears. But I must say those are some lovely clothes you have. Would you believe me if I said I used to own some just like it!”
The man gave him the bird as he marched off down the street.
Perhaps I shall go to the park today, John thought to himself.
John Black enjoyed sitting in the park. John Black was just happy to be alive.
By the time John found a comfortable spot on a bench in the shade, the streets were packed with all sorts of people. Men, women, and children strolled, strutted, and ran down the street. On his bench John had a perfect view of the world passing him by. Every hour or so John would take a nibble here and there from his sandwich, prolonging its consumption. Normally, someone would be scared having so little food to eat, but not John Black.
John Black doesn’t need to live a fat life.
John Black was happy just to be alive.
“Eric? Eric Crawford?” A woman asked facing John, blocking his view. Stepping closer, she said, “OH MY GOD! Eric!”
John stared up at the face confused. Doubt began to creep, scratching, at the corners of his mind.
“Eric it’s me,” The woman said stepping even closer, only a foot away. “It’s Vanessa.”
John Black did not know this woman, yet something ached at him.
“Oh my god Eric! What has become of you?”
Images struck like lightening, one after the other, creating chaos in John’s mind. Flashes of the women and him together, but yet the man seemed different. The images brought memories along with them; memories of pain. These memories did not belong to John Black and he did not want them.
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
“My name is….” He whispered.
“Eric where have you been?”
“My name is John Black.”
“Eric what do you mean. Your name is Eric. No one has seen or heard from you in years. What the
hell happened! Please talk to me!”
“My name is John Black.”
The woman only stared down at him for some time, but then finally walked away, looking back several times.
My name is John Black.
My name is John Black.
John sat feeling confused with himself as emotions that he thought he didn’t possess began to arise. John Black had no use for such things like responsibility or guilt. Perhaps they belonged to this Eric Crawford fellow the women spoke of and maybe these memories are his as well. The name did sound familiar to John, like a forgotten enemy vanquished long ago.
Could I be Eric Crawford? John thought to himself.
My name is…
My name is…
John got up from his bench and began walking. Taking walks always cleared John Black’s head. John continued to walk and walk long after the sun had begun its descent and even after darkness shrouded the world. John Black had no use of that town anymore or the people in it.
People are only given one name.
My name is John Black.
-StaleCoffee
Rambles of the Mad 