Free The Lost Days by Rob Reger

good if we just had a soldering iron, but apparently we DON’T. Which I really don’t understand. I also don’t understand why I haven’t already customized the spit out of this stereo. It looks as clean and perfect as the day George and Sharon paid a huge heap of money for it. Ended up tuning theradio to static, which was better than nothing, and WAY better than Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Who, I’m mortified to say, used to be my favorite band.

    That’s not the only thing in my room that I have issues with. Here’s another good example: On my dresser there’s this large framed photo of me with a big group of fun-looking people my age. Probably, like, twenty-three of my closest friends. My hair’s in a different style and I’m wearing the most perky grin you ever did see. Obviously, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. With that Big. Group. Of Fun-Looking. People.

    Please tell me the camera was LYING!!!
    Later
    Have had some quality alone time with the photo albums, the home movies, and the crates of keepsakes and other documentation of my life history. I don’t know if I feel like writing any of it down. I mean, what it adds up to is: I was born. I grew some teeth, lost them, grew some more. I’ve spent time in school. I have relatives, friends—lots of friends—and ponies. I’ve been to Disneyland. Etc. Etc. Etc. I think the most informative…uh, information about myself came from my school yearbooks. Each one must have been signed by the entire student body and most of the faculty. I read through all the messages people wrote to me over the years and here are a few representative entries:

    It appears as though I was am a rich, popular, well-dressed girl who keeps a neat bedroom and wins trophies at everything she does. But I can’t say that any of this seems familiar to me. Let alone flattering.
    Thursday
    Losing my will to write regular entries. What’s the point? The shrink says he will have me cured of amnesia in three days, tops. Waste of time to keep writing…it’s just a habit that I’ll soon be over.
    A lot later
    Not over the habit quite yet. In fact I feel like dwelling on my memories of Blackrock. It’s such a novelty for me to have MEMORIES of anything. I’ve been thinking about the day I came back to the El Dungeon with Schneider after Wichita, and both Attikol and Ümlaut tried to take credit for bringing me back, and Raven had already forgotten she ever missed me. Ahahahha hah ahha. And the time Schneider was asking my parents why I hadn’t been reported missing. “Well, this was the eighth time, and she always came back on her own…” Weirdos. And that time Attikol asked Raven if she would let him romp through her hair some moonlit night, and Raven was all, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhh…no?” HAHAHA! And that especially rowdy game of Calamity Poker when Attikol challenged Ümlaut to recite Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18…in Morse Code. “Deeetde deeet deeet deeet de de deeet de de de de deeet…” And most of all: finding the cat collars and learning Miles’, NeeChee’s, and Sabbath’s real names. McFreely’s real name will probably remain a mystery forever now. Belgium!

    Oh, that reminds me. I never did go see Schneider’s grandmother, the town vet, to ask if she had stitched up Sabbath’s ear. Probably my only lead on the cats’ real owner. Had a moment of sadness for whoever that person might be, because let me tell you, they are missing some goooooood cats.
    Then had an hour of sadness for myself, because I am also missing some gooooooood cats.
    Much later
    It’s late, late, late. I snuck out and walked around downtown Zigzag for a long time looking for something familiar. If you can believe it, and this is kind of embarrassing, I almost had myself convinced that me being here was all a big mistake, and these nice people were just complete idiots who were mistaking me for their daughter. And then this kid on the opposite corner called my name, and I thought