Free The Lost Days by Rob Reger Page A

about how even I recognized myself in all those pictures, and I should just give it up and figure out how to be Molly. Anyway, I let the kid do the talking. Not that it made any sense. Something about a comic he was knitting? About this girl who made the ultimate sacrifice—for beets! Or something like that. And he asked me if I’d be meeting up with the others laterand I said yeah but then I bailed on actually going. Maybe tomorrow. Not sure if I am actually interested in rejoining my extensive circle of well-dressed, chipper friends.
    Not sure if I am actually interested in ANYTHING related to being Molly Merriweather.
    Ehhhhhhhhhh.
    Friday
    Saw the shrink again today, but nothing about my former life is getting clearer. Shrink-man says to just give it time, and until I get my memory back, he will keep telling my parents I shouldn’t go back to school yet. (Doesn’t he realize that’s really not good motivation?) He also says writing in this journal is counterproductive to my goal of regaining my identity, so this will probably be my last entry.
    So I guess this is it. Bye, Dear Diary.
    Whatever.
    Later
    There are doubts! There are serious doubts!
    I hate to say it…
    BUT
    I may not be Molly Merriweather after all.
    (!)
    Things fell apart after dinner tonight when Sharon asked me what I wanted to drink with dessert, and I said black cherry soda,and she laughed and said, “There’s orange pop in the fridge.” POP!!! I am not from this household, I tell you. And if I had ever actually lived here, those ponies would know me.

    ALSO: I don’t recognize the taste of the air, the smell of the water, the kind of towels in the bathroom, the mac’n’cheese, the night sounds, “my” stuff, or “my” name.
    Am feeling VERY confused. Not sure what to do. Am going to start with some straight talk with Sharon and George.
    Later
    Evidence pointing to me being Molly:
My old friend Curls thinks I’m Molly.
Sharon and George think I’m Molly.
Ditto our housekeeper, that kid I saw downtown, and the neighbors.
Lots of photographic evidence.
Leaving this boring place seems like something I’d do.
Ditto taking on fictional identities.
Molly is/was an animal lover. I can relate.
I am having a hard time beating any of the high scores on the video games in the house.
Molly has won 3 science fair trophies. Sounds like something I could do.
As for the popularity thing, Shrink-man says a changein personality could happen after head trauma.
Sharon and George say we have no relatives my age at all, let alone any that look like me.
Extreme unlikeliness of ANYONE (relative or not) looking so much like me.
I SOMEHOW ended up in the same town as Curls. What are the odds?
    Evidence that I’m not Molly:
Sharon and George agree that I seem different than normal.
They say I used to be a day person.
Pop vs. Soda.
Ponies do not know me.
I don’t know how to ride the ponies. To be specific, my BODY doesn’t know how to ride the ponies. My bum is still yelling at me about the pain.
Am horrified by thought of being popular. No desire to see my former friends.
Formerly candidate for winning Best Dressed; now I prefer to wear the same thing every day.
Though a winner of science fairs, Molly was not known as mechanical genius. Stereo still in dire need ofmodifications. Toaster oven in kitchen needs a tune-up. Etc.
Sports lover. Ewwww.
Hoopy Jankers and the Goodtime Belly Bouncers. Ewwwwwwwwww.
My hair is in a different style in all those photos.
Bedroom seems way too tidy.
I just don’t feel like Molly.

    Still, I don’t know if I can really BELIEVE that I’m not Molly Merriweather without further evidence.
    For example…meeting Molly Merriweather face-to-face.
    Will just have to go find her.
    Much later
    Waited until Sharon and George were asleep, then snuck out and walked around until I found that kid again who knew me, or thought he did. I asked him where everyone was and he said at the usual spot. I said let’s go and I let him lead.
    We