UNTRAPPED

      There was something wrong, something very strange, and out of place, just on the edge of seeing. Glancing down and around the small alley he looked for whatever it was. The alley was much like any other alley he could remember, a small narrow space between two towering buildings, fire escapes running around and around up into the sky. Water trickled down in rivulets around the red and brown brick from somewhere above, making a serene trickling sound. Taking several steps farther into the alley he continued to peer about.     
         It was obvious, in plain sight, so blatantly "there", if only he could place it. Something tickled the back of his mind, lightly and gone in a flash, but then he knew...the alley was clean, much to clean. No trash littered the small space in piles; no graffiti marred the brick, not even a stagnant pool of water formed from the trickles off the building. The fire escapes were immaculate, totally free of rust, gleaming white. Even the lighting was wrong, sunlight somehow streaming into the narrow space.  The water running down the buildings looked clean, maybe even enough to drink. It was all very strange to him. Turning slowly and slightly afraid he scratched his head trying to make some kind of sense from it, but his thoughts were fragmented and scattered.

      As he backed out of the alley into the street it didn't occur to him he had no idea why he was standing in that alley in the first place, or that he didnt even know what street he was on, nor what city he was in. He didn't even remember his own name, his face, where he lived, worked, the year, or many other memories that make up your life. None of this crossed his mind...yet.

      The sidewalk wasn't exactly crowded, but then it wasn't abandoned either. People walked on both sides of the street in either direction. He still had that strange feeling from the alley and as he looked at the people walking he noticed that there were none that had a poor or shifty look. No one looked homeless or a pickpocket. Everyone was well dressed, in good health, and walking with a degree of assurance. The sidewalk wasn't cracked anywhere. As he looked around he suddenly realized that he couldn't recognize anything. The coffee shop across the way named "Paccino's" or the large window paneled "Bank of Lincoln."

      Buildings rose up all around him, stretching high catching the sun and casting reflections. Where was he, he thought, and it all hit him at once. He realized he couldn't remember anything before standing in that alley. He glanced

around for anything familiar or strange or something to jog his memory.

Nothing. Cars drove by honking, the epitome of normality. He turned in a circle, but there was nothing but the overwhelming sense of familiarity turned hideously wrong.

      "What is going on? he whispered to himself somewhat dejectedly.

      He stopped a woman walking by with pretty green brown eyes and asked the time.

      "Why, its 2:40." she said smiling and looking at her watch.

      "Hey, thanks but what day and year is it.", he asked pleading.

      "Umm, April 12, 1997. she said laughingly.

      "Thank you, ma'am."

      "Sure."

      As she walked away he realized she hadn't been taken aback at all or given him a strange look when he asked the day and year. Did that mean something? The date seemed normal enough to him, but it didn't loosen anything that he could tell. He was still aimless and lost. He just started walking, thinking to himself. Who was he? What had happened to him? Where did he live? Did he have a family? All these questions and more ran through his mind, over and over, but were left unanswered time and again.

      Breaking out of his day dreaming he realized he was standing in front of an apartment door with a room key in his hand. He looked around in surprise. He hadn't even seen the sign on the front of the building or remembered climbing the stairs. The hallway lights were on so it had to be past dusk. What the hell, he thought and opened the door.

      "Hello." he called loudly.

      "Anyone home."

      No answer.

      The door opened into an entryway with a small table stand. He walked in past the entryway into the small living room that had a coffee table and a black leather love seat sitting in front of a nice television. There were no pictures on the walls, nothing on the table, nothing that sparked a memory. He walked into the kitchen looking for anything; there was no mail, old bills, or anything on the counter or table. There were some plates, bowls, and cups in one of the cupboards, but nothing else. There was no food or dry goods.

      Shaking his head he opened the fridge and near the back was one small plastic container. He reached in and pulled out a chocolate jello pudding snack. What could this mean, he thought to himself. The only edible thing in the house was a cup of pudding. The clouds over his thoughts shifted writhing and changing telling him this was important. The reason why was beyond him at the moment. After several minutes of staring at it he put it back in the fridge and closed the door slowly. Turning, he decided to explore the rest of the apartment.

      Walking through the living room into the hallway he opened the first door, and wasn't surprised to find it completely empty. No furniture, bed, table, or anything. He walked into the center of the room and then turned and walked to the window looking out. There was no view, just another building and an alley. He backed out of the room and went to the opposite door. It was a bathroom. Devoid of any personal belongings, it had a toilet, shower, and sink. He didnt see a toothbrush, soap, toothpaste, razor, or anything usually found in a bathroom. Not even a towel. This was making him very confused and even more lost than before, since he knew that this wasn't right.

      He stared at himself in the mirror, his face so familiar and yet so wholly unfamiliar at the same time. His hair was brown and his bangs hung down to his eyes, which happened to be deep amber with flecks of green. They looked intelligent and strong almost as if he could see yourself better than you could. His face was smooth, tan, strong, and looked like laughter came easily to his lips. If he had to guess he would place him in his mid to late twenties. He turned his head left and right looking out of the corner of his eyes. Nothing he did made him remember this face that stared back at him in the mirror. Shaking his head and frowning he cursed and left.

      Leaving the bathroom he walked to the end of the hallway to the last door and opened it. There was a bed in this room, large with all white sheets, spotlessly white. A black table stand with a small lamp stood next to the bed. There was a black dresser and an open closet door showing an empty closet. He went to the dresser and opened it to find no clothes. Sighing heavily he walked back into the living room and slumped into the love seat and tried to think.

      Stuck in an empty house with no clothes, personal belongings, with some bits of furniture, and a pudding snack. What could this all possibly mean? He knew nothing, this place was devoid of life, and didn't spark any memories. There was a certain feeling that you felt when you walked into a place that had been long abandoned and this apartment had it. He started falling apart and almost cried, but something stopped him. Think, he said to himself. Somehow standing in an alley and now an apartment building. He got up and walked out of the apartment, noted the number 310A and walked down the hall. He saw no one as he walked out and down the steps outside. Upper Landing the sign said on the building. He strained to remember. There wasn't anyone around, the moon gleamed and the streetlights shone brightly. He looked around again. There was no familiarity, and this game grew tiring.

      He walked slowly back into the building and to the apartment with his head down and shuffled his feet. Throwing open the door he fell onto the love seat with his head in his hands. Damn it why can't I remember anything. What did I do? As he sat there he noticed the couch was spotless, like the bed sheets. He looked at the TV, there was no dust on it, the table either, he ran through the house. Everything was spotless, clean, and dustless. He knew that this was wrong. To strange to be normal, with no dust on anything, even the walls. I can't believe this he thought.

      He walked back to the fridge and picked up the pudding snack. He shook

His head. Shrugging he grabbed a spoon, opened it, and started eating slowly.

A smile played across his lips. This is really good. After he finished he looked at the bottom of the cup with its little bits of chocolate.

      "What!" he yelled at it.

      "Why can't I remember anything." he screamed again.

      He knew he was losing it. Taking a deep breath he stared into the cup. Everything clean, except this, the street, the apartment, the people. His mind raced and raced for an answer. And staring at a small fleck of chocolate, something exploded in the back of his mind. Then all of the sudden there was a rush, he was falling, and he screamed forever. No one was there to hear him. It went on and on, falling and screaming endlessly. He shot bolt upright in a bed panting. Memory flooded in like a sluice gate had been lifted.

      Sarah jumped up startled. "John! Your awake, I cant believe it." She sobbed with joy.

      "What? Where am I?" John asked thick and groggy.

      "The hospital, you went into a coma John, three years ago." she said sadly hugging him fiercely.

      He reached and held her tightly for several minutes.

      "Wha...where what's the name of the hospital."

      "Creekmore, why?"

      "Three years you said, so it's 1999 isn't it Sarah."

      "Yes, you've been gone so long John."

      "Wrong name, wrong year, what's the damn connection." he hissed vehemently.

      Pulling away she looked at his face. "What are you talking about? Are you ok? You have to be weak."

      He looked around the room, but nothing resembled any of the furniture in that apartment, except that it was clean. He scratched his head. Turning to the window he looked out. "What's out there?" he said pointing.

      Turning to look with him Sarah said, "A park across the street. I go there sometimes to walk." She eyed him worried.

      He looked into her eyes, blue eyes that sparkled. Shaking his head he looked at the door and his eyes widened. "What's the room number!" he said a little to loudly and looked at Sarah.

      Her eyes narrowed and squinted a little. "Your in room 871, John.

Please tell me whats going on." She edged closer to him waiting.

      "I was in some city, I couldn't remember anything, and I am trying to find some common ground between there and here." He shook his head and looked around again. "So far there is nothing."

      "Strange." Sarah said with a questioning look.

      As she was talking the nurse walked in, dropped the tray of food she was carrying and gasped "I can't believe it."

      "I'm getting tired of people saying that." John murmured.

      The nurse rushed out and was back in a few seconds with the doctor.

      "This is extraordinary. Your condition was stable, but there were no signs of you coming out of that coma." the doctor explained. "What happened?"

      "Well, I was lost in a city with no memories and then all the sudden I was falling forever, and bang here I am."

      "Extraordinary." the doctor said wide-eyed.

      John looked down and saw a small container in Sarah's purse.

      "What's that!" he exclaimed and reached down and snatched out a chocolate pudding snack. This he thought. This stupid little thing broke me out of a coma. It didn't seem possible. He was so focused on the coffee shop name or the bank, even the apartment number, or even the cleanliness, which may have had a part in it as well, that he pretty much disregarded the pudding. Wide eyed he looked at Sarah, the pudding falling from his hand suddenly gone limp.

      What? It's pudding, John. I knew how much you liked it."

      "How long have you been bringing it, Sarah?"

      "Everyday since you were brought here. Why?"

      Thoughts fled through his mind. This brought me out of a coma of three years and he laughed. Everyone was looking at him. Cupping his hands around the container he whispered.

      "What was that John." the doctor asked.

      He looked up smiling. "I said, God bless this little cup of pudding. he said and threw back his head and laughed again.

END

the point : Sometimes its the small things that matter, no matter

how hard we concentrate on the big things.