MementoGram

He woke up with words written in sharpie all over his arms and chest. He sat up in his bed and turned his palms over to reveal smudged, black ink. “What the fuck,” he muttered to himself under his breath. He lunged across the bed and reached for his phone on the bedside table. He hit the home screen, but the screen stayed black. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath before scouring the room for his phone charger. In the sheets, under the bed, behind the table, nothing. He stomped and stumbled to the bathroom and saw the white chord of an iPhone charger and tears nearly came to his eyes, if it weren’t for the alcoholic/drug-induced-dehydration that he was suffering.

The phone was plugged in, but needed a few minutes to recover from whatever they went through last night. He decided to brush his teeth, but could find a toothbrush so he decided he was going to take a shower. He got naked and turned on the shower and that’s when he saw the writing on his wrist. Call Seabass it read on his arm. “Who the fuck is Seabass?” he muttered to himself under his breath. Not only could he not remember who Seabass was, he couldn’t remember anything from last night. Or the night before.  Or the nights before that. He couldn’t remember who he was.

He turned off the shower and walked back towards the bathroom mirror where he stood and inspected his sharpie-covered torso down to his…penis. He took a step closer to the mirror and stretched his dick out to the side to make out the word C-H-O-D-E. “Shit,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

His left forearm read Venmo Danny $50, his right forearm read Venmo Donny $51. His right bicep read Guy Pearce and his left read Chris Nolan. “Jesus fuckin Christ…What the fuck did I do last night?”

A buzz on the counter and he reached for his phone reborn.

***

He sat on the bathroom floor and looked at the black screen on his phone. It was dead. He looked at his forearms that said he owed money to a Danny and Donny. He looked down and saw someone had written Doug’s Life on his stomach. “Is my name Doug?” he asked himself under his breath hoping that the answer was no because that was such a mediocre-divorced white-man-who-works-at-the-mall-and-can’t-pay-off-his-child-support-for-his-kid-unfortunately-named-Tristan thing to do.

He had to find answers. “Why am I covered in words?” He muttered to himself under his breath as he crawled and stumbled to reach the white iPhone charger dangling off of the edge of the bathroom counter. He plugged it in and slid back against the wall. He looked down at his thigh and tried to read the word scribbled through black hair...T…H…I…G…h “FUcking god damnit…ughhhh I guess that’s kinda funny…I REMEMBER THAT MUCH!” He screamed to himself and with a depressed chuckle pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

How many times has this happened? He thought to himself. He was so hungover he literally couldn’t remember his name or where he lived. Was this where he lived? He needed to charge his phone and call ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ and then maybe check into rehab or an insane asylum. Is that where his home is?

Then he looked at the back of his left hand and read Call Ally - NOT MOM!!! Then his phone buzzed and he reached for it.

***

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror looking at himself. The word Fart was written in cursive across his forehead and he said “fuck” under his breath as he vigorously tried to wipe it off. He splashed water and hotel soap on his face and scrubbed hard and a little came off, but it was only making things messier, not better. He noticed the words Call Ally - NOT MOM!!! written on the back of his left hand and he slowly stopped scrubbing his forehead. Who was Ally? Why was he covered in permanent marker? Why did someone write chode on his dick? Did he write code on his dick? Did Ally? Did Mom?!

Where were his boxers? OR ANY CLOTHES FOR THAT MATTER?!?! He started to have a self-diagnosed panic attack and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. and He reverted back to 1996 when he was 6-years-old and lost a game of kickball to his arch-nemesis Jason who celebrated in his face. His 6-year-old self started to drool and cry in front of everyone because he hadn’t developed a defense mechanism to mask his vulnerability yet.  It didn’t matter that he had everything a 6-year-old could ask for. He lost at kickball and everything that was just and pure in the world was punted out of his life.

He snapped back to reality at the sound of the buzz on his phone. He reached for it and stopped. He let it come back to life.  He looked at his body again and examined the various words and phrases that littered his skin like a freshmen pledge at Alpha-Delta-Sega-Dreamcast-Pokemon-Gryffindor-FuckHouse, who had passed out with his crashed Air Max’s still on his feet. He couldn’t remember shit, but there were clues all over him. His arms, his legs, the room he was in. Call Seabass, Venmo Danny $50, Venmo Donny $51, Chris Nolan, Guy Pearce, Call Ally - NOT MOM!!!, Chode…it was too much to process.

He got onto his knees and saw a sharpie on the bathroom counter. He heard his phone buzz and looked at the screen.

Ali: “7:30 Dinner tonight at Balboa.”

He quickly grabbed the sharpie and wrote his plans on his hand. He then checked the phone again to note the time. He wrote (6:39pm) next to the plans. He looked up into the mirror and noticed a t-shirt and a club bracelet lying on the floor. He picked up his t-shirt which read, Homecoming 2015 with a smaller date of September 29, 2015 on the bottom. He scribbled the dates above his dinner plans and then picked up the bracelet. Crazy Karen’s Pub. He had never heard of Crazy Karen’s Pub before, but wrote that above the Homecoming dates and hopped in the shower to wipe off the rest of his notes while holding his left hand in the air.

He felt better after getting out of the shower. He dried off and words turned into black smears on his stomach and legs and arms. He didn’t care if there were any real clues on there because he didn’t know what they meant anyway. He reached for his phone and got on the porcelain throne to get the rest of the waste from whatever he did last night out of his body. He had to search through his texts to see what he did last night, but first he opened Instagram.

***

“Ahh! AHH! MY LEGS!” He tried to stand up from the toilet, but he couldn’t support himself. His feet were turning blue and his muscles ached. He twisted and pulled one leg over the other until he fell off the side and into the tub of the shower. Ignoring the searing pain in his right shoulder, he turned and sat up and felt his legs. Pins and needles flooded his veins and he realized that he wasn’t paralyzed, he had just fallen asleep on the toilet. He looked down at his left hand and saw 7:30 dinner at Balboa – Ali written in sharpie. Up his forearm was written, Homecoming 2015 and September 29, 2015 and then Crazy Karen’s Pub. He didn’t know what any of this meant, but he felt his phone buzz under his ass and reached under to grab it. The screen was cracked, but it still seemed to be working. A notification lit up on his home screen:

Danny: Waiting on that venmo…$50 dude

Who the fuck is Danny he thought as he slowly stood up and regained the feeling in his legs. He walked out of the bathroom and into a hotel room that he had no memory of sleeping in. He found a pair of boxers and jeans, a sweatshirt, a sock, and a pair of shoes. He opened his phone to call Ali. It was 7:01pm and allegedly he had to be at dinner with this person in 29 minutes so he wanted to figure out who she was. It rang once before she picked up.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Uhh Ali, hey.” What was his name?! “It’s me…”

“Yeah I fucking know it’s 2019. Caller ID was invented in the fucking Middle Ages.”

“Ha…you mean 2015 right?”

“You sound like death. And no caller ID wasn’t invented in 2015 are you on drugs right now?”

“I…don’t think so. Honestly Ali I- “

“Look I don’t have time to play games right now. You better be at Balboa at 730 or I’m going to fucking kill you. Like we’re done.”

Apparently he had a serious girlfriend.

“I’m not playing Joe.”

Joe! His name was Joe! A wave of relief washed over him and he told Ali he’d be there. Not to worry. He loved Ali and was not going to mess this up for himself. The rest of his memory would be return any second now. His name was Joe and he was fucking back.  My name is Joe.

He checked the hotel room for any other items that could be his and didn’t find anything of note.  He opened the hotel door and walked onto the balcony overlooking a parking lot. The sun was setting and the air was refreshing and cool. He took a deep breath and began walking to the street so he could call an uber when his phone began to buzz.

“Joe, watup,” said a voice on the other line.

He smiled at the knowledge of his name. “Yup, it’s me. Joe baby.”

There was a pause on the other line before the voice continued, “Uhh yeah so…where’s my fuckin venmo dude?”

Joe pulled up his left sleeve and read the notes on his forearm, but there was nothing about owing anyone money.

“Who’s this?”

“Danny dude! Who the fuck are you?”

Joe reached into his pockets and pulled out the sharpie that he had taken from the bathroom. He quickly wrote Venmo Danny –

“Sorry dude I think I had a pretty crazy night last night. How much do I owe you?”

“Crazy night?! You think? You were a fucking menace last night. No one knew where you went.”

Venmo Danny $50

“Shit, what type of stuff was I doing?”

“Well you hooked up with Celia at the bar…On top of the bar actually. You punched Ali’s brother in the face and told him to go fuck his sister. And then you went on a rant about Instagram likes to the bartender until they had to kick you out.”

“Jesus.”

“I thought you lost your phone or something too cause nobody knew where you went.”

“My bad dude, I’ll venmo you right now. I literally don’t remember ANYTHING.”

“Well that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No I mean…like nothing.”

“What do you mean? You sound like shit by the way you need me to come pick you up?”

“Nah I gotta go to this dinner with Ali in like 20 minutes.”

“Are you insane? You punched her brother in the face last night.”

“Oh fuck…I didn’t even…I need some fucking help.”

“Where are you right now, I’ll pick you up.”

Standing in the parking lot, Joe looked up and saw, “Travel Inn: Monte Carlo Restaurant & Banquet Hall.”

“What the – alright I’m on my way.”

Joe began to panic again. At least he has a friend that he can trust in Danny. When he got here he’d tell him everything. Everything being the last 40 or so minutes of his life. What was he going to tell Ali? He just wanted to be home. He was tired of being lost and alone.

He reached back into his pocket and whipped out his cellphone with a cracked screen.

***

It was dark and he was standing on the sidewalk. He looked around and saw that he was standing in front of a motel. He wondered why he was at a sleazy motel and then wondered who he was at all.  He began to panic as he stood there feeling like an old man wandering the halls of hospital with his gown untied and his ass exposed. He felt tears coming to his eyes, but fought them back and touched the homebutton on his phone. It was 7:17pm. He noticed writing on the back of his hand that read 7:30 dinner at Balboa – Ali. 

“Shit,” he muttered to himself as he opened his uber app to get a ride to Balboa. He was going to be a few minutes late to dinner, but he’d still make it. Hopefully Ali wouldn’t be mad, but then again, he didn’t know who Ali was. Maybe she’d be able to help him out of this predicament.  He pulled his sleeve back further and noticed more writing. Homecoming 2015; September 29, 2015; Venmo Danny $50; My name is Joe. He thanked his former self for writing his name on his arm and opened his venmo app to search for Danny.  There were 4 different contacts with some form of the name Daniel or Danielle so he figured he’d solve this at a later date. He was about to open Instagram when he heard a car horn and his uber driver was in front of him.

He got into the backseat and the driver took off. “Balboa restaurant?”

“Yup.”

“You know that’s like 6 blocks from here, right?”

“Oh it is? Whatever I had a rough night I need to just get there.”

The driver took off and Joe looked down at his phone instead of the apartments and cars outside of his window.

***

“Hey, buddy. We’re here.”

Startled, he looked around the car and outside the window where it said Balboa Restaurant.

“Hey, you good man?”

“Yeah...yeah uh thanks for the ride.”

He got out of the car and stood outside the restaurant. The sidewalks were busy and he dodged pedestrians walking by. He made his way into the restaurant and hoped a friend would recognize him, but no one did so he continued walked until he found the bathrooms in the back.  He walked inside and noticed a black smudge on his forehead. He tried wiping it off with water and realized that he must’ve already done this before because no more was coming off. He looked down at his hands as if his unique fingerprint could reveal his identity to no avail. But when he turn his hands over he found a note on the back that read: 7:30 dinner at Balboa – Ali. He pulled back his sleeve further to read Homecoming 2015; September 29, 2015; Venmo Danny $50 and My name is Joe.

“My name is Joe,” he said into the mirror with a sigh of relief as someone flushed the toilet and walked out of the stall.  He decided to leave the bathroom before this person caught him in an embarrassing moment and re-entered the restaurant. It was 7:30 and he was at Balboa Restaurant and his name was Joe. Now he just had to find Ali. Then his phone started buzzing.

“Hello?”

“Joe, I’m here dude.”

“Who – uhh Where? I’m next to the bathrooms.”

“Okayyy, I don’t see any bathrooms. Wanna just come outside and I’ll pick you up in the parking lot?”

Joe paused not knowing what to say.

“Hello? Where the fuck are you dude it’s really loud on the other end?”

“I’m at Balboa Restaurant.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Looking down at the note on his hand to reassure himself, “Yeah I have a dinner with Ali I guess.”

“I fucking – I know dude, but you weren’t gonna go remember?! I JUST DROVE ACROSS TOWN TO PICK YOU UP AT THIS WEIRD ASS MOTEL?! Fuck it, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m coming to Balboa right now. Do NOT talk to Ali if you see her. She’s going to be pissed at you for last night.”

“Ok,” fear crept into Joe as he hung up the phone. What did he do that was so bad last night? Why couldn’t he remember anything?

He quickly walked towards a side door to leave the restaurant, but when he tried it a waiter told him to use the front. Like a fly trying to get out of a window, he bounced off people and tried to avert his gaze from a potential Ali sighting.  He kept getting blocked on his way to the door, but finally made it outside and onto the sidewalk. He exhaled and looked right and left. No sign of his friend’s car who was going to rescue him from this situation.  He felt his phone buzz and looked at the name. It was Ali. He slowly moved his thumb across the bottom of the phone to answer the call and put it to his ear, “Hello?”

But there was nothing on the other end. “Hello?” He pulled his phone away from his face and it said he’d missed the call.

“Joe!” A woman shouted. Relief and exasperation filled her voice. Joe turned in fear and saw a pretty, blonde girl get up from the table where she was waiting on the sidewalk. But she wasn’t coming in his direction. Instead, she hugged a guy who looked similar to him, but was taller, more athletic, and better looking.

“I’m so sorry. I was so drunk last night and needed all day to recover,” He gave her a kiss. “But I wasn’t going to miss this dinner to meet your family.”

“Yeah you sounded pretty rough on the phone earlier I almost didn’t even recognize your voice.”

“When did you talk to me on the phone?”

A car door slammed and our main character formerly-known-as-Joe whipped his head around in the other direction. Another guy around his age walked briskly in his direction. He made eye contact and gave him a wary nod before walking past and then stopping in his tracks once he saw Joe and Ali in embrace. 

“I talked to you like an hour ago,” said Ali.

“No you didn’t I lost my phone last night.” Joe noticed his friend standing about ten yards away. “Danny, what are you doing here?”

“This motherfucker!” Another guy around his age angrily hopped out of his Uber and marched towards new-Joe who looked puzzled, but not yet afraid.

“Oh shit,” said Danny.

Wham! This-Motherfucker-Guy socked new-Joe square in the face causing him to fall back stunned onto a table behind him. Our main character looked down at his phone and then back at the fracas which was turning into a melee as Danny stepped in to defend his friend. He looked back down at his hand and his arm. My name is Joe. But he wasn’t Joe. How did he get his phone from him?

He got knocked to the ground and the phone fell out of his hand and onto the sidewalk under trampling feet.  He crawled away until he had space to stand up and brush off his clothes. He looked up to the sky for an answer.

“Who am I?”

“Doug?”

He looked to his left and saw a well-groomed, well-dressed, kid with a thick beard and sunglasses hanging from his neck.

“What’s that smudge on your forehead?”

“My name’s fucking Doug?”

“Oh goddamnit,” the well-groomed kid bent over and put his hands on his knees as if he’d just lost a Super Bowl. He straightened up and put his hands on his hips, looking over his friend as if he was the one who fumbled on the goal line and lost the game for them.

“What? What?! If you know who I am or anything about me can you please fucking tell me,” he was trying not to shout, but he was scared.

“You got someone’s phone didn’t you?”

Doug looked puzzled.

“You have a disease Doug,” he said as he pulled out a phone from his pocket. “This is your phone. I took it away from you last night because every time you look down at it, we lose you for the next 15-45 minutes.”

Doug looked at the phone with a longing that he didn’t know existed.

“It’s gotten so bad that…well it’s gotten so bad that you’ve started to lose memory. First, it was just short-term. You couldn’t keep up with conversations or follow through on plans that we made.”

Doug began to feel tears and drool coming on. He was vulnerable.

“But it’s obviously gotten worse,” He looked at his friend with pity. “I held your phone last night so you could actually enjoy a night out with us, talk to a girl at the bar, I don’t know be a fucking human being again.”

Doug’s tears and drool started to flood his face.

“Bring it in, buddy,” he friend hugged him as Doug cried into his shoulder.  “We need to get you some serious – holy shit is that Danny and Joe?”

He watched as Danny carried a bloody Joe to his car and threw him in the backseat.

“We’re fucking done, Joe you fucking loser! We’re done!” Ali screamed from across the street all to the amazement and entertainment of Doug’s friend.

“Maybe I should’ve taken Joe’s phone last night too,” he said with a laugh until he noticed that Doug had gotten saliva and snot all over his jacket.

Doug wiped away his tears and looked back at his friend and they both started laughing again. He didn’t feel alone anymore.

End.