Going Insane by Tim Kizer Page B

his legs and arms were intact, save for a few bruises here and there, and he still had all of his fingers. There were no major problems with his body. However, he might be jumping to conclusions; he’d been in a bad car crash after all.
    Frank closed his eyes. He had no desire to think about the car crash. Car crashes were associated with mutilation, broken bones, dismemberment, blood, and death. He didn’t need all this negativity; he craved happy thoughts. He’d forgotten a lot of things, but sooner or later all those memories would come back, wouldn’t they? He would recall his whole family in due course, but now he needed a little rest. He didn’t remember what his bedroom looked like or what kind of chandelier hung in the living room, and it was okay. At least he remembered having a house. Yes, he definitely owned a house in a Buffalo suburb.
    His name was Frank Fowler. He’d been in a car crash. He had a son. Or a daughter. And he was married… A daughter. Yes, he had a daughter. He was fairly confident he had a daughter, not a son.
    “How long is it going to last?” Josephine asked the doctor. “Can you treat it?”
    A Buffalo suburb? Why was he so sure about it?
    Wife. Daughter. Why hadn’t they visited him yet? So rude of them.
    He commanded his brain to go into a stand-by mode so as not to be distracted by Josephine and Raynolds’ conversation and his own thoughts that kept trickling into his mind. Frank fixed his vacant gaze on the white ceiling right above him. At the bottom of his frame of vision he could see the fluorescent lamp radiating soft light. A lulling wave of carefreeness suddenly overwhelmed Frank, who had gotten tired of feeling weary. The time had come to take a break from suffering and somber thoughts. Thank God, there was no physical pain in the mix; one fewer thing to worry about, you know.
    Frank Fowler… That was his name. Frank Fowler… Yes, yes, without a doubt, his name was Frank Fowler.
    Fowler… Frank Fowler.
    Mother. Do you have a mother, Frank Fowler? You must have a mother and a father; otherwise you wouldn’t have been born. What are their names?
    Names? Yes, they surely had names.
    They have names, buddy, which are stored somewhere in your head.
    The house had been ruined. Nothing could have escaped destruction in this fire, nothing. The flames were exceptionally hot, and even metal pipes got twisted in whimsical ways by the blaze. Something might have been preserved in the basement or in a fireproof safe. There could be jewels, important documents, or something else of value in that safe. Cash.
    His mother’s name was… Mo… Mo… Something beginning with Mo.
    Father? Will? Walt! His father’s name was Walt!
    Monica? Was his Mom’s name Monica? No, he was wrong. Her name did not begin with Mo. But he was sure his Dad’s name was Walt.
    There, in the dusty smoke-filled basement, something had been saved from the fire. Old furniture—chairs, tables, sofas… Walt Fowler and… Arlene. His mother’s name was Arlene.
    He closed his eyes and fell asleep before he knew it.
     
    5.
    He woke up a few days later. No, it must have been only a few minutes because the woman was still talking to the doctor and had the same clothes on. Josephine and Doctor Raynolds were still talking; he could hear their voices.
    And then his name emerged to the surface of his consciousness—just  like a corpse of a drowned man floats up from the bottom of the lake—Frank Fowler. His name was Frank Fowler. The doctor had been correct calling him Mister Fowler.
    How about his wife? And his daughter?
    “Frank, Doctor Raynolds told me there’s nothing to worry about.” Josephine craned over him, her face tense with concern. “I’m so glad you’re going to be fine. We can’t wait to have you back, Frank.”
    Excited… She looked excited now. And cheerful. She seemed to sincerely love him. Sister-in-law. Kelly’s sister.
    Kelly… Kelly… Kel-l-l-ly. Hi, Kelly! How are you?
    His