Page 9
From Create Your Own Story
You cautiously nod, thinking that you could always make a run for it after this guy delivers on his promise for clothes. He smiles at you. It doesn't exactly comfort you, but then again, nothing about this drastic change of scenery comforts you.
"Here, take this," the man says, as he pulls out a stained white T-shirt from one of his coat pockets and hands it to you. The shirt is much too big and smells funny but you don't like the idea of running around in your birthday suit through a public park, so you put it on anyway. "Follow me," the man says as he turns and moves quickly through the park. You stand there unsure for a moment, but then finally decide to follow. He takes you to the road where a taxi cab is waiting, and opens the door. After rushing you in and sitting down himself, he hands the driver a wad of bills that is unbefitting of a man dressed so unfashionably, and says "Miller Hill Mall please." The cab driver nods, and the car begins moving. A click sound can be heard as the doors lock the moment the car goes into motion, and you look out the window as you begin to wonder if maybe you didn't make the right decision.
The drive is much longer then you would have liked. You sit there in silence. There are a number of questions you would like answered, but you restrain yourself thinking this is not the best time to ask them. The man you are traveling with also sits in silence, however where you are filled with uncertainty, he seems filled with conviction, as if he is sure of what is going to happen next. The car stops. "Keep the change," the man says, as he gets out of the car and motions for you to follow. Stepping out, you find yourself standing in front of a large shopping center to which the man holds open a door and waits for you to enter.
"Where are we?" you ask him, as you navigate the halls of the mall before reaching the nearest clothing store. "I'm supposed to be at school. Recess ended a while ago."
"We are at the Miller Hill Mall, in Duluth," he responds nonchalantly. "Your not supposed to be in school because it is a Saturday, and your recess won't end for another two years. But you are not asking the right question."
You frown. You don't like his answer but you ponder on it for a moment as the man digs through clothes. "Then what is the right question?" you finally ask.
"The right question is when are we?"
"How do you know my name?"
"Let's just say we've met before."
"When and where? I don't remember you."
"It doesn't matter."
"Who are you?" the question is foremost on your mind.
"No one of consequence. But you can call me Adam, for lack of another pronoun with which to direct me by. Here, take this," he hands you a bunch of clothes and rushes you into the changing room. "Put that stuff on. I will be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere."
"Yeah right," you think to yourself. Adam. That's your middle name, after your uncle Adam. Could it be a coincidence? You put on the clothes. Jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Socks and underwear too, and shoes. They all fit. How did he know your size of clothing, or shoes? A lucky guess?
