Sixth Man – Episode 28


Wilson used his old driver’s license and renewed all his credit cards under the name Charles Arnold. He drove his own car hoping that it could bring back a memory. He traveled back to Ft. Benjamin Harrison near Indianapolis. He checked into a motel late at night and was up, showered, and dressed by 9:00 AM. He ate at a restaurant and had a coffee and an omelet.
He slowly drove down Post Road that led to the military post. There were no gates or guards. “Snafu,” Wilson said mysteriously and before him was a bar named Snafu. “A memory, it may have been an old watering hole.”
A large building rested a quarter mile further. Nothing registered about it. He passed another street corner and turned left as if he had a destination. “Headquarters,” he said to a long three story brick building with white columns. “I’ve been here. I can feel it.”
He drove up and down streets. There were new buildings that left him with the impression much had changed since he had been there the last time. “There is no one here that will remember anything; but maybe the bar.”
Wilson parked his car and walked the streets of the post until near 11:00 AM when the bar opened. He drove to the bar and walked it.
Noting looked familiar about it, just a dive. He sat at the bar and an attractive woman in her thirties from behind the bar asked, “What are you havin’?”
“Nothing,” Wilson said. “I was here 37 years ago.”
“That’s before my time,” she said.
“Do you know if the person who owed it then is still around?” Wilson said.
“This place changes hands every few years,” she said. “Nobody hangs on to it for too long. It’s more headaches than money.”
“Thanks for your time ma’am,” Wilson said and stood.
“My mother worked her about that time,” she smiled. “But she says she don’t remember much about the place. She said she waited tables while working herself through school.”
“Would you mind giving me her number,” Wilson said. “You see, ma’am I’m in a mess. I have amnesia. They say if you can just get some bits and pieces you can fill in the rest. I really need help. You can call you’re mother first and ask her to speak to me and she doesn’t that’s fine, but I’d appreciate if you’d just give it a try.”
“What is your name?’ she said. “No harm in asking.”
“It’s Wilson Gentry,” Wilson said. “I’m certain that’s the name I used 37 years ago when I was stationed at Fort Ben.”
“Wilson Gentry,” she said and smiled uncomfortably.
“Yes,” Wilson said.
“Give me a minute and I’ll call my mom,” she said.
“Thanks,” Wilson said. “Just ask if she knows the name or remembers the names of people who worked here or were customers.”
“Sure,” she said. “Give me a minute.
She stepped away and pulled her cell phone from her purse that was behind the counter. She stepped into a small room off to the side of the bar. She talked for a couple of minutes.
“Mom said she doesn’t remember anything about this place back then,” she said. “And she’s sorry she can’t help you.”
“Could I ask your mother’s name?” Wilson said.
“You’re starting to weird me out mister,” she said. “I wish you’d just leave.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Wilson said. “I understand.”
Wilson started toward the door and turned toward the apprehensive and tense looking young woman. “Ma’am, all I want to do is find out who I am. All I really know about myself is that my name is Wilson Gentry but for more over 35 years I’ve gone by the name Charles Arnold and I don’t know why. I know I was stationed here and I know I used to hangout at this bar. I pulled in here like I knew the place. I just want help. If it makes you feel better ask your Mom to meet me here at five and she can have body guards if she likes.”
“Come back at five,” she said. “I’ll see what we can do, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Fair enough,” Wilson said. “Thanks.”


Blather away, if you like.

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