“It’s strange. It’s like there’s nothing guiding me. You know? Most of what we do and say is dictated by our past experiences. But mine is a blank page. And sometimes I can sort of feel the memories, but I don’t know what they are.” I swirl a fry in the garlic aioli. “What do you mean you can feel them?” “Like I’ll do something or taste something or smell something, and it’ll be familiar and comforting. But I don’t know why it is,” I say, eating the warm, crunchy french fry.
