I.D. - 1. Chapter 1

As he sat in the activity room of the assisted living facility staring at the women playing some kind of card game, Charlie let his mind wander. So many things had gone wrong so quickly, it was quite unnerving that he was actually alive. He tried to think back, not way back toward the beginning because you can’t remember anything that far back, but a little way back, back when his life went to hell.

That new doctor down at the clinic, Dr. Jameson, was always saying, “Charlie, you need to get out more. You’re at an age where continued movement is necessary if you want to continue your long life. There’s no truth in sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch and living to a hundred.”

Charlie thought that at eighty-two he’d lived about as long a life as he wanted, but he agreed to keep moving. In fact, he was formulating a plan to get out of the big old empty house on the ranch and moving into something smaller. He cleared it with the family and wasn’t surprised none of them wanted anything to do with cattle, horses, cowboys, or a ranch so big it was easier to measure in square miles than acreage.

When he called the real estate company, he was surprised there actually was a market for ranches as big as his. There was the matter of the animals, equipment, and employees, but the real estate people said all that would be part of the deal. He was surprised it all went as easy as it did.

It actually took less than a year between the time he decided to give up the ranch and to move to Dallas. It was the real estate company that found the condominium on the north side of Dallas, supposedly the better part of the city. It was a nice two-bedroom single-level townhouse. The master bedroom had a huge walk-in closet and a separate shower and tub in the private bath. The smaller, second bedroom would be used as a home office, duplicating the one in the house. There was a second full bath, but, of course, this one had the shower in the tub. To top it off, it was an end unit with a double garage on one of the inner cul-de-sacs, so he didn’t have to worry too much about the local riffraff creeping around and getting into his stuff. He’d seen all those encampments out in California on the city sidewalks, for God’s sake. You’d certainly never see that in Texas.

In the beginning, he stayed around the complex, but every time he went out for groceries or to Walmart, he’d drive a different way to familiarize himself with the neighborhood. That was the way he found that big park. It was only four blocks west of the complex. That was definitely within walking distance. He watched the weather forecast for a day that wasn’t too warm. He went to bed Wednesday night knowing that in the morning, after breakfast, he would leave the condominium after nine o’clock for the walk.

Charlie woke up with a strange feeling, but thought little of it after eating, taking his morning medications, and doing everything else that needed to be done before going for his walk. After going out the front door, he made certain to lock it, and put his keys in his pocket. He patted his right back pocket and felt the slight bulk of his wallet. He looked up at the overcast sky and wondered if he should wear a hat, but decided against that idea because he was already outside.

“Charlie, going for a walk?” one of the ladies who lived in the complex asked.

“Yes, I thought of walking over to the park for a little exercise,” he said.

“There’s a fitness center in the clubhouse.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Will you be back in time for bridge?”

“Maybe.”

He knew she was only trying to be friendly, but he was wary of women at this point in life. He’d had a full life, and Loretta was a good wife, but after the Lord took her things just weren’t the same anymore. When was that she died? Jimmy was still alive, because it was Jimmy who drove him into town for the funeral. Then Jimmy OD’d and he was alone. That was when he decided to get out of that big, old house.

Suddenly, Charlie realized in the midst of his reminiscing he’d lost track of where he was walking. He was standing on a street corner. Actually, it was the southeast corner of the intersection. He took out his phone and brought up the map app. He’d walked clear past the park, but at least it was only two blocks back.

Once he came to the park, Charlie decided to walk through all of it just to see what it was all about. The first thing he noticed was that it was a fairly sizable park. Two baseball diamonds, a soccer field, lots of trails going every which way, one of those play structures for the little ones—or was it two—a pond, fountains, a couple of restrooms, and lots of benches. He sat on a bench beside the pond to watch the ducks.

When was it that he had that episode? He remembered resuming his walk and coming to those boys. He wondered why they weren’t in school. They certainly looked old enough to be in school. It must have been those boys who pushed him, tripped him, roughed him up, and robbed him. His I.D. was in his wallet.

He was wandering. Walking somewhere, but didn’t know where. Didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know who he was. He must’ve had another episode, because he had that dizzy sensation. Then he realized he didn’t have any I.D. You can’t get by in America without I.D. Then another episode, or was it the same one? Did he have more than one episode? He fell down onto the ground. Luckily, there wasn’t a sidewalk. He could’ve broken a bone falling on a sidewalk. He heard a siren.

He was in an emergency room. He didn’t have any I.D. Told them he’d been robbed at that park in that city he moved to when he sold the ranch. He heard someone say indigent. Were they talking about him? He wasn’t indigent. He had more than enough money from the sale of the ranch, but he didn’t have I.D. You’re a nobody without I.D., and he didn’t have I.D. They couldn’t process the paperwork without his I.D. Why couldn’t he remember his name? Someone came in and took his fingerprints, said it might take a few days, but not to worry. Everybody was somebody; they just needed to get his I.D.

How many days was it he stayed in the hospital before the social worker came in to explain he wasn’t sick enough to stay and had to leave? He remembered asking where he could go. He was a stranger down here; all his people were somewhere else.

“Where are your people?”

Where? There was a ranch. A big ranch, but no one left to take care of it and it had to go. After school they’d scattered like a bunch of kids when a gumball dispenser gets stuck open. Nobody stayed close to home. Nobody wanted to be a rancher.

He sold the ranch. Moved to the city. But he didn’t have I.D. He didn’t know where he belonged. There were those damned episodes when he lost consciousness briefly, but came back to nothing he remembered. Couldn’t even remember his name.

Luckily, he was in better shape than most people his age. He walked out of the hospital with twenty dollars in his pocket the social worker gave him, but still no I.D. He saw the big buildings of downtown in the distance and decided to go that way. He remembered being there once. When was that? Why had he gone there? Could he remember why he had been there?

He walked and walked.

Eventually, he walked into the area where the buildings reached up into the sky. Suddenly, people were pouring from those buildings. Trains were running, buses were running, cars were everywhere. He found a bench and sat down to rest from all that walking.

“Hey, buddy, you here to catch a train?”

“Train? No.”

“Move on, these benches are for people riding trains.”

He stood and walked away.

It was getting dark, but he had nowhere to go. He walked and walked and walked and walked and, finally, found a bench under a street light to sit on.

Time passed, but he stayed on the bench. He didn’t know where to go. He was new here.

“How you doing, tonight?” a voice said. “Have a place to go?”

“Place to go?” he said as he looked up at the police officer. He saw another one over by the car. Could he be arrested simply for sitting on a bench?

“Are you okay?”

The old man looked up and wondered why the police officer was talking to him. He hadn’t done anything.

“I don’t have I.D.,” he said. “I can’t go home. I have to have I.D. to go home. They won’t let me in without I.D.”

“Where do you live, sir?”

“Live? It’s on my I.D. My home is on my I.D. Lost my I.D. Stolen. It was those boys in the park.”

“Come with me. We’ll take you to the shelter,” the officer said, holding his hand down to help the old man to his feet. “We’ll get you out of the cold tonight.”

“Yes, out of the cold,” the old man said.

It was a short ride in the police car to the shelter. They helped him out of the car and escorted him to the gate. There was a young man there who looked at the old man, all the while talking to the police officers. Finally, the police officers left him with the young man.

“You take care, now,” the police officer said before walking away.

“Yes, thank you,” the old man said.

The young man opened the gate, permitting the old man inside.

“It keeps out the riffraff, not that we keep everyone out. Everybody has to get in out of the cold.”

“Yes, out of the cold,” the old man said as he walked into the compound. He saw another young man coming from a large building and wondered if he was going to be put out when he hardly had a chance to spend the night.

“What’s up?” the young man asked.

“Police dropped him off,” the young man at the gate said. “Do we have an extra pallet for the night?”

“We always have an extra pallet. Come along, sir, and I’ll take you to our sleeping room. Name’s Conan. Been here nearly three years, now. You been on the streets for a while?”

“No, kicked out of the hospital this morning.”

“That’s a shame. New in town?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“Here we go, let’s find you a pallet.”

It was a large room, at least thirty by thirty feet, maybe more. Almost big enough to be a small warehouse. The lights had been dimmed, but you could see enough not to step on people. Pallets, three by six feet plastic covered mats, were spread out in an orderly manner across the floor. Huge ceiling fans blew warm air down onto the sleeping guests. They came to an empty pallet.

“You can sleep here for the night. If you stay at the shelter tomorrow, you can sleep here tomorrow night and for as long as you need it. This is your place here.”

“My place.”

“That’s right, your place. Now, if you need anything during the night, I sit up by the door.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He looked around the room and saw other people. Men, women, young and old, there were even a few who could be called children, all sleeping on their pallets. Then he noticed that some had stuff and wondered where he could get stuff. Did he need stuff? He had a home, didn’t he? Maybe tomorrow someone could show him around this place and let him in on the secret to where the stuff was kept.

He lay down on the pallet, turned onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. He knew if he went to sleep, he’d snore. He was an awful snorer. Loud! Wake the dead! Definitely not welcome in other people’s homes. Not that he visited other people all that much anymore.

As sleep slipped in among the others in the room, he thought of his family. When was the last time he’d spoken to any of them? How many were there? Where were they? Why couldn’t he remember? Was this what it meant to live beyond your years?

What was he to do?

Then he realized he had to find a toilet. He sat up and looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of toilet facilities inside this room. He got up off his pallet and walked over to the door where the young man named Conan was sitting.

“Need something?” Conan asked.

“Where’s the facilities?” the old man asked.

“See that building down there with the lighted doorways at either end?”

“Yes.”

“Mens is the closest. Right at the foot of the stairs. It’ll have a sign so you can be sure.”

“Thanks. What about my spot?”

“I know what spot is yours.”

“Thanks. I appreciate what you’re doing here.”

He went down and took care of what needed to be done. Then he realized he was awfully hungry. He thought about when he ate last, but that meal didn’t come to mind. It might’ve been breakfast at the hospital. He got back up to the door and the man was still there.

“You okay?” Conan asked.

“A bit hungry. Can’t remember when I ate last,” the old man said. “Might’ve been this morning up at the hospital, but can’t remember for sure.”

“How about I see if we can find you some food? We usually have something around here, just in case.”

“Yes, food.”

“Bob, could you bring a lunch bag and drink down to the sleeping area?” Conan said into a radio. “I have a guest who hasn’t eaten in a while.”

“Be right there.”

“Thanks, I hate to be so much trouble,” the old man said.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“If those ruffians hadn’t of knocked me down in that park and stole my wallet, I could go home. Then I had that episode and lost track of everything. I’ve been trying to remember where I live, where I’m supposed to be, but I seem to have lost all that. It’s like that Bible verse about seeing things darkly. It’s like I’ve lost my whole life. It’s quite disconcerting.”

“What’s your name?”

“Name? I don’t have I.D.”

“Yes, but what is your name? Do you remember your name?”

“Charlie something. No, that’s my nickname. It should be Charles, but I can’t remember the rest. If those boys hadn’t stole my wallet, I could be at home now.”

“We keep a list the local police departments publish of missing people. Maybe you’re on it.”

“I don’t know who’d report me as missing. I suppose I might have family.”

“I’d call Bob, but he’s probably about here. Well, speak of the devil.”

“Now what d’you have going on, Conan?” Bob said as he walked up to the two men.

“I was telling Charles, here, that we have a list of missing persons, and I’d call you to bring it down,” Conan said.

“Marcia’s still in the office. Are you the gentleman who wanted the food?”

“Yes,” Charles said.

“Marcia, are you available?” Conan said into the radio.

“Here, you can sit over there on the steps. Besides, Charles, what is your name?”

“That’s the problem, I lost my I.D., and I can’t, rightly, remember my name. Maybe, if I heard it, I’d recognize it.”

“What’s up, Conan?” Marcia said.

“I’ve got an old man down here named Charles, but he’s having trouble remembering his last name. Is there a Charles on the list?”

“How old?”

“As dirt?”

“Ask him if Charles H. P. Armstrong rings a bell.”

“Hey, Charlie, do you think Charles H. P. Armstrong could be your name?”

“It sounds familiar.”

“Marcia, that might be an affirmative.”

“Okay, I’ll send in a report, but they probably won’t be down here until tomorrow.”

“Charlie, the police will likely come down in the morning to check on you,” Conan said. “So, when you’re finished eating, you can lay down on your pallet and sleep until breakfast time. Okay?”

“Sure, yes, we’ll do it that way.”

Charlie sat there in the night air eating his bologna and cheese on white bread sandwich and drinking his Dr. Pepper, all the time thinking about what was going to become of him. Charles H. P. Armstrong sounded awfully fancy for a rancher. Maybe that wasn’t actually his name. Maybe his eyes were the wrong color. Maybe he was too tall or too short. Maybe he wasn’t missing his left little finger or his right big toe. He finished his sandwich, downed his drink, put the trash in the bag, and tossed it in the garbage can. He got to his feet and walked up to the door where the two young men were talking.

“I’m going back and lie down,” Charlie said.

“You take care,” Conan said.

“Yes, take care.”

Charlie found his pallet and sat down for a few minutes before lying down. He stared at the ceiling and wondered where he lived. He supposed he lived somewhere, but nothing specific came to mind. Did he have another of those episodes that made him dizzy and erased snippets of memory? Maybe his family would take care of him. He wondered what kind of family he had.

Didn’t that young man say the police would come down in the morning to take him away? He wondered what he’d done that would involve the police. Had he committed a crime of some sort? Well, there was nothing to do about it now. He’d shut his eyes and let sleep make everything better in the morning.