The door to the bathroom suddenly shoves open and a man wearing a guard uniform boldly enters. I glance at him in the mirror. He’s staring back at me.

I look away and splash water unto my face. I need to wipe this blood off.

And I need to figure out who I am. It’s a terrifying feeling. Like I’m a movie star in some trashy tabloid. I recognize me. But I don’t really know me. Maybe I am a superhero.

“Hey, hero…”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Yes Sir I am. I hope you don’t mind, Sir…but I’m going to have to ask you for some ID, okay.”

I notice he’s keeping his distance. I’m still watching him in the mirror, my back to him.

“Am I in some sort of trouble officer?”  I know he’s not a real cop but I aim to flatter him.

“Well no Sir. Not that I am presently aware of. It’s just that this lady, her and her son say they saw you on a bench out front and you was acting real strange.”

“I guess I’m feeling a little…strange.” I shift my gaze from him back into my own eyes. Recognition. But still not enough.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Well hell yea, of course I do. I mean, not personally but I recognize you from the news report. I mean, anyone who aint seen it yet must be living under a rock or something right.”

News report? Superhero. Autographs? All I want is my bed. I feel my left arm start to tremble. Small delicate muscle spasms. I force out my next question:

“What’s my name?”

“According to reporters your name is…ah, Tony Hollow-something or other. I’m sorry I can’t remember exactly. But Tony, right?”

I consider it. Let it roll around on my tongue for a few seconds. Toooeeeennnneeeee.

“Yes, that is correct. Tony.”

A sigh of relief escapes the guard.    

“Cool! So look, Tony…I don’t want to sound rude my friend, but, like…I gotta be honest man…you are a total bad ****! They way you busted up those dudes trying to rob the bank the other day man. You totally saved that chick and her baby. ****, you saved all those people man. The guys were planning on blowing the joint up after they left. Totally unreal man. Totally unreal!”

I turn quickly and face him. “I…did all that?”

“**** yea you did! You kicked ****. Don’t you remember?” 

I didn’t. I tried to. But I couldn’t. For some reason all I could remember was Jesus. I shook my head ‘No.’

“Dude, you’re like an instant hero. Your pictures all over the paper. You’re all over the news and ****. No one knew who you were at first…you just up and disappeared.”

“So how do you know my name is Tony?”

“The media man. They find out all that **** somehow. They been tracking you down for like four days.”

Days…four days? I didn’t remember four whole days? Maybe more…

“Okay, I ah…I have to get out of here.”

I started moving toward the exit.

“So, what…you’re like Spiderman or something? Just fight crime and then disappear?” 

I stopped. I didn’t turn back toward him.

“I’ve got some issues ya see. I, ah, can’t really get into them now. But I definitely don’t need any publicity. I need to just get home and lay low for a while.”

‘If I knew where that was.’ I thought.

“Well I should probably let you know then…I called the cops man. And the news. Soooo, right outside that door is gonna be a ton of people wanting to hear your story. Their gonna stick cameras and microphones and everything else in your face. I’m sorry. Real, real sorry. I just thought ya know…”

I couldn’t face anyone. I had to get away from all this. I needed time to sit and think. Sort this mess out. I felt the stirrings of that ol’ familiar pain again.

I turn and face the guard. He slinks back a step. Its impressive the fear I seem to instill in him. 

“Is there another way out of here?”

The guard turns his head toward what appears to be a closet in the back of the restroom.

“Through that door there’s another door.”

He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and tosses one over to me.

“It will lead you down a dark hallway and then out another door into the side parking lot. There shouldn’t be too many people over that way.”

I can now hear the noise level increasing beyond the bathroom door. I picture cameramen and reporters jostling for position. I couldn’t believe all the fuss was about me.

“Thank you, ah...”

“Names Jeff.”

I smile. For some reason the name sounds really nice to me.

“Thank You Jeff.”

And I leave.

I crack the door open and peer out into the parking lot. Clear. I exit and realize I don’t have a clue what to do next. I turn to go back in however the door doesn’t have a handle on the outside. No keyhole either.

“****!”

For some reason I stuff the key into my pocket. As I do I feel the pistachio nuts there and I remember something else I have...a balled up piece of white paper.

I pull it out and unravel it.

555-632-1111.  Dr. Stone.  

Sounds vaguely familiar. Although for some reason, not in a good way.

I look around and find a pay phone a few feet from the entrance.

I run to it avoiding eye contact with an elderly couple walking with shade umbrellas.   

‘Dr. Stone.’  

I deposit both quarters and punch in the digits. After a few seconds of miserable silence there is a ring.

“Good Afternoon Dr. Stones office.”

“Ahh, yes. I need to, um, speak with Dr. Stone please.”

“He’s busy with a patient right now. May I take a message?”

“****…eh, oh sorry! Look, this is really a very big emergency. You see, I…oh, how do I put this…I seem to have forgotten my identity and I’m really hoping Dr. Stone can help me get some answers.”

“Okay sir, I would be happy to make an appointment for you. Our next opening is…”

“No, no…you don’t understand. I need to speak with him NOW, over the phone. It’s urgent.”

A short silence follows.

“Hello…ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m here…sorry. Is this by any chance Anthony Holloman?”

Anthony…Tony…Hollow…Holloman…

YES! That was it. I was Anthony Holloman.

“YES! Yes, Thank You! This is Anthony Holloman.” 

“Oh my God…Mr. Holloman! Are you okay sir? Where are you?”

“I’mmm in Chicago.”

“Chicago. Okay. Great. And where in Chicago are you?”

“Look, I’m sorry but I don’t really know who you are. I don’t feel comfortable with all these questions. I really need to speak with Dr. Stone.” 

“Oh Mr. Holloman of course, I’m so sorry. It’s just that…well, sir, so many people are looking for you. You’re a hero after all! And someone in your condition shouldn’t be carrying on like that!”

I didn’t’ hear anything after that. My condition? What was wrong with me?

“What is wrong with me?”

“Oh my…you don’t know?”

“No! I can’t remember. Please…tell me!”

“Oh dear. I better get Dr. Stone…hold on just a minute Mr. Halloman, okay?”

“THERE HE IS!”

Shouts in the distance cause me to turn my head.

A group of reporters spot me and make their move. 

I am about to drop the receiver and run when I spot a familiar face in the charging crowd. And she is calling out my name.

“Karen?”

The name sounds like beautiful sweet music off my tongue so I say it again… 

“Karen.”

And again, much louder…

“KAREN”

“ANTHONY!”

And then she’s in my arms. And all that is right in the world comes flooding back into me. My wife. My family. My children.

Her embrace is tight and urgent and she alternates between telling me she loves me and painting my face and neck with hard desperate little kisses.

All around us reporters point microphones and shout questions and little lights on cameras blink read and green, red and green.

And my head is a soccer team playing on a mine field. But I do not care.

I am Anthony Hallowman and I am married to Karen Hallowman and we have three wonderful children: Hunter, Jeff and Melissa. I live at 310 West Belshore dr. Indianapolis, Indiana. I am the CEO of ‘Your Healthy Home’ retail outlets with four in operation and a fifth on the way. 

My assistants name is Samantha and she deserves a raise.  

And apparently I am some sort of superhero who saves people and captures crooks that rob banks. Despite the insane headaches, it seems my life isn’t so bad!

“Oh my God Anthony, we have been worried sick about you baby. We saw you on the news breaking up the bank robbery and…and…Where have you been since then? Are you okay?”

“I am fine sweetheart. Everything is okay now.” 

Suddenly I recall…’My condition.’

I realize I’m still holding the receiver in my hand. I place it back up to my ear…

“Hello.”

“Anthony! This is Dr. Stone. Anthony, can you hear me?”

“Yes…yes, I can hear you fine. Now what is this about me having a condition?”

“Baby, who are you talking to?” My wife asks.

“ANTHONY…DID YOU KNOW ANY OF THE BANK ROBBERS?”

“ANYTHONY…WHERE DID YOU LEARN YOUR KARATE MOVES?

“ANTHONY…IS IT TRUE YOU HAVE LESS THAN…”

“…30 days to live. Anthony, I am so sorry to have to tell you like this. Your mind has obviously been seriously affected by this tumor. Under the circumstances, I think you should come on in for a check up. Maybe spend the rest of your time in our care. We can keep you very comfortable Anthony. We can…”

I drop the phone.

I look my wife in the eyes.

She’s crying. And I remember it all now. Brain tumor. I’m dying.

I can’t contain myself as tears begin to flow down my cheeks.

The cameras are live. The nation is watching the hero cry. 

And I don’t care.

I turn to the cameras and I say:

“My name is Anthony Holloman, and I am dying of a brain tumor.”

Ooohhhss, and Ahhhsss! Flashbulbs pop. Mics get closer.

“I have less than 20 days left to live, and I just want to say…To my wonderfully supportive and beautiful wife Karen, to my fantastic kids, Hunter, Jeff and Melissa…and to my brothers and sisters, especially my little sister Lacy who we just learned is pregnant…and to my wonderful mother and step dad big Tony…and my father Anthony Sr…you are the real Heros in my life and I love you all very much.”

More flashbulbs and chatter.

One reporter, a young dark haired woman, shouts out above the rest:

“Anthony, now that you’ve become a national hero and won the hearts of all Americans, what do you plan on doing in the coming days?”

I look at my wife and smile.