Chapter 1
My name is Mojave Sands. Not a given name but one that I chose.Most people are given a name by their parents. Not knowing mine I chose my name fromwhere I was found. Wandering the desert with no memory of whom I was or where I’dbeen. They tell me it’s a good, strong name. I just wish that they would stop calling me Mo.After they found me, half dead and incoherent, they admitted me into the psychiatric wardin Barstow Hospital. They have had six months to investigate. Neither the State of California nor the Federal data bases turned up anything.
Nada
Six months of therapy didn’t bring back any of my memories either. Just reinforced what Iknew after the first week. I wanted out. But, with no other option, I had too wait. First theyhad to investigate to figure out who I am. When that failed, they had to make sure that if released, I’d be no threat too the general public. Then I had to have the State court systemapprove the name I had chosen for myself.The State required a six month investigation. Then I was to be released with $1800 andthree changes of clothes. Which they say is more than they give a convict when released.I’ll just have too take their word on that. The only thing I can relate with the convict is thefeelings he or she must have on the day of their release. For me that day was today.So there I sat on the edge of my hospital bed… waiting.A dark blue backpack containing two changes of clothes resting by the door. A new walletwith $1800 in cash and an Identification card bearing my new name was resting in my back pants pocket. I was wearing a light cotton black T-shirt with blue jeans and brown hikingboots, boots that I had chosen for a reason. My name wasn’t the only thing I had chosen. Ihad also chosen a destination. I had decided that if they couldn’t tell me who I was then Iwould find out for myself.Somewhere, out in the desert were answers to the question that I and others had beenasking. Who was I?I stood up and stepped towards the mirror mounted on the outside of the bathroom doorlooking at myself looking back. A man a little over six foot tall with brown hair and blueeyes stared back at me. Six months and I still have problems recognizing my own reflection.They say that I could be 30 years old maybe younger. Now, looking at myself in the mirror Icouldn’t tell either.Walking to the open door I stuck my head out into the hallway, looking left and down thehall towards the nurse’s station. I was trying to catch a glimpse of the nurse coming with myrelease papers. Seeing no one I sighed.‘What was taking so long’? Glancing at the clock above the door it read 10:32AM. I hadbeen told by the staff that 10:00am was the typical release time. I didn’t want to spendanother minute in this place. I tried for a few minutes to take slow breaths and calm mynerves but wasn’t getting anywhere. Feeling the tension tightening the muscles in my chest Icouldn’t resist a sideways glance at the clock. 10:38. Damn!As I felt the tension move from my chest to too the back of my neck a figure appeared inthe doorway. A woman in her fifties stood there. Grey hair up in a bun wearing a pink smock holding a clipboard was looking at me head tilted down looking at me over the top of her glasses.“Mr. Sands”? She asked.“Out?” I askedSmiling out the corner of her mouth she said “Yes, Mr. Sands, out.”
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