I sat calmly in the tiny interrogation room. The steel walls and concrete floor left a chill in the air. It felt good on my skin. I leaned back in my chair as a tall man dressed in a dark suit strode into the room from the single door to my left. He looked as though he had been up for days. I smiled to myself, I knew why I was here. The man threw a folder on the table in front of me and said, “Open it.” I opened the folder and flipped through the dozens of pictures. There was one from the Boxer Rebellion, Paris in the twenties, Audrey Hepburn at a party, and so many more. I smiled. So many old memories. I picked up one of a man and a woman in front of their antebellum home. On the back it said, Mel and Adam, 1859. The man took it from my hand and held it in front of me. It took everything in me not to laugh at his face, he was trying so hard not to look confused.
“You’re in every single one of these photos.” I smiled at him. Poor guy, he has no idea. He threw the picture back on the table and looked me in the eye. I leaned forward and rested my forearms on its edge.
“Do you have a question for me? Or did you do all of this to give me some old pictures I’m in?” This seemed to shock him. What? Did he think I would deny it? Oh, honey. At least you won’t remember any of this by tomorrow. Finally, he seemed to compose himself enough to ask me a question.
“Who are you?”