1957 A FLASHLIGHT dazzled my eyes. The flu was gone. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten Grandpa’s turkey wrap. I was sitting against a tree, hugging my violin bag. A familiar voice said, “Everything okay, sonny?” A strong hand pulled me to my feet. “Chop-chop.” “Grandpa!” He held me by my shoulders and looked me over. “None the worse.” “What’s going on?” He hurried me toward a parked car. “You were at Boy Scout camp and you wandered off a trail and fell down a cliff. You were missing for hours.” “I don’t remember any of that.” “It never happened. It’s the cover story for why you have amnesia.” “Amnesia?” “Just relax. You’re Eddie now.” Grandpa opened the trunk of the car and pulled a Boy Scout uniform out of a duffel bag. “Put this on. Hurry.” He had to help me with the yellow neckerchief. Then he rubbed some dirt on the uniform and tore one of the sleeves. “Why did you do that?” “You fell down a cliff, remember?” “No.” “You’re not supposed to remember.
