A Big Apology

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Willy woke up one day onthe door step of his best friend from his college days which were around five years ago. He has no memory of why he woke up on the door step. His old friend helps him figure it out.

Submitted: April 22, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 22, 2012



Willy was sitting in his best friend’s car with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He sat there looking at the house with

high hopes.

Hey, that’s me. Willy Oats. That was yesterday. Sitting in my best friend’s ride while I was trying to work up the guts to

go see the woman that the flowers are for.

Her name is Bobbi Jo Ryan.

This story started about a year ago. I woke up and couldn’t remember my own name. I kept going in and out of


consciousness. Matt Elliot was my best friend, and I stayed with him for a while until I could remember where I live. I

eventually became his roommate.

He and I hung out in his living room the first few days that I stayed with him, and he helped me try to remember who I

was and why I was in the hospital. From my swiss-cheesed memory, I kept having a recurring image of a beautiful

woman. Odds are that I was kicked out of her place, because my last memory of her has bad vibes with it. I didn’t have

any injuries, but we thought I had an accident after being relocated to the streets from her house. It took a month to

figure all that out.

Matt and I were best friends in college. We attended UCM. We hadn’t seen each other for five years, but I have no

memory of why, probably just lost touch. After I became his roommate, we decided to look for this girl friend of mine.

I don’t know what I did to make my girl mad, but I planned an apology for it. Within the next six months, my memory

started to produce bits and pieces. The name Bobbi Jo began to roll off my tongue from time to time; could be her, or a

friend or family member. I did a Google search for the name, and the picture of the woman I remembered was in the first

of 20 Bobbies to pop up. The one thing I remember about her was how pretty she looked.

I learned that her last name was Ryan. I researched where she lived and planned to surprise her with flowers. I thought

that a year without seeing me was enough time to be forgiven for what ever I had done. I didn’t worry about the

possibility of a new man in her life because. If we were meant to be, then I’d have her eventually anyway.

So there I sat in my best friend’s car with flowers in my hand. I would have to make this really good because it had been

a year, and she had made no contact with me that I knew of. She might have tried, I suppose. I lost my phone the night I

woke up.

I got out of the car, walked across her yard, and approached her front door. I gave myself one last quick grooming,

taking full advantage of a first impression. I then rang the doorbell.

I heard the sound of the bell traveling through the house. I didn’t hear anyone coming to the door so I rang it a second


“Come in!” She called. She must have been in the back portion of the place because her voice sounded faint.

I entered the door and shut it behind me. “I’ll be right there, my hands are full.” She called. “Sara, is that you?”

“Not Sara.” I replied.

“Who is that?” she asked, sounding chipper.

She emerged from the side of the house to my left, where the kitchen was, and dusted off her hands. She then stopped

dead in her tracks when she saw me.

I smiled. “I’m sorry for whatever I did that got me kicked out of your life. Can we start over?” I didn’t mean to say that last

part so soon, but I was nervous.

She reacted with a whimper and ran for me. I opened my arms to embrace her and before I knew it, she kicked me in

the head with a powerful blow of her sneaker. She had strong legs.

I then woke up where I am now, in the city jail with a big red footprint on half of my face.

While in jail, I learned that she was never my girl. The night I had woken up, was the last time that I had seen her, but it

was also the first time I had seen her. Me and an old buddy, whom I never heard from after that night, were trying to rob

her. That was why my memory of her had bad vibes.

The memories present themselves as I speak, thanks to the kick to the head. It jarred my memory. I had some sort of

accident. My partner took me to the doctor somewhere and then before the police knew we were there, left me on the

front door of my old best friend from college.


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