I remember wearing a jockstrap and stirrups. I remember looking ahead to a promising future. I remember lots of faces, but, I don't know how I could post that.

I remember dipping toast into coffee and sitting in a cafeteria, filled with stroke victims, accident victims, and, basically, people who have came near death, then going into a TV room that was shared with the other wing (of the center), which was a retirement home.

I remember my brother's dog jumping on me, while I was in a wheelchair, out in front of Virginia Beach General Hospital. It's the first thing that I can remember, after my coma.

I remember living in a roach-infested apartment.

I remember, the summer before sixth grade, counting two-hundred and fifty-six shooting stars in the meteor shower that comes in August, every year. And, I remember Jim Plunkett.