Book of Cameron
Lakin: Then
Real memory or recovered memory? You might think: what’s the difference? A memory is a memory. Here’s the difference with recovered memories. They’re not always accurate. It’s like code. There’s a sequence to events, and when the mind can’t recall certain details, it looks at the events before and after to splice together the most logical sequence to fill the holes.
So what actually happened will be different than how my mind attempts to fill in the gaps.
I’ve been padding the blanks with what others tell me occurred, and what the case detectives—with years of experience—have deduced.
Below is my recount of that night to the best of my ability:
The thump of reggae music imbued the night air of the Dock House. White string lights dotted the blackness above like a starlit canopy. It was beautiful, and in my distraught state, I swayed to the slow rhythm on a barstool, trying my damndest to forget.
Everything.
Cam had convinced me to go to my parents’ house. To get away from campus. On our way to Silver Lake, she took a detour; a quick stop at a bar to drink away my sorrows.
I chased the burn of heartache with soda. Then I chased the carbonated sweetness with water. Though Cam thought the shot glass held Vodka. I was there for her as much as she was there for me. This was her attempt to cheer me up. I was trying, but I’d never been a drinker. Hell, I’d never been drunk before. But admitting to that would have made me feel even more awkward, and I just longed for a moment of normalcy.
I shivered as the night’s warmth blanketed my body. It was a generic kind of comfort.
Cameron stood at the end of the bar top, flirting her way to another round of shots from the bartender. His name… Tony? Tyler? I waved it off, as if blowing off any of the random guys that had hit on us that night. Except by that point, there weren’t too many around.
The night was winding down. It was the official spring break kickoff, and all the campuses had executed a mass exodus to more southern locations, where they could drink and party and revel in debauchery far from here.
The few sad stragglers left behind were trying to keep the party going. A couple making out near the bar gazebo. Two military guys at a table downing beer, obviously looking for loose spring break chicks in the wrong place. A lone, partied-out drunk man leaned up against a beam.
We were a pathetic bunch. Desperate not to let the night end, because we didn’t want to face the next day. At least, in my current state, that’s how I viewed the world around me.
Cam set a shot glass with amber liquid before me. “Last one. Torrance is closing shop.”
Torrance. I snapped my fingers. Although emotionally and physically numb, my finger and thumb didn’t quite connect. “I couldn’t remember his name.” I pretended to throw back the tequila, sending it over my shoulder, then glanced at Cam. “You should go home with him.”
I was done with pretending for the night.
She scoffed. “Yeah, that’s just what I need.”
“I’m serious. He’s hot. And you sacrificed your spring break in Cancun for me.” I frowned. “Go. Have some fun. Make bad choices.”
Her gaze captured the bartender, and I could tell she wanted him. Her devotion to me would keep her by my side all night. That’s not what I wanted.
“Hey, Mr. Bartender dude—” I called out.
“Oh, God…Cynth. You’re so hammered.” Cam laughed and shook her head.
He swaggered our way, a white towel slung over one beefy shoulder. He was dark-skinned and muscled, and he wore a devious smirk. He was everything a hot bartender should be.
“Hey,” I said, bracing my elbows on the bar. “You want to fuck my friend?”
He was used to this kind of attention from women. Torrance’s features registered no shock at my crass interrogation. He knew I wasn’t drunk. He’d been fixing me soda and water all night. But I doubted he’d turn down any ploy to get into a girl’s pants. He simply smiled and winked at Cameron.
Cam kicked my leg. “I’ll never take you drinking again,” she said, but her flirtatious smile for the bartender said she wasn’t embarrassed in the least. She held up a finger to him. “Give me a second with my girl here.”
He shrugged and headed to the register to start closing out.
Cam sighed as she pushed the shot glasses to the edge of the bar. “We only have my car. How are you going to get to your parents’?”
I waved off the issue. “I didn’t want to go there anyway.”