Remember Me Not

SIX - AFTER

I can't remember what happened that night.

Not because I drank too much. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions: the kind of alcohol-induced memory loss where things get progressively less focused, but you can at least remember where you started. I mean a complete and utter blackout.

Like I wasn't even there.

Except I know I was.

I haven't told anyone about this lapse in memory. At the time, keeping it to myself seemed like a wise idea. I didn't want to worry anyone—didn't want them to think I was lying when I insisted I was okay, or realize that the sudden, horrible death of my boyfriend may in fact have damaged me more than I was letting on. Because it's normal for your brain to do that, right? It's an ingrained biological mechanism, a shield of nature: existing precisely to protect you from going over and over what will only tear you apart.

I've consulted Doctor Google, of course. When dissociative amnesia popped up, I clung to it with both hands, because it describes my symptoms to a T. Gaps in memory for a long period of time. Going well beyond normal forgetfulness. Usually associated with a stressful or traumatic event.

If the night of Josh's death doesn't fit the bill, I don't know what does.

I should seek professional help. It's not normal that there's so much missing from my mind—an entire night's worth—but there's also more than my mental health on the line. As Josh's girlfriend, the police asked for my version of events, and it didn't seem wise to confess that I could've been anywhere, anytime. Instead, I kept the details minimal and let their questions steer the story. Eventually, I found myself looking back at a version of events where Josh and I arrived at the party together, but got separated somewhere along the way. I misplaced my phone—a snippet of truth, because it was nowhere to be found when I woke up the next morning—so I had no way of contacting him. Eventually, I gave up and went home, figuring he was with his friends.

But the next day, his body was dragged out of the campus lake.

And my world fell apart at the seams.

I thought the memory would come back to me eventually. That I'd wake up one morning and remember what role I played that night, so the guilt would lift and I could know for certain that I hadn't concealed anything important from the police investigation.

But it's been six months now, and still nothing.

Perhaps this is just the way things will be.

***

It's the morning after I went over to Hanna's apartment, and I'm standing in my dorm room, trying to kill the couple of hours I have before my first class starts. A stupid part of me thought rifling through the belongings she gave back might jog my memory, but the whole thing's a lost cause.