_

09/06

10:34 a.m. _

Tristan—

You’re probably surprised and confused to receive this email, and that’s okay. My name is Gabe Henson, and we met for the second time last night at Big Dick’s, a nightclub in Harrisburg. Your friends Noel and Shane took you out for your birthday, and from what I could see, you had a wonderful time.

I say we met for the second time because the first was about two months ago. You came to Big Dick’s by yourself, and you had a moment where you forgot what was going on and where you were. Noel came and picked you up, but you and I met briefly. I brought you water because you were upset. Please don’t worry too much about that night. You didn’t get hurt. You didn’t do anything to embarrass yourself.

Since Noel told us why you reacted the way you did, I knew up front when we saw each other last night. I had a great time with you. We danced for hours. We chatted by the bar for a while, and I promised you that I would email you our conversation (well, it will have to be the condensed version, because I don’t have a photographic memory) so you could have that information. So these are the things we talked about.

We talked about what I do for a living. I’m a waiter and infrequent bartender. I did graduate college with a degree in Communications that I never used. I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but career waiter isn’t it. My dads own Big Dick’s. My bio dad, Bear, is the bouncer at the door, and my adopted dad, Richard, usually works the bar. They love and accept me and my choices. You didn’t ask me my age, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’m twenty-four, turning twenty-five in December. Yes, winter baby.

You talked about yourself a little. You told me about your love of drawing and animation, and that watching Toy Story makes you sad sometimes. I hate that something you used to love makes you sad, but I understand why it does. It reminds you of before. I’m sorry that talking about it with me made you a little sad, but I’m grateful you shared that part of yourself. You told me you don’t get to meet a lot of new people. I really hope we can stay friends. You were a lot of fun to talk to, and you’re one hell of a good dancer.

Noel took a photo of us together on his phone. If he didn’t send it to you yet, make sure you harass him for it. And maybe get him to send it to me too. My cell # is at the bottom of this email.

I know you don’t remember me, but I’d love it if you wrote me back. I think maybe both of us could stand being a little less lonely. —Gabe

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09/06

11:59 a.m. _

Hi Gabe—

It feels weird to be emailing a total stranger, even though I have the photo of us open on my laptop. I really hate I don’t remember dancing with you because judging by your brand of hot, we must have had a fantastic time. (Is it okay that I called you hot? I probably did in person, at least once, because I’m a huge flirt when I don’t feel self-conscious.) Anyway, thank you for your email and for letting me know what you already told me about you. And the stuff I told you about me.

I bet the way my memories work is confusing. It confuses me a lot too. Details fly away. It sucks. But I have this thing that Shane calls my déjà vu sense. It’s like I instinctively know things without actually remembering the event or when I learned it. Like I know Noel lives in another town. And I’m starting to know Shane—at least, when I see him now I know that I know him but I don’t always remember his name. It’s the same with most of the staff here at Benfield. Familiar faces but no names. I’m going to study your picture so maybe if we get together again I’ll have that déjà vu with you. That would be cool.

So you told me what you do for a living. Unfortunately, I don’t really do anything. I listen to a lot of music. I read mostly magazines and short articles in newspapers. I don’t watch much TV, except for short things like news segments or sitcoms. Sometimes game shows. I used to watch The Price is Right a lot when I was a kid, so I’ll go out to the TV room and watch it when the other residents put it on. I don’t like the new host very much, but it’s entertaining. The new Family Feud guy, though? OMG, he is the funniest thing ever.

They do activities here for the residents, but they’re mostly geared toward old people. Which makes sense because I live with a lot of old people. I was looking through some notebooks to find interesting things to tell you and I found a day when an elderly man named Scott insisted I was his grandson James. Getting old must suck. My calendar says there is a painting class at two o’clock. I think I’ll go to that. Me telling you about animation has inspired me. Thank you.

This is fun. I hope you write back. —Tristan

_

09/07

1:15 p.m. _

Tristan—

It’s Gabe again. I’d have written back sooner but I had to fill in for someone last minute at my waiting job, so I ended up working a double. I hate that. It’s exhausting and physically demanding, but more money, so there’s a bright side. Right?

So how did the painting class go yesterday? I’ll pause a moment while you find your notebook entry and remind yourself. *grin* Please tell me about it, even if you didn’t enjoy yourself. I’m curious.

I’ve got the rest of the day off for a change. I’m usually scheduled on Sundays because it’s a busy day, and my boss says I have the kind of face that draws in customers. I take it as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with me. Too bad I bat for the other team, right? My buddy Jon (you’ve never met him) tells me I get hit on so much by girls because I’m very straight acting. What the hell does that really mean, anyway? Is there a straight or gay way to act? Really? I act like me.

Hope I hear from you soon. —Gabe

_

09/10

8:45 p.m. _

Gabe—

Hey! I’m sorry it took me a few days to reply to your message. My sticky note reminding me to check my email every day fell off the wall, so I didn’t see it. I only remembered because I found printouts of our emails on my desk. I print them out so I can read them whenever I want, even if I’m not on the computer.

So the painting class. Apparently I enjoyed myself. In my notes, I wrote that I wasn’t the youngest in the room. Another resident named Charlie was there. He’s nineteen, and he is severely mentally deficient (the nurse said “retarded” was rude), and that’s why he lives here. He painted spiders. I don’t know why. I don’t have a painting in my room (according to the notebook, I’m going to finish it in class this Saturday) but apparently I painted a guy’s face and described the details. When I looked at the photo of us, I realized it was you. Maybe déjà vu is working already? I look at your photo a lot, I think. Why wouldn’t I?

Sorry, flirting again. It doesn’t seem as real, I don’t think, since you aren’t in front of me. But I like having your words to look at too. They help me feel not so alone.

Tomorrow is Thursday. Thursday is the day I hang out with Noel. We go out and do things, and it’s always fun. I feel normal around Noel. He gets it. He was there.

I never told you that, did I? The night of the accident, Noel and I were out together. I remember up to that part. I don’t remember us getting bashed. But he told me enough that I know he was hurt too, so I went back and found where I’d written it down. After these three guys beat my head in with a bottle, they used the broken end to cut up Noel’s chest. He got a lot of stitches and he still has scars. The cops never found the guys who hurt us. I get angry about that sometimes. We never got justice and it fucking sucks. I just hope those assholes didn’t hurt anyone else like they hurt us.

Sorry to end on such a depressing note.

Why didn’t the toilet paper cross the road?

*drum roll*

It got stuck in a crack.

LOL. —Tristan

_

09/10

9:35 p.m. _

Ha! Thanks for the chuckle. I needed it. Longer email tomorrow. —G

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09/11

10:13 a.m. _

Hey T—

I’m glad you enjoyed the painting class and that you’re going back on Saturday. It’s kind of amazing that you painted my face. I forgot to tell you (no pun or anything) that when we hung out last Friday night, you told me you remembered my eyes from the first time we met. It was really cool, and it makes me very glad our lives have intersected. Bear (my bio dad) always tells me that the people we meet are in our lives for a reason. Sometimes for a long time, sometimes for an hour, but everyone affects us in some way.

I won’t take up much of your time. You probably won’t read this until tonight anyway. I hope you enjoy your day out with Noel. You two have a special bond, and thank you for telling me more about the assault. I hate that you guys were hurt and that you never saw justice. Is that why Noel is a police officer?

I’ve got to work in a few hours, so I’m going to hit the gym. Later! —G

_

09/11

11:45 p.m. _

G—

I’m wired tonight for some reason, which is why I’m emailing you back so late.

Noel and I had a fantastic day. Even if I don’t remember it, I know by how I feel later, and I feel great. Looking over my notes, we drove out to Lancaster today. Spent some time at the outlet mall (that thing is huge). Lunch was good. I had a big bowl of chicken and dumplings, and Noel had chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes. Good Amish-style food.

It’s kind of weird reporting these things from my notebooks. But it’s also kind of cool knowing someone else actually cares what I do with my time. I know Noel cares. He keeps track of my activities, my mood, that I’m eating when I’m supposed to. But you’re someone brand new and you care. It makes me feel less isolated.

Noel even asked about you, and I told him we’d been emailing. He loves that I made a friend, but sometimes I think he’s hiding something. It’s hard to tell. Did you guys have a fight I wasn’t told about? Or was told and forgot to write down?

I hope you had fun working out. Oh, and yes, Noel became a police officer because of the accident. He was already majoring in criminal justice, so he signed up for the police academy after graduation. He loves his job, even though his hours are weird. But he doesn’t have to work Thursdays, so that’s our day. And every Sunday afternoon. Maybe you could come visit with him one day. If you have time. —T

_

09/12

3:23 a.m. _

T—

We must be on the same wavelength. I can’t sleep. I’m glad you had a good day with Noel yesterday. You deserve it. Thanks for telling me about it. Believe it or not, I’ve never had chicken and dumplings. My dads were both pretty simple cooks. We ate a lot of baked chicken and mashed potatoes. Bear makes a killer lasagna for special occasions. My mother knew the number to everyplace nearby that delivered. I do a lot more of my own cooking now, especially after seeing what goes on in restaurant kitchens sometimes. Yuck. Plus I like to stay fit, so cooking lets me control what’s in my food.

Bored yet? I’m rambling about food because I can’t freaking sleep. And I have this sudden, weird craving for popcorn. The kind you get at the movies that’s coated in that fake butter stuff. Damn. Now I’ll never fall asleep.

Here’s a joke for you: What did the duck say to the bartender?

*drum roll*

“Put it on my bill.”

You’re rolling your eyes, I can tell. Anyway, ’night, Tristan. —G

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09/12

8:45 a.m. _

Morning Gabe!

I guess I finally passed out at some point. I woke up feeling kind of disturbed and I don’t know why, so seeing your email and remembering you gave me a nice little rush. I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep last night, but thank you for writing me.

I’m only awake because my doctor called and scheduled an appointment this afternoon. He wants Noel there. He says he wants to discuss a new treatment option, but he wouldn’t give me any more details, so I’m kind of bouncing off the walls. Usually our treatments consist of memory exercises and crap like that, but this seems different. Maybe I’m just being extra-hopeful. I don’t know.

I’ll let you know what finally happens. —T

PS—What do you call an alligator in a vest?

*drum roll*

An in-vest-igator.

_

09/12

10:34 a.m. _

GOOD LUCK! —G