Anamnesis: A Novel (3 page)

“Not experimentation. Whatever they were
testing on you, they’re now using in the open. So in a way, yes, it is. I tried
to email you through the blog but you never responded. That’s why I tracked you
down.” She looked around the apartment. Her eyes flashed to the messes on the
floor. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate.”

There it was. The insult to me, to my
life, to everything. It was what I expected from her and she delivered. It was
easy to be jaded when everyone around you validated your opinions.

As much as I wanted to defend myself, I
was curious, too. If the girl in the pink dress was drugged, this one could’ve been,
too. There was something new on the streets. It all added up. “I don’t go on it
anymore. Haven’t for years. Tell me, why do you think our experiences are the
same?”

“I’ve been having memory lapses, like how
you describe in your blog, only for shorter durations. I’ll be at an event and
at some point, my brain switches off. Memories stop recording. The next day I
wake up and have no idea where I was or what I was doing. When I wake up, I…”

“You what?”

“I’ve been violated.” One hand began to
drift to her chest as she said it. She caught herself and returned it to her
purse. “I don’t feel comfortable going into the details yet.”

“Getting roofied is a far cry from what
I’m talking about in that blog. You’re sure that’s not what’s happening?”

Pink dress had been messed up. Went out of
her mind. The girl in front of me was in nowhere near the same state as her.
Looking at myself, my fucked up self, she wasn’t anything like me. I doubted
her ‘missing time’ was the same as mine.

Olivia bolted upright. The booklet dropped
from her lap with a hard
thud
. Without a word, she picked it up and put
it back into her bag. She pulled a large envelope from her bag and set it on
the table. Her hands shook.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” I said. “You come in
here saying this shit, you have to back it up. I’m not saying you’re lying. I
just want to be sure.”

“I’m here because I believe what you’ve
written in your blog, Mr. Knight, and I believe it is happening to me. I came
here to talk to you about your experience because I don’t want to be alone in
this.” She held her head high. “But I will
not
stand here and listen to
you make accusations like that. I knew this was a bad idea.”

Olivia walked to the door and left. She
didn’t slam it, didn’t curse me. As quickly as she was there, she was gone. All
that remained was a trace of her perfume.

I was stunned. It took a few minutes
before I picked up the envelope. Inside were a dozen handwritten notes on lined
paper. On the top was a name of an event with the date. It was an account of
what she did during the entire day, who she talked to, what she ate, and other
details. The earliest notes were vague, but as the dates continued they became
more extensive.

They were logs of her memory lapses.
Similar to the ones I had on my own blog, but much more cohesive.

I scanned the most recent one. It was a
fundraiser ball for Seattle Children’s Hospital. She described, in extreme
detail, every moment of the party. Olivia didn’t eat or drink any food given to
her during the event. She had a protein bar and bottle of water beforehand that
she bought at a market approximately one mile away an hour before the party.
There were lists of times she remembered. The last time was 10:42pm. She danced
with an associate named Hugh Raven. That was the last thing she recalled until
the next morning.

She described the kinds of pain her body
was in and other symptoms. One caught my eye.

“I woke up groggy. The feeling is similar
to when I was taking Xanax for my panic attacks. As usual, I taste something metallic.
It’s not blood. It’s like I’ve been sucking on rusty nails. There’s no signs of
damage inside my mouth. Last time it took two days for it to go away. Hope it
goes faster this time. I can’t stand it.”

My fingers hovered over my lips. Even
after all these years I knew that aftertaste. Just thinking about it made me
sick.

I shoved the notes back in the envelope
and set them on the table, my thoughts drifting. I didn’t have anything new to
tell her. Everything about my blackouts was on that blog. I had nothing more to
add unless she wanted tips on self-medicating and how to fuck up her life.

Or maybe we could throw ourselves a pity
party. Complain about it over a bottle of whiskey
. Hey, I lost all of yesterday.
Cool, I had that dream again, the one about the guy using a scalpel on my arms.

I wasn’t sure what to make of Olivia
Holloway yet. I’d find her when I was ready, at least see what she thought I
could do for her. I glanced at the clock. 4:30pm.

In the meantime, the world kept moving. I
had work to do.

I finished the last bite of my food truck
taco and tossed the wrapper in the trash beside me as I walked to Skid. He was
waiting for me at the corner of 3rd and Bell. From a distance, he could’ve been
twelve or forty. Wearing so many loose layers of clothing, age and gender were
indistinguishable.

I met him on the street a year earlier. He
was panhandling and a couple cops were hassling him. I came over and stood
behind him.
Is this police brutality?
I’d asked. To emphasize my point I
held my phone out as though ready to snap a photo. That was a trigger for Seattle
Police Department these days. Always under media pressure and hype, the last
thing they needed was a scene. They sauntered off leaving me with Skid.

When I did that, it was because I wanted
to piss off the cops. It was an opportunity to stick it to someone, so I did.
Protecting Skid wasn’t on my agenda. After they left, Skid broke down while he
thanked me. He tried to hide the tears at first, then they came in waves. In a
world where no one looked out for him, what I did meant something big.

The appeal of having a child was beyond me
until I met him. It made me feel good to be needed. To be looked up to. Skid
thought I was near godlike and I enjoyed that. I kept him around, and while in
the beginning it was for my own ego, the kid grew on me.

When I first met him at thirteen, Skid had
just started smack and was getting hooked. Before the smack he’d just smoked
some weed now and then. I got him off the hard stuff. It was sad to see a kid
that young get lost to something like that, especially once I got to know him.
Sometimes he lapsed and would take pills when times were tough. He was the
exception to my sell-to-anyone rule. I’d never sell to him.

His story was a mystery to me. A kid his
age on the streets could be there for dozens of reasons. I suspected his
parents were druggies, now dead or in jail. Or maybe he just ran away. He’d
always seemed familiar with the street.

I tried to give him a purpose and that
helped. He was my steerer. The deal was, he found people who were looking for
drugs. Led them to me. I gave him a few bucks. I think he mostly saved the
money because I rarely saw him high. Unfortunately, my supplier and his buddies
thought Skid was hilarious. They’d offer him drugs when they saw him, sometimes
even a job working his own corner. He told me he said no every time. He gave me
the pills as proof.

I felt bad for him. I knew what it was
like to be alone, begging for money from people who walked by like you didn’t
even exist. Or worse, when the occasional nut stopped to interrogate you about
what you’d do with the money if they gave it to you. Like they cared. Like it
was any of their fucking business.

“Sorry, E. Got nothing so far,” he said as
soon as I neared.

Despite the turmoil inside, I shrugged and
tried to stay casual. I hadn’t stopped thinking about Olivia or pink dress.
Coming out to push seemed like a good idea. Now that I was there, I regretted
it. “Happens. No worries.”

Skid and I retreated to the steps of an
apartment building and sat. Those kind of alcoves always smelled the same;
urine soaked cement and musk. It was raining and the steps were damp from
castoff. But it felt private. Down the street a flood of people exited The
Crocodile music club. The street got a lot louder as the group dispersed into
it.

A group of well-dressed women, much like
Olivia Holloway, passed us. They watched me and Skid from the corner of their
eyes. With their hands clutched tightly on their purses, they picked up the
pace.

Skid and I looked at each other and shared
a laugh. I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I want to keep pushing. It’s still
early.” Skid ground the tip of his shoe into the ground, watching it intently.
“Could use the money.”

“What for? You need something?”

Skid shrugged. “It’s getting colder. I wanted
to get some stuff at Goodwill. I don’t
need
to, my stuff is still pretty
good. I dunno.”

“I’ll spot you. Let’s catch a bus up to
the Goodwill on the hill, okay?”

“Goodwill on the Hill. Funny, E.” He
smiled. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

It didn’t take long to hop on a bus that
went up to Capitol Hill. I paid Skid’s fare and we sat on the bus making fun of
people on the sidewalk all the way up.

“Walking pole people at the intersection.
Man, why do they use those? They look so dumb.”

I found the couple Skid was looking at.
Sure enough, both had walking poles that belonged on a hike, not Downtown. I
wasn’t sure if they were useful or a local fashion statement. “I guess they
can’t handle walking like the rest of us. Check out the goths by the Taco Del
Mar.”

“Those aren’t goths, those are candy kids.
Big difference.”

“Candy kids?” I laughed. It fit. The kids
looked Goth to me, but all their clothes were neon and rainbow. They looked a
hell of a lot happier, too. The bus jerked into motion and the candy kids fell
out of sight.

“Ruby told me about it. She said they are
like, really happy ravers who are all about being positive and stuff.”

“Ruby, huh? She hanging around again?”

Skid had a crush on the girl. From what I
understood, she was in and out of foster care. When things were bad, she hung
around the overpass. I’d never seen her, but Skid’s face lit up when he talked
about her. And he talked about her a lot.

“Yeah.” Skid trailed off. He had something
more to say. I could feel it but didn’t pressure him.

The giant blue Goodwill sign came into
view. I pulled the cord above me and minutes later Skid and I were engulfed in
florescent light and the smell of dusty thrift store. The Goodwill on Capitol
Hill was dominated by hipsters and college students since a popular rapper
glorified it. They mostly got in the way and didn’t buy much.

I trailed behind Skid, pushing the cart as
he browsed for winter gear. My cell buzzed. I pulled it out and stared at the
name, surprise and irritation swelled inside me. Trisha. Why would she be
calling me?

“Hey, E, I was thinking about school
again.”

I hit ignore and returned my phone to my
pocket, then gave Skid my undivided attention. Any distraction from Trisha
calling me was appreciated.

Just because my life was fucked to hell,
didn’t mean I wanted Skid’s to be, too. We’d talked about school the month
before, also maybe getting him into the system. Foster care. He wanted a better
life but was afraid of trying and being rejected. It didn’t help matters that many
of the kids he knew chose the streets over foster care and had plenty of horror
stories about it. His friend Ruby a perfect example.

“Cool,” I said carefully. Interested, but
not overly enthusiastic. Don’t scare him. “You want to do it?”

Skid pulled a puffy orange winter jacket
from the rack, studied it, then put it back. “Yeah. I think. That outreach lady
came by the overpass again yesterday. I talked to her for a while. Might be
something I want to do. Might be good.”

“It
would
be good,” I agreed. “What
changed your mind?”

“Lots of stuff. I mean, talking to Ruby
for one. She says school is the one thing in her life she’s good at that’s good
for her. And it’s cold out and I’m sick of sleeping in a tent on cardboard.” It
came out in a rush. This is what he’d been holding back on the bus. “And that
lady last night. That freaked me out, E. She was messed up and then when you
told me to run. I don’t know. I was freaked.”

I clenched my jaw and tried to keep a
neutral face. “It was weird.”

“The other day Tin Man got nabbed and I
thought, that could be me. Wrong place, wrong time. It’s not like I haven’t
seen that shit before, but I just want out.” Skid settled on a brown parka. The
fur around the hood was matted, but it was in good shape. He tossed it in the
cart.

 “I get it. You should get out. The longer
you stay, the harder it will be.” I tightened my grip on the cart. I needed a
smoke. “You need any money for clothes or to clean up or anything, just let me
know. Whatever you need.”

“You’re already getting me this stuff. I
don’t want to put you out.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Skid grinned. “Thanks E, you’re the best.”

After I bought him clothes, I was going to
buy a bottle of Bulleit and get shitfaced for the next ten hours, and the kid
thought I was the best. In addition to the panic attack I’d been fighting since
pink dress, now I had a hearty dose of guilt on top of it. Great combination.

It took every bit of willpower I had to
continue through the store while Skid shopped. A jacket, ski pants, and
sleeping bag later, we were outside. I fished out a cigarette and lit it,
sucking the thing down in a few inhales.

“I gotta go,” I said. “Remember, no
worries about tonight. I’ll be good on my own. See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the new stuff. Later!”

I merged into the horde of Seattlites, my
unsold inventory heavy in my pocket
again, my only intention for the night to
get home.