ONE LAST TEXT
"Don't sit there and make this your fault like you're the only person who's ever gotten too drunk at a party. That's not fair to you."
I didn't have an answer for that. I sat there on her couch with my hands folded over the curve of my stomach, absorbing a stranger's fragmented memory of the worst night of my life, taller than me, a maybe-jacket, gone before anyone could really see, and I understood, sitting there, that whatever answer I was looking for wasn't going to come from asking around anymore.
It was going to come from somewhere I hadn't let myself think about yet, somewhere with cameras and timestamps and no room left for anyone's fuzzy, well-meaning memory to get it wrong.