Billy And His Goldfish-like Memory*

Billy And His Goldfish-like Memory*

*The original title of Memento. No, seriously.

[The following is an excerpt from the original short story that became the screenplay for Memento. It is in no way about me and the events of the past weekend.]

"How dare you?! You don't know me! You have no idea what I'm like!" The ferocity in her words seemed foreign to the dainty, glitter-glossed lips from which it issued. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits and a snarl curled up one side of her mouth, turning a lovely face into a mask of venom. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

With a start, I realized that I was the focus of this vehement interrogation.

My jaw fell slack as I struggled to understand my current situation.

I'm talking to a girl. A pretty girl. She is sitting in a chair. We are in the corner of the room, away from the others. This appears to be a party. I have a cup in my hand. She's still sitting down, yet appears to be weaving from side to side...along with the rest of the room.

I must be drunk.

She must be upset with me. But why? As she pointed out, I have no idea who she is. I don't know why I'm talking to her. I don't even know what I've done to make her so upset.

Just stick to the standard plan; the one that works best in this type of situation: Act natural.

"Uh, I, um, well, that is...what?" I managed to stammer.

She continues her tirade as if I've said nothing, which, essentially, I haven't. "You are wrong! Completely wrong!"

Aha! I've said something and I am wrong about it. This could be the key.

"I'm wrong? That's great!" I smile brightly at her.

Now her mouth is the one hanging open slightly, just more prettily.

"What?!"

I beam at her. "If I'm wrong, then you can tell me why!"

"Tell you..why?"

This is going well. She isn't yelling anymore. I think she understands. Now she'll tell me what I said.

"Yes! So please, explain to me: How am I wrong?" I smile my most winning smile.

Her face screws up like a baseball pitcher about to bean me with a fastball. Her lovely mouth begins to open and I cringe instinctively-

The room begins to go dark, as if bunch by bunch, velvet-black flowers are springing into bloom
all around me...

Rocks are crunching underneath my chest. My arm hurts. Something is scratching me. Something is brushing me. I flail; I hear rustling. There is more scratching; more pain.

It is warm here. Too warm to still be indoors.

I think I'm in some kind of bush.

THE END???

No, it's not the end. I just talked to Sky tonight on the phone. The girl who I'd been attempting to speak to was Megan's friend. It was Megan's birthday party that night; hence the partying.

Megan is in New York City right now and she met up with Sky during a break in his insane work schedule. She had mentioned the incident.

It appears that the girl (whose name escapes me) had been sitting in the corner away from the rest of the party-goers looking rather aloof. She hadn't been socializing with anyone much. Apparently I had noticed this and had gone over to her. I had asked her a single question, but it had been enough to arouse considerable interest:

"Why are you trying to be someone you're not?"

I had been feeling bad all this time, trying to figure out what I had done to this random girl to anger her enough to make her yell at me. Honestly, I had been dreading finding out.

I was a little relieved when Sky explained it to me. And, also, a little proud.

I may have set that girl onto a road that will lead her to a better place in life. A road that will bring her to stronger relationships. A road of honesty; of understanding.

And I pray to every god that I can think of that I don't ever find myself on that same road, as I doubt she would even hesitate to run my inquisitive ass down like a one-legged opossum.