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#2
Answers come easier than people think. You just have
to ask the right questions. If I really did go back in
time, then my new memories should be old memories for
everyone else. I decided to sit down with Rich and get
the facts straight. Part of me didn't want to, didn't
want to know. It was better to believe things as I did,
that Jason was right, that I didn't go back. Still, I
had to know. I would go insane if I didn't find out.
I chose Rich because it was the safest choice. Talking
to my mother would require bringing up my grandmother's
death and my strange behavior during that time. I didn't
want to open old wounds. My father offered the same difficulties.
Rich would think I was nuts, but that wouldn't at all
alter his opinion of me. He'd called me nuts several times
in my life.
Rich chose to meet me at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Garden
City, the same place I had laid it on the line to Tanya
just a short time before. She hadn't called like Rich
predicted. That didn't mean I didn't think about the fact
that she didn't call. Sure, I was dating Darlene, but
the remnants of the relationship with Tanya stayed strong.
I wanted to reach inside and rip whatever it was that
kept me thinking about her out. I didn't know where to
start, the head or the heart. I never admitted this sort
of addiction to anyone else. I couldn't tell Rich; I would
only expose myself to pain. If I told Tanya, she'd see
it as some ray of hope, some small, smoldering ember that
could later ignite a relationship I thought best snuffed
out. Of course, I am telling this from my side, as if
my perspective and perception is absolutely perfect.
Rich had gotten to the steakhouse before me. He sat a
the bar, facing the front door. The place was quiet, with
only two other people at the bar, and a handful of tables
occupied in the dining room, scattered about. Rich smoked
a cigarette, a beer in front of him. The bartender, Larry,
was a friend of mine. I wished he wasn't working. I didn't
want him to overhear the conversation. We could have sat
down at a table, but I can't tell you the last time I
remember going to a restaurant with Rich that we actually
ate.
"Dr. Camponi," Rich said as I walked over,
"who'd you kill?"
"No one, yet," I said.
"Being sued?"
"Nope."
I sat down on the stool to the left of Rich.
"Then what sort of legal advice to you need?"
Rich asked.
"None. That's not why I asked you here. It is something
else."
"What else? You said you wanted to pick my brain."
"Not exactly much to pick."
Read Post #3
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