I leave the bar and, stepping into the tea-colored cascade of evening sunlight that's spilling over the highrises across the street, adjust my sunglasses and begin walking the block south. I notice how my neatly polished shoes seem to leave ripples in the cracked and creased concrete sidewalk upon which they tread. Shiny black, almost wet-looking, breaking up the hard textured surface of the grey sidewalk. The more I concentrate on them, the more I fall into myself. It's happening; the memory tsunami.
---
I'm 13 years old again; full of energy and ready to expend it all as quick as possible. Surrounded by tall pines and a gently glowing fire, Luke asks me if I want to "Be a part of the group, man!" Yeah, hell yeah; I nod and follow him into the dark beyond the shed. Just as I pass the shadow cast by the structure I'm set upon by fists, kneecaps, and elbows that seemed to spring from the darkness itself. An unidentifiable force pushes me into the dampening grass, and I feel the weight of several people on my chest as punches and boot heels rain down on my shoulders, back, and buttocks. Then silence.

I lay for a second, just trying to put myself in a place where I can sleep through whatever comes next. Then Gary thrusts an open palm in mine "Get up dude, you're in!" I'm confused, In? In what? I brush off the pine needles and grass stuck to my shirt and jeans. Luke and the guys are standing around, smiling, laughing; Hahahaha, you did good man. You're in!

Heh. Yeah, cool. Sup fellas, yeah.

Alright dude, now it's your turn.

"My turn?"

Yeah, you have to go find someone now. Bring 'em back.

I'm not proud that it didn't occur to me that I'd been almost instantly co-opted by greed. I was happy to be part of the power elite. Who wouldn't be right? Hell yeah I'll go get someone. We'll jump 'em in; and they'll get it too, just like I did. And they'll be grateful.

I picked the wrong kid.

My face contorts in regret as the tsunami tide rushes back out to sea and leaves a trail of scattered flash memories stacked on top of each other. These horrible things are left to roast in the harsh, noon sun that is hindsight. I drag myself out of the detritus that is my past and convince myself that 1994 doesn't exist anymore.