I was awoken by the sound of a door slamming. Where I was, was on Damo’s foldout couch in the lounge room. Raising my head quicker than I should have, I saw through a crack in the shut blinds Damo leaving. Typically, he’d meant to wake me up, I thought. The kind of smart-arse thing he loves to do. I was still surprised by his behaviour from the day before. Damo’s always been a good mate, but how much he cared I never knew until yesterday.

I rolled over and set one foot on the ground, then the other. Slowly I rose, not particularly tired, but weary. One stop sent me falling face first into the ground. De ja vu as I turned from my sprawled position, hurt, to see my crate of clothes knocked over. Annoyed, I kicked the crate and got up, moving to the kitchen. I fixed myself a glass of water before I noticed the piece of paper on the kitchen table. Picking it up, I read Damo’s messy handwriting.

I had the house to myself. Standing at the kitchen table, I looked it over. In the middle was a fruit bowl, filled with oranges, apples, pears, all fresh. None of which Damo would ever imagine eating. So why were they there? Looking around me, the kitchen, as with most of the house, was fairly clean. Since when Damo had bothered with cleanliness, I didn’t know. Perhaps he’d had a girl over recently and had wanted to impress her. Even that was a stretch. Damo never really went to trouble to impress girls. All he did was get dressed up, slick his hair, go to a club and pick up one of his kind. Damo was the kind of guy I’d hate if he wasn’t my friend. A trendy. A clone. Another blank face amidst the sea of strangers. Familiarity and the fact that he was good to me were the reasons that I liked him.

Still standing at the table, something reminded me of Katya. Something brought back all the dire thoughts. I couldn’t get to the phone quick enough. I dialed her number.

Ring ring. If she doesn’t answer this, it’s over, she’s in prison.

Ring ring. Or she’s run away. Fled. Left her problems – and me.

Ring ring. Or maybe Steven woke up after I left. Maybe he was sent into a violent rage by what I’d done and he’d taken it out on…

“Hello?”

I’d never been more relieved to hear a voice in my life. I’d never needed so many answers all at once. I was so excited that my words were nearly indecipherable.

“Katya, wha… where… oh…” Words were cramming my cranium, trying to pile themselves out.

“Owen?” Her syllables stopped me.

“…Yeah. Sorry, it’s just…”

“Where are you?” She sounded somewhat worried, puzzled.

“Me? I’m at Damo’s. Where have…”

“I’ve been calling your house all morning.” She interrupted again. “I wanted to tell you what happened with Steven.”

Suddenly I was outraged. My relief at hearing her voice had now morphed itself into a barrage of questions on how she could leave me hanging for a whole day. The fact that the situation was my fault had escaped my mind.

“You wanted to tell me?” I spent all yesterday calling your house. I was freaking out!”

“I’m sorry.” She was quick to respond, “I tried your house but got no answer. I figured you’d be at Deakin, so I called Sammi, but she didn’t answer either.”

“We were both in class.” I said, still mildly hostile voiced. “I called as soon as I got out but you weren’t home.”

“Yeah, I went to a friend’s house.”

“A friend?” I repeated, growing more livid.

“Yeah. You don’t know her. Jessie.”

“Well why the fuck didn’t you call me from her house?” I argued, despite that I probably wouldn’t have been home to receive the call. When you’re mad you’ll use anything to help sway the tide your way. My rage had taken hold now. This was the first time I’d ever confronted Katya about anything. My fury had muffled the sounds of the workers inside me who implored me not to swear at her.

“I just… I forgot.”

“You forgot?” I repeated and was about to go off on a tirade before I suddenly realised I was sounding exactly like my father. I reigned myself in, frightened and disgusted. Why is it that every male unwittingly becomes their father? Slowly by slowly it happens and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Individuality is a myth. All people are is an amalgamation of their surroundings. Unfortunately for guys, an integral facet for the first quarter of their life is often their father. What you’ve been exposed to eventually becomes yourself.

Just as I stopped myself, Katya was ready to step in line and stop me anyway.

“Do you want to know what happened or do you just want to yell at me?”

I composed myself before opening my mouth again.

“No. I want to know what happened.” And I suddenly remembered just how desperately I wanted this information. Since Katya was home, I figured she’d gotten away with my actions. How? I wondered. Why? I needed to know.

“I’d prefer not to speak about it over the phone, could we meet up somewhere?”

“Shit man, I’m dying of curiosity here.” I couldn’t believer she was going to make me wait even longer for this.

“Sorry. I’d just prefer to talk about this face to face.”

“Fine.” I said, kicking the air around me violently in frustration. We agreed to meet each other halfway, at Flinders Street Station. I decided to take the notebook I’d been using in my Professional Writing and Editing class the day before with me. I figured I might try to rewrite a little, just to appease Salinger. Failing that, I could just write poems, I figured.

It wasn’t until I arrived at Flinders Street and sat down that I noticed the weirdness inside the notebook. I’d opened it to the back where I’d written the notes of what had happened so far in the novel. Various snippets of my life which I was planning on putting into words. Making reality a story. Turning truth false. Rewriting history.

My scattered notes told me things I already knew. Happenings that had nestled themselves nicely into the continuity of my mind. “Spewing at Hood’s…”, “Driving to the beach, Kyuss playing…”, “Had sex on the beach…”

Now these random notes had arrows pointing from them to other random notes. Notes that I don’t remember writing. Notes that I don’t remember existing.

Confused, I stared at the notes, wondering how they’d gotten in my notebook. What was even stranger though was that “Had sex on the beach…” was no longer the last of the notes. Now it was “Went to class – told to rewrite…”

I was completely bewildered, scared even, a little. Mr. Salinger had said that history had a habit of rewriting itself. Could the present do the same? For a second, the thought that I was going insane appeared a possibility. Watching the notes, them written in my handwriting, what was going on, I didn’t know. I’d almost forgotten why I was in the city when I heard Katya’s voice and looked up to see her in front of me.

“Hi.” She said, and she was smiling. My mind left the notes and refocused itself on her now, the workers inside me screaming for answers as to what had happened with the police.

“I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t fill me in on the details.” I said straight away, then “and hi.” Katya nodded, her smile lessening and her demeanor becoming more serious. She looked left and right before locking eyes with me.

“Do you want to go for a walk or a coffee or something?” she asked.

I must have still been weirded out by the notebook because I was blunt and honest, not premeditating my response based on how Katya would react.

“Actually, I just remembered how much I hate the city. Would you mind if we just went to Damo’s?”

“Um…” she looked slightly surprised. “Sure, if you want.”

As we walked to a platform and waited for a train, Katya asked me why I was staying at Damo’s, to which I briefly explained the situation with my father before realizing what was going on.

“Jesus!” I said, and we were on a train heading to Damo’s house. “Are you trying to drive me insane? Tell me what fuckin’ happened with the cops!” Katya just laughed. She was teasing me. About this, of all things.

“Fine.” She said, still chuckling. “I’ll tell you.”

How she could be so cool and laugh about this was beyond me. I’d stabbed her father. I knew she didn’t particularly care for him, but this was no normal circumstance. I would have thought that she’d be a little more somber about the ordeal, at least. As she began to unfold the story, I couldn’t help but think that something was weird about her today. Something was different.

What she had told the police in her statement about the incident was that her father had assaulted her and that she, fearing that further damage may come her way, stabbed him in self-defense. Apparently the police bought that story entirely. Katya had a way with words, I knew, and the kind of eyes that projected honesty. The kind you could look into and get lost in, yet never want to escape. If I wasn’t in such awe of her ability to fool the interrogator, I may have given thought to the fact that if she could lie so easily about this and not get caught, how would I ever be able to discern if she was lying to me about anything?

Katya’s main worry, she said, was that when her father awoke, he would remember everything and bring the shades down on the façade. He awoke while she was being interviewed apparently. He too was questioned about the incident. What Katya was told before she was allowed to leave the station was that her father had no memory of the incident. He could not recall a thing. Katya noted on her way out that it was probably due to trauma. Maybe the events had been so intense, so agonizing, that his mind had decided it would rather erase them from existence than to deal with them properly. If you try hard enough you can convince yourself of anything.

Katya seemed relieved whilst finishing the story as we entered Damo’s house. I’d told her where the secret key was and she’d retrieved it almost before I said a word. More so than relieved, she seemed triumphant. As if we had achieved some great victory. As if we’d pulled a swifty on everyone. Her demeanor helped to lessen any guilt I may have felt, but still I couldn’t help wondering how she was so collected about it all. I’d been a wreck whilst waiting for this news. She’d lived it and came out emotionally unscathed, it seemed. Indicative of her inner strength, I figured. Just another reason she’s completely amazing, I thought.

Katya helped me fold the couch, to make the lounge room tidier, I guess. Why she cared, I don’t know. Then we sat. Both of us cross-legged on the couch, facing each other.

“So, what do you think?” she asked. Eyes on eyes, I was dumbfounded. Each second they told a different story, communicated the essence of her being. In this moment all outbursts, all tears, all warning signs were out of my mind. She was my angel. And feeling I should reply, all I could muster was a question.

“What about Steven? I mean, are they charging him for hitting you.”

Katya seemed slightly taken by the inquiry. Her eyes turned suddenly solemn and she shook her head. She told me that she’d not pressed charges. She couldn’t. Seeing her pensive due to this, I managed words to try and find her smile again.

“I hope you know how fucking incredible you are.” Then suddenly, a thought dug its way in. Suddenly I felt terrible. “Shit, Katya.” I had to look away, guilt was pulsing through me. It only takes seconds for your body to drown in depression once it hits. One thought was all it had taken to inhibit my predisposition to rapid mood swings. “I can’t believe you’re still speaking to me after this.” I was almost teary-eyed the remorse had hit me so bad. “I stabbed your Dad.” I said and it started to sink in. Regret like I’d never felt before. “I stabbed your fucking Dad and let you take the blame for it.” Tears were definitely welling as I eyed downward at my hands resting on my crossed legs. I felt on the verge of a breakdown when her soft skin gently pushed my chin up and her lips touched mine. Guiltily I fought it, for a second, until I felt her other hand grip the back of my head and pull me closer to her. Kissing, she was soothing me. Just as I’d comforted her so much recently, she did me. My abluent savior.

When our lips parted, our eyes instantly met each other. Our faces were centimetres apart.

“You did it for me.” She said and our eyes stayed on each other for what felt like seconds but could have been hours. Then, as I leant in for another kiss, unexpected words startled me.

“Can I ask you a question?” I stopped and fell back in my position a little.

“Yeah.” The guilt of my actions was quickly evaporating, like footprints in sand. Less and less my thoughts concerned Steven. More and more I was absorbed by the moment. Alone with Katya, talking, kissing. Freedom. When you’re lost with someone you love, the volume gets turned down on everything else.

Katya paused for a moment before speaking, as if trying to word her inquiry perfectly. I wished she’d prepared it better, or just not asked at all.

“Did you and Sammi have a thing going last year?”

I was stopped. My mind frozen. Incapacitated by a jamming of overthoughts. One thing about rewriting history is that sometimes your version differs from everyone else’s. I had to compose myself after the question, before finally answering. Katya waiting with curious eyes, the faint hint of a grin or smirk I may have imagined her wearing.

“We didn’t have a thing ‘going’.” I responded calmly, my workers screaming. “What we had was a one night mistake.” Katya seemed intrigued by my reply.

“She said you guys had sex at a beach party last year.”

“We didn’t have sex.” I retorted instantly. Katya eyed me oddly. “We fucked. There’s a difference.” And I could feel a tangent brewing inside me. I hoped that Katya wouldn’t fan the flames, the smile on her face and curiosity in her voice told me she would though. She knew that this was irritating me, but she must have found it funny. Or have been actually interested.

“So what happened?” She asked and now I knew she was fighting herself not to laugh.

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“We do if you want another kiss.” Katya teased. I let out a quiet chuckle, more out of frustration than anything else. I ran over the memories briefly in my head before relating them to her, in scrambled note form.

“Well, you know that Sammi and I both went to the same school?” Katya nodded. I continued. “Greg’s girlfriend’s parents had a beach house in Lorne and she convinced them to let her hold her 18th there. It was a fairly exclusive thing but Greg got me an invite.” I stopped, hoping in vain that Katya would let that suffice as the end of the story.

“And?” She wouldn’t. I sighed and continued.

“And I drank and smoked way too much. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow Sammi and I ended up going for a walk. One thing led to another and we…”

“Fucked.” Katya concluded for me. I was hasty to jump back in. To justify the whole thing. Probably more to myself than to Katya.

“You don’t know how much I regret that night.”

“Why? Sammi’s a sexy girl.” She said with a sly grin, teasing. When she saw how serious I was, she desisted.

“That has nothing to do with anything.” I countered. “I’ve always hated the idea of just fucking. I’ve seen Damo do it for years and it’s filthy. I don’t see the point in doing that with someone unless you at least like them.” Katya nodded, understanding apparently. At this stage I’d totally forgotten that she’d gone through a period in her life when she ‘fucked’ constantly.

“And you didn’t like Sammi?” She asked, not teasing anymore, but actually interested.

“Not like that.” I affirmed, the mere memory of the night bringing me to disgust.

“What about us?” She said, taking me by surprise. My silence and stunned look persuaded her to continue. “Do you regret that we just ‘fucked’?”

She remembered. Whether I was relieved or not, I didn’t know. I was too busy scripting an answer. Finally, I lifted one of my hands and rested it on one of hers.

“The only thing I regret about it is that I can barely remember it.” Almost instantly Katya’s face contorted. Hurt was nearly evident on her face.

“Really?” She couldn’t believe it. “I remember every second of it.” I had no idea what to say. The workers inside me thrust their pelvises proudly. I laughed and shook my head. I’d been worried whether she’d recalled anything and it turned out she did more than me.

Still chuckling, I asked “Was it good for you?” jokingly. Katya grinned, somewhat deviously, and leant in close to me. Again our lips met. On Damo’s couch we continued. Soon my shirt was off. Then Katya’s. Laying her back, I peppered kisses in the side of her neck, moving down. I began kissing down her left arm. I wanted to leave an imprint of my being on every inch of her body. Slowly moving from her shoulder downwards, I was almost at the inside of her elbow when it abruptly pulled away from me violently. I looked up, startled, to see her looking at me. We were paused for a second before she grabbed me tight and rolled me over. On top of me, it was her turn to scale my skin. Her lips were on my belly button, her hands unbuckling the belt on my jeans when I heard the sound of a door slamming. Seconds later was chaos.

“Shit!” Damo was shocked, having walked in. Katya flew away from me and turned her back to Damo instantly. I, as usual in situations like this, was frozen. All I could do was turn my head slightly to see Damo staring at me, unwittingly, I hoped. The room was cold and awkward until Damo broke the silence, saying “I’ll be back in five minutes.” He turned and again the door was slammed. I looked over at Katya who was already putting her shirt on. When finished, she faced me.

“I should go.” She said.

“No.” I retorted. “I mean, you don’t have to.” She grinned, awkwardly.

“Nah. It would just be weird.” She came over and kissed me, still laying, on the forehead. “Call me tonight.” She said before leaving.

Processing what had just happened, it was probably a minute before I thought I should be walking Katya to the train station or something. I hurriedly chucked on my shirt and went to the front of the house, though she was gone. Too late, I figured. It was light anyway. She’d be okay. Re-entering the house, I couldn’t help but find the whole thing mildly amusing.

Sitting back down on the couch, waiting for Damo to return, my thoughts wandered back to my notebook. The notes I’d written without writing them. I opened the notebook to the back again and was completely wondrous as to how this had happened. Confused, something told me I needed to go to the front of the book. To write something, anything. This was too weird.

Imagine my shock when I turned to the front page and found “I was sitting in the courtyard of Deakin University, on a bench, writing.” Words I thought I’d lost at the beach house, and more. Where it ended was “Then Katya’s dad arrived.”

The past told for the present. Memories becoming history. History rewriting itself.