[ WP ] All my life I had been fascinated with the memories I can recall that were n't my own .

`` And, and then, I jumped off the roof and into the kiddie pool full of dog shit! It was hilarious!'' 
 
 The date glared over her glasses. `` You just told me you have n't ever been to Bath.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, I know,'' I replied rubbing the bristle behind my neck. 
 
 `` And you just said you were afraid of heights!'' 
 
 `` I really am, I swear,'' I pleased into my condensation covered water glass, holding the stem as if filled with a finely aged sauvignon blanc. I placed it down next to the plate of shrimp scampi remains and cleared my throat. The woman crossed her arms. 
 
 `` So that makes you, what, some kind of fraud?'' 
 
 Although the majority of the our collected time spend had been folding clothes and rustling for quarters, I could tell she was beginning to anger. Her Puerto Rican accent began to show and it did not signify acceptance. I made a hasty retreat back into the water cup. 
 
 `` Is this how you impress the ladies? Make up phoney stories?'' 
 
 Damn, did she have good legs, the water, I mean. It was surprisingly refreshing. And strangely familiar. I put the glass down once more and picked up my fork and began to sift through the cream sauce, feeling like the archeologist I would never become, prying for tender buried noodles. 
 
 `` This one time, I was on a beach in Nice, you know, France, and this big guy came up to-'' 
 
 `` Were you really?'' 
 
 `` No, but this big guy came up to me, real hairy son of a gun, and he started kicking sand in my face. Now, I had been asleep the whole time and I do n't speak any French, so he's yelling and I start yelling and finally he throws his hands up and slaps me in the chest. Did I tell you how big he was?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` Huge! Like two giant barrels and a big ol' keg, but there was no way I could take a guy like that. So I'm screaming and I stand up and wham! He slaps me right in the chest. Turns out, he was trying to stop me from getting sun burnt. Either that or I had fornicated with his eldest daughter, er, niece, I do n't know, I really ca n't speak French that well.'' 
 
 Across from me, Margarita de la Peña, the foxy mystery girl from Laundro-Palace, snorted and finished her water. From the way she almost shattered the glass when she put it down, I could tell she did n't feel the same way about how it tasted. I found a small scrap of noodle with a single leafy fleck on it, and attempted to spear it with a single prong of my fork. 
 
 `` Funny thing is, I've never actually been to France. Last time I was at a beach was when I was seven. I almost drowned, like, for real.'' 
 
 Margarita made a sound in her throat and looked at her tiny gold wrist watch. I do n't know what it was, but that was always what fascinated me about her, the way she looked when she checked the time. Her eyes carried a kind of sadness that I could never quite pinpoint. It was either a perpetual anxiety for the minutes that evaded her grasp or a melancholy for the time she had already spend. A gaze, deep down into her core waiting for a time when she would not have to feel quite so alone. I had a feeling I would n't get a chance to ask which it was. 
 
 `` I just do n't know. I have n't been to these places, but how am I so sure about these events? I can taste that dog shit, and the sand and the way those three tribe women tasted.'' 
 
 The woman's ear's pricked up. I blushed and continued. `` The question I keep coming to, is whether or not any of this really happened, you know? Am I living vicariously through someone else or am I just crazy and delusional? Am I making all of this up? Just what the hell is going on here really?'' 
 
 Apparently, I had been yelling, because the Maitre d' not only brought the check himself, but placed his hand on my shoulder. He gave me a particularly fowl smile and exchanged no words. I found myself in awe at such a professional. 
 
 `` Too bad,'' I said brushing the wavy olive mop from my pale brow, `` I really wanted to try that goat cheese cheesecake.'' 
 
 As I placed my small plastic card into the half pocket of the leather bound receipt booklet, a waiter quickly fetched it and disappeared like a shade into shadows. Our table was immediately draped in silence. With no water left, I was stuck ruing yet another date ruined by my inexplicable tenancies to turn into a deranged hobgoblin. Eventually the silence was cut, surprisingly not by me. 
 
 `` Did I tell you this time I ate thirty five loafs of bread?'' 
 
 My jaw unhinged. `` No way, you did n't really?'' 
 
 `` No of course not, but I totally did.'' 
 
 Shame rushed into my face but I did the best to hide my gullibility. I let her continue. 
 
 `` I got locked in this bread store when I fell in through the sun roof. I was trapped in their storage room and the only way to escape was to eat my way out.'' 
 
 Although the mocking over tones started to dig their way between my fingernails, there was a certain gleam in the Margarita's eyes, so I bit. `` What kind of bread was it?'' 
 
 `` Oh every kind!'' she said grinning, `` Rye, wheat, white, you name it'' 
 
 `` Was there pumpernickel? I wo n't touch that stuff, it's nasty.'' 
 
 `` Yeah that was the worst part, I had to save that loaf for last.'' 
 
 She laughed and it was heavenly. Meanwhile, a bread man carrying a freshly sliced basket of pumpernickel hung his head in defeat. I smiled back at Margarita, even as the waitress handed me the receipt and ushered us out. 
 
 Outside of the restaurant, a chill had come over the urban street. It was one of those sudden cold influxes that makes you wish you were better at planning. We both commented on the sudden change and I suppressed the urge to regale her with the tale of my non-existent ski instructor's untimely demise ( although I felt that it was a pretty good story ). I turned to my date and concluded it a failure, all that was left was to confirm it. 
 
 `` So, can I give you a call?'' 
 
 `` No,'' she said, `` but I'll see you at the laundromat.'' 
 
 She walked off with a glance that I interpreted as a mix of total distrust and utter incomprehensible fascination. Before she turned at the end of the block, I caught her looking at her watch. I stood in place, not moving, trying to picture a phantom of her checking her watch. What exactly did she see in that dial? I figured it was hands marched further than expected, but I hoped she saw her reflection.
