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04:39 pm - Designated Driver

"Five G&T's," I tell the bartender. "And a coke."



"Whoa, buddy, you gonna be okay to leave?" he says, looking me up and down. I'm not big, I know.



"They're not for me," I reassure him. "I'm the designated driver."



As he starts mixing, Jake comes in. Looking around the bar, his eyes land on me and there's a sudden flicker of recognition, followed by the halfway wave one gives to a familiar acquaintance whose name you suddenly realize you don't remember. But it's too late; we've seen each other, so he has to come over.



"Hey… there…" he explores his way into the conversation. "How's it going?"



"Hey, there, Jake," I say, to establish that *I* remembered *his* name. Kind of a dick move, I know, but I take satisfaction where I can. I let it hang there a while before finally saying, "Andrew. From the lab."



"Andrew!" he suddenly says with relief. "The lab…! Wow, was it that long ago?" I nod. "I almost forgot this place existed but I was just in the neighborhood… Haven't been here since those days, now that I think about it. Not since…"



His face scrunches, suddenly trying to grab the memory. I say nothing, not yet - waiting for the others - and the silence lands on us like a brick.



Fortunately, it ends as quickly as it began as Eddie comes in. "Whoa!" he shouts as he comes over to us, struggling to remember who we are the whole way. We repeat the re-introductions and marvel at what a coincidence it is that all three of us happened to just drop into the old hole-in-the-wall on the same day.



The coincidence gets eerier, of course, as Donald, then Jason, and finally Mick decide to drop in as well. Six of us, all from the old lab days, all suddenly get an urge on the same day to drop into the corner watering hole that we haven't been to in years and years?



The bartender sets the last of the G&Ts down behind me, plus the cola. I hand one to each of them, keeping the soda for myself. I raise my glass. "To Harvir!" I shout. The others raise almost reflexively, then suddenly there is confusion.



"Who?"

"Harvir?"

"What?"



"What's going on?" Jason asks, a little belligerently.



Mick is eyeing his G&T, the faintest hint of memory starting to tickle at him, I think. "Harvir worked at the lab, too, didn't he?"



I nod. "He did. Had a PhD in synaptic response time."



Donald's brow furrows. "Oh… yeah, the Arab guy?"



"No," I say calmly. "Harvir wasn't an Arab. He was Sikh. It's just that we all *thought* he was an Arab when…"



I don't have to finish the sentence. That September morning suddenly starts to trickle back.



Mick is still starting into his glass. "What did we do to…" But he doesn't have to finish his sentence either.



Growing horror is showing on all their faces. "How did I forget about…" Jake starts, then chokes. "How did I forget that we…"



"It was more accident than intent," I tell them, "but it didn't change the fact that afterwards we buried the evidence in every way possible." I reach into my pocket and draw out the small glass bottle with five gelcaps in it.



As soon as they see them, that part comes back, too. The lab did a lot of work in memory recovery, but along the way we learned a thing or two about memory suppression as well.



Unfortunately, the effectiveness of a safe dosage doesn't last. And so it is that every September 12th, subconsciously prompted by the memory of the date, my former teammates find themselves suddenly needing to drop back into the old haunt, the old familiar dive where we hatched about a million good laughs and exactly one terrible criminal conspiracy.



Fortunately, I'm there with a bump for each of them every time.



Once they're all set, I raise my own, untainted glass again. "To Harvir," I repeat, and they repeat, and then they drink.



"You'd better get going," I tell them all with a dismissive wave. "You need to be home, or somewhere safe at least, when it kicks in a couple of hours from now. You're going to think tomorrow's hangover is from all the drinking you don't remember doing."



Eddie looks at his empty glass. "Nine years. Don't you ever want to switch out, Andrew? Let one of us remember for next year, while you get to forget?"



I shrug. "I know the formula best. Still have connections in the lab. No two ways around it; I'm the best choice." I start herding them actively to the door. It's like this every year - gotta physically push them out onto the sidewalk.



One by one, they start trickling away, each one unable to resist one last look back at me, knowing that tomorrow they'll have once again forgotten that we used to be best buddies.



"Don't look so glum," I shout after them. "See you next year!"



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For consideration: inspired by http://dailyfiction.wordpress.com/2010/03/12/wake/