I thought about everything I had remembered so far.

I hated the color yellow and the number 7. I counted everything, remebering nothing, and went to a therapist.

There was a man, with big strong arms that wrapped around me. He had been with me in cabin 43 that was not there anymore. He was an angler, on this lake, Dietz Lake. I had awakened beside him in bed and he was cold. Dead cold. Someone was taken out on a stretcher, in a black bag. Was it him?

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bright yellow piece of caution tape. The sun glinted off of it. I squinted.

“Sun sure is bright today!” he smiled up at me from his seat on the dock, pole in hand. “Fish are down in the weeds and shadows.” He reeled in an empty hook. “Better luck at dusk.” He stood up and put an arm around me. “Come on, kid. Let’s eat!” We went to the concession stand behind the beach part of the lake. People basked on towels or bobbed in the murky water. I ordered a hot dog. He ate two. Plus a burger. He liked mustard.