remember me. (crenny)

four

Craig called me again sometime around five months after the police incident.

"I need you to come over for an hour or such," he explained directly. "Not gonna be weird. Strictly business."

I remember agreeing; I don't remember why.

When I arrived at Craig's doorstep, it was clear to not just myself but everybody who were to lay eyes on me that I was horrifically nervous. I felt like I was going to puke all over my shoes, or worse, on the Tucker's tacky welcome mat. I rang the doorbell twice by accident due to the shaking in my hands.

Craig answered the door quickly. I could immediately notice that his cheeks had become more filled out, yet the dark circles under his eyes had yet to disappear. "Come in," he urged, motioning me into the living room. I could make out the sound of someone (presumably Laura) doing the dishes in the kitchen.

His house looked nearly identical from how it looked back in June, except three white boxes sitting stacked in the corner of the living room. I felt my heart skip a beat and tried not to focus on the whirling in my stomach.

"Up to my room." Craig was already on his way up the stairs by the time I'd looked away from the boxes, and I hurried to keep pace after him.

The moment I entered the door, I felt my throat bubbling. There were so many words spinning around in my esophagus that were begging to be spoken and all I could do was stare at him. I remember I felt like I hated Craig.

I remember not hating him at all, though.

"I have something of yours," he coughed and knelt down on the side of his bed. He pulled out a backpack and unzipped it, shuffling his fist around inside for a moment.

My shoulders tensed. What if it was a suicide note–?

"Here you go." It was a ziploc baggie with what looked to be about a half ounce of weed. "This was yours."

I blinked. What?

"Are you going to take it or not?"

I caught up to reality and took the baggie from him. I probably grabbed it a little too quickly. "Is that everything?"

Craig blinked. Why was he looking at me like that? His face was flat and dull, showing little to no emotion. His eyebrows sat low over his eyes, and I began to feel embarrassed. Was he judging me for something? He looked like he was judging me for something.

"I guess."

"Why didn't you just come over and drop it off then?"

Craig scoffed. "I don't think Clyde would've taken it so kindly."

He had a point. It was a stupid question.

"When did I leave weed here?" I asked suddenly. I couldn't remember bringing weed here, and I'd only ever been here once. When the hell did I just give him a half ounce of weed?

For some reason, it looked like the question made him uncomfortable. He was shifting in his place on the floor like he didn't like how he felt sitting here. "Um, after graduation? Summer?"

I blinked. "But I didn't bring any weed here," I sputtered, "I didn't have any on me at the party at least."

This seemed to confuse him more. "But you did," he insisted. "I found it in your coat pocket later?" I didn't like the look he was giving me.

"In my coat pocket?" I repeated back to him. It wasn't making sense. I didn't remember any of this. "How'd you find it in my coat pocket?"

Something in Craig's eyes seemed to fall into place and his chest looked as though it stopped breathing for a moment. Something about that question kicked him in the stomach. He looked around the carpet in front of him with his eyebrows knitted together and desperately tried to make sense of what I was asking him. "I felt it, I pulled it out."