The Summer We Definitely Didn't Have

By the time Mario brought up the third imaginary event before lunch, his cousin, Hanah was quietly Googling early onset memory loss on her phone.

“You remember.” Mario said casually, “balancing a forkful of potato salad, the summer we spent at Nana’s cabin and we trained the raccoon to steal popsicles from the ice cream truck.”

Hanah froze. The fork was halfway to her mouth. “What? The What?”

Mario blinked at her. “Don’t act like it wasn’t a whole thing. Training the raccoon and we laughed until we cried.”

They were sitting at their Aunt Loren's annual backyard cookout, the one with the folding chairs that were too small for most of the family to sit in comfortably and pinched the backs of your legs and when you sat in them. And the old record player that Aunt Loren would drag out from the house so she could play old records on that skipped. Hanah had mainly driven for three hours just to hear the gossip and for the potato salad. She had not come to question her whole childhood.

“We did not train a raccoon.” Hanah said carefully. “There were no raccoons at the cabin. At least we did not see any.”

“Details, details. “ Mario waved her off. “Anyway, his name was Captain Grey Whiskers.”

Hanah put her fork down. “Mario.”

“Yes Han?”

“There was no raccoon.”

Mario squinted at her the way people do when they are trying to decide whether you’re the one being weird cause you just don’t remember what they are saying. “Well, I guess you really know how to block things out.”

“I did not block anything out. I would know if I saw a raccoon that I named.”

“Well.” Mario leaned back in his chair, “You did cry when he ran off with your orange Popsicle.”

Hanah opened her mouth and then closed it again and said, “ I don’t even like orange Popsicle.”

Mario gasped. “That’s because Captain Whiskers ruined it for you. After he stole the Popsicle you didn’t want to eat them again.”

Hanah stared at him. He stared back completely seriously. He was chewing on his ribs thoughtfully. Somewhere behind them, their Aunt Lisa yelled at someone for touching the grill with their bare hands.

“Okay.” Hanah said softly. “Let’s rewind. When did this raccoon situation actually happen?”

“Summer of 98. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Hanah echoed. “The summer of 98, when I was nine years old and you were eleven and we spent the entire summer at the cabin watching daytime television and arguing over the remote.”

Mario nodded. “Yes, and training the raccoon.”

“No. We did not train any wild animals. Not even a raccoon.”

“Yes. We did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Hanah rubbed her temples. “Mario, Grandma was terrified of wild animals. She once screamed because she saw a pigeon.”

“That’s true.” Mario said. “But our raccoon wore sunglasses when he was around her.”

Hanah stood up. She needed some air away from Mario and possibly her therapist.

She walked towards the cooler on the other side of the yard, trying to breathe normally. He’s messing with you, she told herself. Mario had always been dramatic, sarcastic and allergic to the truth sometimes. This had to be a joke. Or he needed a therapist.

She grabbed a soda from the cooler and popped it open. She walked back to the table.

“So.” She said, trying to stay calm. “What else did I apparently miss from my own childhood?”

Mario smiled. “Seriously? Well, there was a brief phase where you insisted on being called Night Hawk.”

Hanah choked on her soda. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You wore that black hoodie everywhere. Even when it was 80 degrees in July. You would perch on the arm of the couch and whisper something about the night sees all.”

Hanah wiped her mouth with her napkin. “That definitely did not happen.”

“Oh it happened.” Mario said. “You made me swear not to tell anyone.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Well,” He shrugged. “You broke the pact first by forgetting about the raccoon.”

Hanah looked around for backup. Someone else must have overheard this story Mario was telling. Surely someone would jump in and tell him to stop lying. But all the aunts were deep in conversation about church drama and other family drama. The kids were busy in a water balloon fight.

It was just them.

“Mario,” Hanah said, lowering her voice. “Are you serious? Or are you trying to gaslight me?”

Mario laughed. “Hanah, if I were gas lighting you, I would remind you of the time you tried to run away in the middle of winter and got as far as the mailbox before you turned around and came back home.”

Hanah got butterflies in her stomach.

She did have a vague memory of crying near a mailbox once. But that was normal, right? Kids cried all the time and sometimes near mailboxes. Probably.

“I did not run away.” She insisted. She was less confident than before.

“Oh yes you did.” Mario said. “You packed a small backpack with three pairs of socks, your favorite doll, and VHS tape.”

“Which VHS tape might that have been?”

“The Lion King. You said that Simba would protect you.”

Hanah felt sick.

“Okay.” She said standing up again. “I need to talk to Mom.”

She marched across the yard and found her mother near the dessert table chatting with Uncle Douglas.

“Mom.” Hanah said. “Quick question. Did I ever have a phase where I called myself Night Hawk?”

“Night what?”

Hanah exhaled in relief.

“See?” She said when she got back to the table where Mario was still sitting. She was triumphant. “My own mother does not remember anything that you said.”

Mario nodded thoughtfully. “Well, of course she would not remember because you made us swear not to tell the adults.”

Hanah clenched her fists.

She tried again. “Mom, have we ever had a raccoon?”

Her mother stared at her puzzled. “Why would we ever have a raccoon?”

Hanah turned toward Mario who was now standing next to her. “You are absolutely lying. You are done.”

Mario looked at his hands. “Okay, Okay. I see what this is.”

“What?”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“I am not embarrassed by things that never happened.”

“Sure. Just like the talent show.”

Hanah rolled her eyes. “What talent show are you talking about?”

“The one where you tried to do spoken-word poetry about time.”

“I have never done any spoken-word poetry about anything.”

Hanah sat down hard in her chair.

“ I definitely would have remembered that.”

“You snapped at the end.” Mario said. “Twice. Very boldly.”

“Like I said I would have remembered that.”

Mario leaned closer. “Would you?”

Hanah stared at him. Her brain began flipping through memories like a messy filing system. Birthday parties, scrapped knees, holidays, boring summers, Christmas vacations, and even selling girl scout cookies in the 5th grade. There were gaps but that was normal, right? Everyone had gaps. Nobody could remember every single thing.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked.

Mario smiled his warm and familiar smile. “Nothing. I just like to see how far I can go.”

“So you admit it? You are making all this crap up. Trying to make me look like a fool who can’t remember things?”

“Well, some of it.” Mario admitted.

“Some of it?”

“Okay, okay, fine.” He sighed. “There was no raccoon.”

Hanah exhaled with relief.

“And you probably never called yourself Night Hawk.” He said.

“Thank you.”

“But,” he continued. “You did try to run away from home.”

Hanah rolled her eyes at him.

“And you did cry at the mailbox because Grandma told you that growing up meant losing people.”

Hanah swallowed hard. That memory felt real.

Mario grinned. “Oh that one is real.”

Hanah groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Did I snap too?”

“Twice.” Mario said. “You were very confident at the poetry reading.”

She laughed. “You are evil, Mario.”

“I prefer the term selectively honest.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Listening to the noise of the cookout around them.

“You know.” Hanah said, “For a second there I really thought that I was losing my mind.”

Mario shrugged his shoulders. “Nah. Just gaining perspective.”

Hanah laughed and shook her head. “If you ever tell anyone about Night Hawk…”

“If I do, I will deny everything.” Mario said laughing.

“I know you will.”

They clinked soda cans.

“Oh,” Mario added casually, “And you definitely married that boy Robert under the tree in second grade.”

Hanah laughed. “I am going home.”

“You can’t.” Mario said. “You are only allowed to walk as far as the mailbox.”

They both laughed and this time she remembered exactly how it was.