Michael drummed his fingers on the vinyl booth, the fluorescent lights of the diner humming a discordant tune. Across from him, David recounted the incident with a casual air, like it was a minor inconvenience. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were clouded. "Well, I got a flat tire, and you helped me change it. Classic Saturday."
The details were a jumble in Michael’s mind, and he focused on the sensation of an itch building at the nape of his neck. "No. No, I remember it differently. I was sick that weekend. I was laid up in bed with a terrible headache." He took a long, slow sip of his coffee.
David's brow furrowed. "But… we went to the lake. We spent hours fishing. Remember? I even caught that massive catfish that almost pulled me in." The way he spoke was casual, but the words felt like a direct contradiction of Michael’s memory.
Michael leaned forward, suddenly wanting to scream. "The lake? I have no memory of the lake! We stayed in, ordered pizza, and watched a terrible movie." His heart rate quickened. He needed to sort this out.
David looked at him, confused, and his face turned to a mask of pity. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? Maybe it’s a concussion."