Friday, July 26th

Moonlit nights are often taken for granted. Especially in this modern age of artificial light. We seldom appreciate the light of a full moon unless we catch it by accident or make an intentional effort to experience it.

A couple weeks ago I had to walk home from a party. It was in an older, but affluent part of the city just south of downtown and about 5 miles west of my parent's house. We were mostly underaged kids and for some reason I didn't drink that night. The cops showed up some time after midnight to break up... our noise I guess. My ride must have snuck out right when the police arrived. When I noticed his truck was gone I slipped out the back gate and started walking home.

I was a few months away from turning 17. Although envious of my friends who had their licenses and their own cars (I had neither), I did not mind walking. In fact, in most situations I preferred it. I enjoy walking without any real set destination. I had read that Jim Morrison would walk aimlessly through downtown LA. Since the Doors and Jim Morrison were becoming peculiar interests of mine, I embraced the opportunity.

It was Friday, July 26th. The night was a little warmer than usual even for July. I noticed the moon high above the desert hills and was amazed how quiet the city can be at 1am. There were a couple of headlights and taillights off in the distance, but they were more like midnight mirages than reality.

About 15 minutes into my walk I heard a vehicle approaching from around the corner to my left. I was at peace in my thoughts and the noise of the engine startled me. As it turned down the street where I was walking I saw that it was an older, white pickup. The driver had just turned the headlights on, but not before I got a look at his face.

The feeling I felt once the truck passed is something I've never experienced before and not because I was only 16 . It's what I remember most about that night, but also the one thing I would like to forget.

I tried to clear my thoughts. I thought about looking for a pay phone to call my mom, but she had enough going on to have to wake up and come get me. I decided to keep going, but realized I had underestimated the endurance needed for the walk. I was tired and the boots I was wearing were more for style than for treading concrete.

I could faintly hear the sound of the river competing with the old neon signs in the windows of the buildings I was passing. At this point I realized I had a route choice to make. I could continue down Mill Street for the next couple miles and then head north up Rock Boulevard, or I could head north now on Kietzke Lane and make my way to Prater Way and then to Rock. I chose to head north up Kietzke.

I was entering a different part of town. The contrast of the moonlight compared to the neon signs, street lights and the porch lights of the neighborhood I had just left behind was polarizing. It illuminated the old industrial buildings on my left and lit up the ageless cottonwood trees that lined the river below me to the right. It brightened the dark parts of the street unlit by street lights. The sound of the river grew deeper as I continued walking.

Not long after my route choice I noticed something bright white near the top of one of the cottonwood trees. It was moving like it wanted to get someone's attention. The energy and brightness were captivating and I could not take my eyes off it. Unable to detach my thoughts from it's lure I jumped the concrete guardrail to my right and began walking towards the bright beacon high in the tree branches. I still could not determine what it was, but it was beautiful albeit flustered, or so it seemed.

The next morning I woke up at 11:30. My mom was at work and my brothers were playing video games in the font room. I was not even fully awake yet when the police knocked on the door. It was grey outside, unlike most summer days. It felt like a winter's morning. When I heard one of the officers ask, "Does Gabriel Lewis live here?" my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I was awake, but now very light headed. My 10 year old brother said, "Yes, but he's asleep." Thank you my brother! I thought. We have undervalued sleep for decades. "Will you go wake him up and tell him we would like to speak with him." "GABE THE POLICE ARE HERE AND THEY WANT TO TALK TO YOU," was his immediate response as loud as he could say it as he ran down the hallway towards my room. I quickly went to talk with them thinking that it was worse not knowing what they wanted than to go find out. They sent my brothers out back to play and we sat in the front room.

I noticed I was no longer in my clothes from the night before. I was wearing my basketball practice shorts and a t-shirt that I never wear, not even to bed. "Your mom called us early this morning. We told her we would stop by to check on you and ask you a few questions. I'm Officer Davis and this is my partner Officer Garcia. Your mom will be here in just a minute."

"My mom is still at work and won't be off until 3:30," I said. "Well she is getting off early today. She doesn't want us talking to you without her being here." Mom was pulling up before Officer Davis finished his sentence.

"Is this about the party?" I asked as humbly as I could as my mom was walking in. She looked at me like she hadn't seen me in years. "Tell us about the party." The officers requested. I told them, but there wasn't much to tell. I told them about the police arriving, my ride leaving and my walk home. "Keep going" Officer Davis said. "Tell us more about your walk home."

They did not seem interested in how I was telling the story. I thought they might fall asleep, but instead, they stopped me and started a barrage of questions. "Did you drink any alcohol or use any drugs at any point last night?" "I did not." "How did you arrive at the party?" "My friend Jeff drove." "What's Jeff's last name? "It's Anderson." "Aaannnd......where does Mr. Anderson live?" "He's just a block north - on Arleen." "Is there anyone that you ran into last night that troubled you or that was out of the ordinary?"

They went on to ask other questions including if I was feeling OK. I told them I felt weird. At this point I just wanted them gone and weird was the quickest way I could describe the disconnect I felt with the day, with myself and with reality. "Just a couple more question and we'll get out of your hair. What time did you arrive home last night?"

What time did I arrive HOME? What TIME did I arrive HOME? The words time and home seemed to bounce back-and-forth around my brain. Was I taking too long to answer. Am I in trouble for something?

"I don't know." I replied. I don't know. Did I just say that twice? I Started to feel like I was sick, like I had the flu, but not a physical flu, more like a mental or spiritual flu. How could I not know what time I got home? I was feeling almost the same way I did when I saw - that truck, when the truck passed by me. Oh crap! I didn't tell them about the truck. Do I need to tell them about the truck? I don't even know what they really want.

"You don't remember what time you got home last night?" "I do not remember." I said. "I see you're not wearing a watch, but it looks like you have a tan line from one on your left wrist. Do you usually wear a watch?" "I do sir... uh, usually do wear a watch, yes." "Were you wearing your watch last night?" "No," I quickly replied.

That was the first and only lie I told them. It wasn't intentional. I just said the first thing that came to my mind without thinking. I was wearing my watch last night. Why I was no longer wearing it was the real question. I looked at it a few times throughout the night. I know I left the party around 12:15 because I looked at my watch about five minutes into my walk and it was 12:20. I know I made a decision to head north on Kietzke around 12:55.

"Can you describe your watch for us?" "Sure. It has a brown leather band with a gold round face and lighter gold hands. I think it's a Luxor. Officer Garcia then pulled out a picture of a watch. "Is this yours?" he asked. I leaned forward to grab the picture. "Yes sir. I mean it looks like mine minus the mess on the face."

"Do you realize that there's a curfew and that you were way past it last night. Your mom called at 4:30 this morning. She said you were acting very strangely when you got home and that you had something on your hands that looked like blood. What can you tell us about this?"

"What? What?" was all I could really say for a few seconds. I looked at my hands. They looked like they always do - clean.

My mom sat by me. She had her hand on my back. Officer Davis continued, "The watch in the photo, and a white and pink PacSun t-shirt were found at the location that you told your mom about early this morning." "Where is that?" I asked, my voice now much weaker and shaking. "Between Kietzke Lane and the river about a mile north of Mill Street," Officer Davis said very confidently. "You mom told us you were not wearing a shirt when you got home."

"Sweetheart, tell them what you told me this morning," my mom calmly requested. "I don't remember coming home Mom. I don't remember anything about what we are talking about." It felt like I was screaming those words or crying them, but I realized I was barely speaking loudly enough from them to hear me.

"Son, the more you can tell us the better it will be for us and you." Officer Davis assured me. "The girl you told your mom about and helped us find had been missing for 3 days. Because you where there we want to know what you know. What ever information you can give us will be a huge help. Especially why you were there."

I felt like I was outside of my body, but I had enough sense still to tell them about the white truck. That is all I had. That is all I could remember that was strange about that night.

"I was wearing my watch," I quietly confessed, "but I have no memory of anything you are talking about. I don't recall seeing or talking to my mom last night. I don't remember coming home."

The officers then asked to speak with my mom outside. "Wait!" I abruptly interrupted. "There is one thing I need to tell you. I did see something that I thought was strange. I don't know how helpful it will be but, I saw an older white pickup truck. It was just south of Mill Street and less than a ten minute walk from the river. The driver had his headlights off when he turned down the street where I was walking. When we made eye contact he turned his lights on. The look on his face and the way he looked at me I will never forget."

Officer Davis interjected, "How were you able to see him so clearly in the dark?" "The moon was full," I responded, "and since his headlights were off I wasn't blinded by their light, so the moon illuminated his face clearly."

"Can you describe him for us?"

"He was a few days unshaven. His hair was medium length and it was a mess. He had a chubby face, almost like a double chin and he was probably in his late 20s. His eyes we small. He had a dark shirt on."

"Tell us about the truck."

"It was maybe an early 70s white Ford pick up, annnnd.......I think the engine had a miss. That's all I remember. I was so drawn into the driver I don't remember much else about the truck."

I gave them as detailed of a description as I could. I was feeling a little better now. They thanked me for my cooperation and excused themselves to talk with my mom outside. They talked for about ten minutes and left. As much as I wanted them gone at first, I noticed that I kind of felt better when they were here.

The next morning my mom drove me to a psychologist, Dr. Koonz. I have been seeing him twice a week for the past two weeks. He is the reason I am writing this. He says I have dissociative amnesia and that writing about the experience might bring back some of the forgotten events. I don't feel like I'm cooperating that well. I really don't want to remember.

I think it might be working a little though, the visits with the doctor. The other night the police came by. I think they are hoping the therapy with Dr. Koonz will provide more details. They asked me a few more questions; a few that they had asked me before that I could not remember. Officer Garcia asked, "How did you know that there was something down by the river? What was it that made you jump the guard rail?"

"It was the Night Owl" I said, "in the cottonwood trees."