Confessions of a Serial Alibi (2 page)

On a brighter note, I was the girl who was cool with everybody in high school. Didn’t matter if you were a self-proclaimed beauty queen, a jock or of the slightly nerdier variety, I knew and was friends with just about everyone at Woodlawn. As my friends back then and now could tell you, I was a “social butterfly.” I even vaguely remember being nominated for one of our school dance positions, I believe it was prom queen (I made reference to it in my senior book). Winning such things wasn’t especially important to me so I told my supporters to send their votes to my friends. Needless to say, the fact that Adnan and I held a conversation in the library on January of 1999 is not odd in the slightest. It doesn’t strike anyone who knew either one of us as out of place either. The fact that I asked him about his breakup with Hae wasn’t awkward at all. We had a lot of the same friends and it was common knowledge within our social circle. Now let this be said: me asking Adnan about his breakup wasn’t an attempt at flirting with him nor was it information that Adnan randomly volunteered to me. In fact, I was the one who brought it up to him. In my defense, I literally could not think of anything else to ask him at that particular moment. Looking back, perhaps I should have led with a different topic, but I digress. I had been at the Woodlawn Public library for so long that day that I was dying to talk to someone.

Back in January of 1999, I was enrolled in my school’s cooperative education program for students that had fulfilled all of their required graduation credit hours. I was permitted to leave the school grounds every day at 10:40 AM, in order to get more hours at my part-time job. Every day, I would attend a couple of morning classes and then usually report to the “co-op teacher” (Mrs. Graham?) at the start of third period. Once there, I’d check out of school and wait to be dismissed for the day. When I began the program, I had held a job as a cashier at Dunkin’ Donuts on Liberty Road. However, by this time in the school year I was no longer working at the donut shop. Fortunately for me, Woodlawn High School was not very good about verifying our employment after enrollment into the co-op program. Plus, I had conveniently failed to report this change to the school. So instead of going to my employer’s location, I would take the yellow co-op school bus to another student’s work location closest to my house. I would then walk whatever remaining distance back to my house. This was not always favorable because sometimes the nearest work location was a great distance from my home. So after some thought I began having my then-boyfriend Derrick come pick me up at the Woodlawn campus and he would take me wherever I wanted to go (usually his house or my home). Coincidentally, a short time after Hae was found dead, Derrick conceded to loaning me his car in the early mornings. That arrangement made it unnecessary for me to have to wait on him anymore. Usually, my best friend Marie drove her mother’s cargo van to school, so I’d have her drop me off at Derrick’s house in the mornings. I would then snag Derrick’s vehicle, go to school at Woodlawn and then have it back to Derrick by the time school was out at Milford Mill High School. Derrick lived across the street from Milford Mill back in 1999. Technically Derrick didn’t need a car to get to school; he merely drove it there and parked it in the student parking lot for “coolness points.” Now I can’t recall 100 percent if our final car arrangement was related to the fight we had on the day of Hae’s disappearance (him being late and me being tired of having to wait on him for a ride) or if it was related specifically to Hae’s disappearance or death (fearing for my safety). I do know that its general purpose was to make things less complicated and safe for me. By any account, at the time Hae went missing I was not using Derrick’s car on my own yet and Derrick didn’t usually pick me up from the public library. That particular day, I walked across the campus to the Woodlawn Public Library in order to await Derrick’s arrival. When Derrick didn’t show up during his scheduled lunch hour, I became concerned. When he hadn’t showed up several hours later, my concern changed into annoyance, then anger and ultimately boredom. Being that I had been stranded alone in the public library for over four hours, I was extremely bored and probably would have talked to anyone that I knew about anything. Regrettably, because of the nature of high school gossip, Hae and Adnan’s breakup was fresh on my mind. As such, that’s what came out first when my conversation with Adnan transpired. Had Derrick not shown up when he did, my conversation with Adnan probably would have segued into other topics outside of the breakup. It’s just that it never got the chance, because Derrick and Jerrod arrived when they did. As I think about my first description of that conversation with Adnan, I smirk because the first time that I told Justin about it and described Adnan’s sentiments about the break up I believed I used a phrase similar to “there’s other fish in the sea kind of attitude.” Consequently, that’s now a little ironic that I made such a statement. I now know (from the podcast) that Adnan was already dating other girls by that point in high school. So long story short, I wasn’t some random nobody asking highly personal questions to Adnan, I was a familiar face within his already existing social circle. The only disconnect if any, can be contributed to what Jay Wilds said about the magnet program in part one of his Intercept interview:

“When Woodlawn put in the magnet thing, they took out all the vocational classes. Before you would just go down there for drafting, shop, and everyone would co-mingle, and all the students interacted. But when they put the magnet wing in, it was kind of like these people were different from us. And they didn’t have to interact with us anymore. They didn’t have to go by except to come to lunch, and that was it. But their gym, lockers, parking, was down in the magnet wing.”

All my best friends back in high school were all “magnet kids” along with Hae and Adnan. I usually only saw my best friends at lunch, after school for sports, at special events or afterwards around town. My husband likes to tease me about it, but in all truth I was a sort of honorary “magnet kid.” For this reason, it was quite common for one of my “magnet friends” to tie me to another person (whether magnet or not) in some way. Adnan and Hae were just two of those “friend’s friends” that I hadn’t gotten to know on a personal level yet.

Ask anyone who has listened to SERIAL and they will tell you that the subject of memory reliability is one of the underlying repetitive themes within the podcast. In the beginning of the twelve-episode series, Sarah Koenig addresses the slippery nature of memory as it applies to everyone involved in the Syed case. Sarah then continues by giving examples of questionable memories through her discovery of the various testimonies given both inside and outside of the Syed trial. Adnan, Jay and myself are of particular interest; however, there are other players such as Inez, Summer, Krista and Jenn. Many people have asked how is it that I can remember January 13th, 1999 so well. I have often asked myself the same question. There are several reasons that the events of January 13th stand out in my memory. The most personal is that I was in love with Derrick at the time and when love disappoints you, it’s remembered. Being left stranded at the public library that day was the first of many embarrassing disappointments from Derrick. I don’t say that to be mean or scornful, but to simply be honest. Derrick was my first love and he ultimately was the first to break my heart. As they say, “Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” so at the time, I could not see all that he was doing behind my back. Nor could I see that he was not a very good boyfriend. During the relationship we had constant ups and downs. There would be times when things would be wonderful and times when things were on the verge of ending between us. Our relationship lasted three years and it was plagued with drama and high emotions, as it goes in most teenage relationships, I suppose.

So what is memory? Webster’s online dictionary defines memory as “the faculty of the mind by which it retains the knowledge of previous thoughts, impressions, or events. Memory is the purveyor of reason.”

If that is true, then that should also bring into question the nature of false memories and lack of memory as well. We already know that people are often capable of misremembering previously conceptualized thoughts, impressions and events. We know this because of conditions like amnesia and false memory syndrome. For myself, I know that seeing Adnan in the library on January 13th happened on that specific day because I know what living with false and implanted memories feels like. Memory itself is a sore subject with me and has been a constant source of distress and sorrow within my personal life. Although I don’t talk about it often, I am quite troubled by the absence of many early important memories. This stands to explain (to me) why I hold such certainty about other memories like my conversation with Adnan.

I was born in June of 1981 in Inglewood, California. A few years before I was born my mother traveled to the city to stay with her favorite aunt and cousin. Soon after she ended up meeting and falling in love with my father, a California native. Within no time, they were married at a courthouse and within months, I was conceived. At first things were wonderful between my parents; they were young and full of tenacity. Never mind that they were both often working ten- and twelve-hour shifts at work. They had me and each other and that was what made them happy. Unfortunately, like most young and under-established relationships, they grew apart and as a result, they separated when I was about five years old. Now I couldn’t tell you to what degree of marital discourse they experienced, because unfortunately I have no memory of my toddler years at all. In fact, I don’t have any genuine memories of my life prior to my ninth birthday party. I use the term genuine because there are a few things that I do recall about my early years. Sadly, I’m not even sure whether many of them are false or implanted memories because they are heavily associated with family stories and home videos that I’ve seen a hundred times. I’ve recently started some spiritual counseling with the hopes of recovering real memories. It’s a slow process but I hope that in time I will recover something. I’ve even more recently opened myself to the idea of hypnotherapy. Nonetheless the reason my ninth birthday party sticks out as my first real memory is because that is the first time I can recall details of my own accord. At the time I was in love with New Kids on the Block, so much so that they were the central theme of my party. I had New Kids decorations, New Kids posters and even a New Kids themed birthday cake design. In addition to all the fanfare my ninth birthday party was also my first sleepover. All my closest friends crowded together in sleeping bags in my grandparents’ basement, watched cable television, goofed off and had hours of girl talk and mischief. Speaking of which, my younger cousin India was encouraged to “surf” the arm of my grandparents’ rocking chair (like the rest of us had already done) and as a result, she slipped and split her temple open. She ended up having to leave to get stitches and she still has a small scar to this day (sorry, cuz). That’s how most of my memories are preserved—they are tied to significant events or emotions. I don’t know what led me to start blocking out my memories as a child. Whatever it was, it was traumatic enough to make me develop a form of protective amnesia. A few years back, I read an article on psychogenic amnesia and found it very interesting. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, human-memory.net defines psychogenic amnesia as follows:

“Psychogenic amnesia, also known as functional amnesia or dissociative amnesia, is a disorder characterized by abnormal memory functioning in the absence of structural brain damage or a known neurobiological cause. It results from the effects of severe stress or psychological trauma on the brain, rather than from any physical or physiological cause. It is often considered to be equivalent to the clinical condition known as repressed memory syndrome.”

Although that’s very similar to what I feel happened to me as a child, I have yet to determine the source of said mental trauma. By all accounts I was never physically harmed, abused or molested, so there should be no problem, right? If you were to ask my husband, he would tell you that my memories are all or nothing. Either it’s that I have a detailed memory that is tied to an event or emotion (that I remember forever), or chances are there is a limited or no memory at all. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have Alzheimer’s-type memory losses. I’m just like most people in the sense that I am quicker to forget details of certain events if I don’t find them to be personally significant. For instance, I can tell you many details surrounding my first kiss but I have no idea what I ate for lunch last Tuesday. Now I don’t know if the divorce of my parents and relocation across the United States (to Maryland) was enough to traumatize me that significantly. I don’t know, perhaps it was and I was just sensitive? From what I have been told, my mother’s and my return to Baltimore was not something that happened over night. It took a bit of financial planning and as a result I spent quite a bit of time with my grandparents and babysitters.

One thing that I do recall was the antics of a particular babysitter. I remember a few details as if it were yesterday. My babysitter was responsible for the daily care of an extremely elderly woman. I don’t remember who the woman was in relation to my babysitter (maybe her mother?), I just remember that the woman was feeble-minded (probably had dementia) and bedridden. As I recall the woman did not speak at all and simply stared at a television screen all day. I know it’s mean to say this, but I remember that the elderly woman scared me so much that my memories compare closely to that of Crypt Keeper. She had long thinning white hair, always wore a nightgown and usually sat upright in a hospital bed inside a small tight little room. I recall that I was given the duty of brushing this elderly woman’s hair every day and that as a young kid, I hated it.

Another detail that I recall about my California babysitter is that she had a weird obsession with southern food, particularly black-eyed peas. I remember that she would serve them to me all the time, what seemed like every day. As you can imagine, I grew to hate the taste and smell of them, and after a while I began refusing to eat them. This of course only caused more of a problem, as my babysitter was not fond of me not eating her robust recipes. Consequently, to this day I still refuse to eat black-eyed peas or even be in the vicinity of either black-eyed peas or hospice facilities. I hate retirement homes and avoid them like the plague. So far I have been lucky enough to only visit a couple of elderly family members in hospice, so my exposure time has been limited.