When she hears “this is your uncle joe” we get a crackly kid remembered version of her past. Sure she can be in it, because she’s seen pictures taken by the commando body guard, of joe entering, of her and joe in the cabin, of her and joe on the bed, nick nacks examined, spinning the top off the composting poop bucket, looking in, a jittery jangled montage that eventually zeros in on the key moment, the key dialogue, but maybe tinted blue with butterflies flitting about, or waves, crashing noises, sniffing food, odd crunching noises. Doesn’t everyone’s memories feel like this? She has been slightly altered memory-wise, traumas subtracted and a few useful associations boosted. POV approach to the boat, looking up at the flapping tarp, a crackling camp fire at night under the bow. Think of Tony Robbins and the scritchy scratch on the vinyl record, or skippiness of a hazy CD..