Misty Water-Colored Memory
12 Nov 2019Today’s prompt: “You can keep only one memory from your entire life. What will it be?”
The sorceress waits for your reply. “What if I don’t choose?” you ask.
“Then I’ll pick one at random from the ones that are flitting through your head right now. Either way, you only get one. You may as well pick a special one.”
Making fart noises with your brother. Okay, sorry. Gone. That camping trip with your friends where you drank whiskey from a flask and stared at the stars. Gone. And now the hard part. The birth of your daughter? The birth of your son? Your wedding day?
“Meeting Drew,” you say.
You see a cute stranger across the kitchen at a friend’s crowded house party. They make eye contact with you and smile over their Solo cup. You wander over to introduce yourself. Their hand is warm as they say, “I’m Drew.” For the rest of the evening, you talk about so many things. Your fields of study. Your favorite movies. Claymation. Weird recipes from the 1960s. Lawn darts. There was an easiness to the chemistry between you. It was a night tinged with promise.
Everything else melts away. You no longer remember all the intervening years – the long-distance relationship, building a life together, raising two kids. Nor any other aspect of your life – siblings, parents, your career. It’s just you and Drew in that kitchen that one night.
It was a good memory to pick, but the next couple days are confusing. Someone from your workplace calls when you don’t show up, and you pretend to be sick, not wanting to explain that you don’t remember where the office is, let alone what you do there. You start to dread getting texts or seeing looks of recognition from people since you have no idea who they are or how you know them.
And when that tentacly man shows up, you don’t remember who he is, or that you need to run.