Doctor Hassan said it was just in her mind. He said there was no reason it should be hurting her. As she passed by the table filled with the pictures of her family, she wondered why she hadn't chosen to replace that memory. If it
was
all in her mind, its absence would only quicken her step.
The next morning she lay in bed remembering her earliest boyfriend. It had been the first time she had ever been touched that way by a member of the opposite sex and the memory still sent lonely shivers across her breasts. They had been swimming in the creek. He had looked so fine in his teenage body, thin muscles jumping with every quick movement. Then he swept her up and kissed her, both of them hip-deep in the warm Tennessee water.
She remembered searching his eyes for the reciprocal love she prayed was there. She remembered how they truly sparkled, how his tanned skin shimmered with the wetness of sunlight and water, she remembered how his lips formed the whispered words
I love you.
She remembered how he had kissed her deeply and how his shaking hands daring to slide over her small firm breasts. She had moaned as he slipped fingers under the edge of her swimsuit, brushing softly against her nipples.
She got out of bed. Fueled by the memory, she set about her chores. She brushed her teeth and stared at her dead husband's toothbrush still in the wall-mounted toothbrush holder. He had been dead for six years, but it was these small things that kept the memories fresh. He had never been one to put it away. She remembered how she used to scold him and cluck as she placed it back in the holder next to hers, him drinking coffee and grumbling.
She busied herself about the kitchen and glanced askance at the empty pink cat dish beside the refrigerator. She stopped and stared. She didn't have a cat. She thought hard and realized that she had never had a cat. The presence of the bowl seemed so strange, yet it didn't match the hard lump that had formed in her throat. She must have had a cat. That's what it was about.
The
Rememory
Man had told her to get rid of the physical evidence. He had told her it was an important part of the process. The memory he took must have been about a cat and if she had one, it must have died. Strange. She could think of so many other things that were worse than losing a pet. It was only an animal, after all.
She plucked the bowl off the floor and pitched it in the wastebasket. She certainly didn't need it now.
From the drainer near the sink, she grabbed a mug that her daughter had given her last Mother's Day. A mosaic of pastel shells and breaking waves wrapped around the white ceramic—a souvenir of her daughter's trip to Wilmington Beach without her.
Coffee done, she stepped into the back yard and sat gingerly on the redwood chair her son had made her the year before. It was low to the ground and allowed her to straighten her legs as she sat. The high back supported her spine, very important according to her doctor.
She would need to weed the garden today. She had put it off for a week and the peonies had found themselves surrounded by dandelions and would die from the evil weed's crush if she didn't take the time to save them. She sipped her coffee and smiled as she saw a pair of robins cavorting among the low branches of the dogwood. The tree had bloomed last week and the remaining white flowers seemed to be courting tools as the male bird flirted and dodged away from the female.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and watched as Henry dug a hole in his back yard. He placed a small package wrapped in a white garbage bag into the shallow pit and shoveled the dirt back into place with a garden shovel. She stood, careful not to spill the coffee, and ambled over to the thigh-high, white fence that separated the two yards.
"Henry," she said. "If that's the family jewels, you better bury them again. I'm afraid I saw you."
The older man dropped the shovel and the liver spots on his hands jumped as his hands began to tremble. He stood up slowly, one hand on his back, and searched her eyes, smiling wearily.
"Was that The
Rememory
Man I saw leaving your place, yesterday?" he asked, his voice, still high pitched after seventy years.
"It was," said Angela. "But I don't think that's any of your business. Is it?"
"No Ma'am," said Henry, walking over to where Angela was by the fence. He laughed, "I just never imagined you wanting to forget anything."
"What are you saying, Henry. Are you saying I live in the past?"
Henry wiped his forehead. "No Angela. I was just thinking. You aren't mad at me anymore, are you?"
"Mad at you Henry? Why should I be mad at you? You are a stubborn son of a sailor and nasty if you don't get your way, but I have never been mad at you."
Henry squinted at her, making the left side of his face rise comically. He searched her face carefully, then sighed.
"Never mind. I was just teasing is all."
Angela
tsked
and asked, "So what were you burying back there?" gesturing to the spot with her half-empty coffee cup.
Henry followed her gaze and paused a moment. Finally, "I'd rather not say. And you don't need to check, because it ain't the family jewels." He glanced down at his pants. "Those are safe and sound and definitely something you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about."
Angela felt her face flush. "I must say, Henry. You certainly are a dirty old man."
She turned and stalked away, but paused a moment to flash him a smile. He had been a good friend for a long time. He wasn't flirting, he was just being himself. There was no way he would ever leave
Glynnis
.
The memory of her old friend bit into her happiness. She had known
Glynnis
for thirty years and the Alzheimer’s had hit her hard. Days would go by when her friend didn't even know her, know her own husband. The poor woman was stuck in the past.
It had been a good day. Not only had she finally weeded the garden, but she had cleaned out the closet in the guest bedroom that her husband had begged her to do for years. She had never really felt the need before. After all, it was only filled with boxes of old pictures from when she was a teenager, when she was married, her daughter's wedding, her son, her grandchildren. It had seemed her whole life had been there.
Her husband would have been proud of her. She had put two boxes together to be mailed off to her children so that they could remember as well. She would hold on to them, and if they didn't come this Christmas, she would mail them off.
As she lay alone in bed, she felt the sense of accomplishment suffuse her. So much better than the feeling she had when she had left something undone. She leaned over and rubbed her hand across the space her husband used to sleep in and closed her eyes. Even with all the snoring, she still missed him.
She found herself thinking about The
Rememory
Man's memory and she couldn't help wondering to whom it belonged. It must be a terrible memory for someone to have paid for its removal. She closed her eyes and picked at its edges. Even if she took a peek, it would never be her memory. She felt around the edges and thought of a box...a box wrapped with silver birthday paper and a silver ribbon. She willed her mind to untie the bow and watched as it began to unfold within her mind.
The phone rang and brought her fully awake. She shook her head to clear the image of the box and leaned across the bed she picked up the receiver.
"Yes?" she wearily asked.
"I told you never to worry about the memory. I told you never to care. Leave it alone."
She propped herself up on an elbow. It was The
Rememory
Man with his cold uncaring voice.
"I wasn't..."
"Leave it alone, Angela. Leave it alone."
Before she could reply he hung up. She replaced the receiver slowly and lay back down.
How had he known?
It had been another good day. In fact, it had started out remarkably the same. She had seen Henry burying another package in the back yard. Before she could say anything, though, he had hurried inside. The way he looked, she could tell he didn't want to be bothered.
Like the time he had hit that kid. It really hadn't been his fault. The way she heard the story, the boy had come flying across a lawn and into the street. Nobody would have been able to stop in time. The boy had survived with a broken arm. Henry had survived with a haunted memory. Sometimes, when they were talking, she could see his eyes go sad and she knew he was remembering. He had stopped hunting and fishing after that.
Killing. Any killing, he just couldn't stand.
She found herself once again thinking about the memory that wasn't hers. As she imagined it, she saw the bow already undone. All that she had to do was to unwrap the package. In her very bones, she felt that if she
was
to unwrap it, she would know what it was. Maybe just open the box a little and peek inside.
She willed her mind to tear aside the wrapping and heard the phone ring. She knew who it was, but she ignored it. She willed the sound away as she had done with her children, and ability she had learned after a thousand temper tantrums. She found herself as the child she once was, sitting in front of a present at a birthday party. She felt the presence of an invisible family surrounding her, egging her on as she tore the wrapper away only to reveal a shining golden box. She removed the rest of the wrapping paper and sat back and stared.
The box glowed like it was hot, threatening to burn her skin. Undeterred, she reached up and pulled the lid away. She held it to the side and peered in. Suddenly, she felt the birthday party dissolve and she was whisked through fifty years until she saw an old hand lying tired on a white and yellow quilt.
She was looking though someone else's eyes and the emotions were not hers. She felt old, but in a different way. Her hip was firm and strong, but her back ached as if a thousand years of labor had been the cause.
She felt herself reaching out, a tiny Siamese kitten within the outstretched hand. A lump, unbidden, wedged itself into her throat. She felt herself sit back, a strange hopefulness coursing through her mind. A tingle of happiness warmed her as she saw the hand move and stroke the kitten.
She heard the loud
purr
that only perfect kittens make. She watched as the old hands petted and twisted the fur softly. She felt her mind tighten as the old hand moved to the neck and began a gentle rub. It was several seconds before the rub changed to a strangle.
She felt herself lunging at the hand and prying at the immovable fingers as they continued towards a scary but inevitable conclusion. She felt anguish suffuse the strange lump in her throat as she tried desperately to stop what couldn't be stopped. When the fingers finally relaxed, she pried them away from their terrible work. The blue eyes of the Siamese stared at her and asked her what the kitten could never vocalize.
The phone had stopped ringing an hour before she awoke. She heard it in her dreams—in her nightmares.
Her nightmares of kittens and hands and death. She should have listened to The
Rememory
Man. She had only meant to peek. But by peeking, the memory had become hers and she felt the self-realization of murder.
She struggled out of bed and brushed her teeth. After an hour working among the flowers in the back yard, she felt winded, so she rested in the redwood chair watching the now passionate robins. She had made some sun tea. As it cooled and transformed in the late morning, she dusted the shadowy living room, pausing at each picture.
It was late in the afternoon before she thought of
Glynnis
. She couldn't remember when she had seen her last. It seemed like a year, but that couldn't be true. No one would go a year without seeing a best friend.
It had been the last year her husband was alive when the disease had hit
Glynnis
. It was almost worse than the heart attack David had. Where her husband had died fast and happy, every day of
Glynnis's
diseased life was a small death. The way the disease worked,
Glynnis
would one day even forget to breathe. Until then, however, it was her duty as a friend to make
Glynnis
happy.