Whatever age they tell me I am, they’re wrong. Today they concocted a number that ended in eight. Eight! I know it’s Sunday because they’ve wheeled me to the atrium, with all this glass, to crisp like a taco under a heat lamp. With my heart! Inhale, gentle soul, hold that breath, count without numbers, release, repeat without counting. Merge with the familiar furniture of here, let the clock stop at now, resist resisting, make peace with existence, put next on hold. Maybe today I’ll be released to my real life. A door slams. Here come the young ones shining, pink, and squeaky in their visitor outfits, with fresh air freckles and fragrant hair. A young girl is breaking my heart by withholding a hug, so I know that much about love, but I can’t say how I learned it. An image clogs the drain of my memory, but it doesn’t relate to these photos my visitor shows me of someone she calls by my name. The tickertape parade photo suggests he killed others to defend something noble. He’s not me; I’m me; but this girl who knows me yearns for me to recognize him, so I do. I know my story without a scrapbook. One I was a businessman because I think in terms of loss and how it might profit me. Two I was raised with church because my swear words are all blasphemous. Three I had a family to feel as orphaned as I do. This nice girl wants to take me home with her, but she insists my dignity’s involved. Shouldn’t I be in charge of that? I’ll make no more compromises for that imposter in those photos. If she takes me in, I’ll make a glorious mess. I shall have the indignity I’ve earned.
Copyright © December 10, 2006
Very Short Novels 
5 comments
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December 12, 2006 at 11:57 pm
yzed
I’m going to read this one again, another time. I wasn’t able to immediately absorb it as well as the others I read. Love your metaphors: “When sunlight through the atrium bakes us in the common room like tacos under a heat lamp…” Great.
Well, no wonder, yzed. You tried to eat five at one sitting. They digest better one or two at a time. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you took the time to comment on all five. Thank you.
–David
December 13, 2006 at 3:07 am
litlove
This reminds me in some ways of the novellas of Theodore Storm, which revolve around the issue of memory, and in particular the fragmentation and partiality of memory. His work is very beautiful, and privileges the intense scrap of memory at the expense of any kind of coherent narrative, as if memory were an archipelago of disjointed events in the mind. I like the sense here of remembering being so profoundly akin to creativity and fantasy.
You are generous as always, litlove. I will investigate Storm. For me, extreme memory loss only illustrates the human norm: we remember almost nothing, really, but cling to the scraps that make a narrative.
–David
December 15, 2006 at 11:54 pm
Hajera
I tried to formulate an intelligent sounding comment, but to no avail. So I’ll just say that I loved this and thought it was an amazing piece of writing.
Sounds intelligent to me.
–David
December 18, 2006 at 8:48 am
mijcookie
I love your descriptions. I will be honest and say that I do not understand the piece completely – the last part, mostly. And this line — “Family would account for why I feel so orphaned. ” I am confused by this sentence, yet it is this that strikes me the most. And the title?
Would you spare me the time to explain? 🙂
By the way, I notice your copyright button. I don’t think you should worry, your style is far too unique to be copied.
Thank you, mijcookie. Chances are you understand more than you think. Regarding your questions, I will have to address them in email. Never should a riddle and its answer appear on the same page. Very sweet about the copyright button.
–David
December 25, 2006 at 8:44 am
Annelisa
Hello again, David
I’ve got behind on my story-reading…
…and the first one I read is this one. I’m about to go visit my mum, who has Alzheimer’s, in her Care Home. Apparently she is recognising it’s Christmas… so I want to be there. It’s a strange thing, memory. So inconsistent. I remember a few years ago, when she was losing hers, it was just like this story – oh so like this. She knew she should remember, but all she had to go on was what we showed her in pictures or told her in words. She would bluff her way through it, knowing she should know, but having only a void as answer.
Well captured idea, David!
Oh yes, I came by to wish you a Very Merry Christmas, and hope you have a Happy and Peaceful New Year too!!
I hope it touched you in a positive way. All my best well-meaning wishes to you Annelisa. Merry Christmas to you and Mum.
–David