I have to ask myself: Where am I? What am I doing? How did I get here? Will this be the last breath, or the first? What do the unpredictable pains in my innards tell me? I am happy to be here, on this spot, on this chair in this room empty of all but me. Sounds of the air conditioner evoke musical ear syndrome, turning a droning sound into bagpipe music or zydeco, or both. I think I slept well last night but I never know. I am told I scream “Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnoooo!!!” a lot when I sleep. Several times a night, in fact. But I usually follow this seemingly painful protest with a laugh, or what has been interpreted as a laugh. I also, for reasons unknown, shout out “MAYA!” I have probably had contacts with people named Maya but none come to mind except for an ex-girlfriend’s sister, who I never even met. If I remember her name at all it’s probably because of a bad memory involving the ex that was tangentially associated with her sister, Maya. Maya would be surprised, I suspect, to know that I’m even thinking about her, or that I have any memory of her whatsoever. I can be pretty certain she has no idea I ever even existed.
Who thinks about who? I remember moments in which people behaved memorably, but which they would be surprised to know this act of which they likely have zero memory somehow lingers in the mind of a virtual stranger. In the 9th grade this kid, Chris, sitting next to me, for some reason became hung up on the phrase “Get out the way, eh?” Over and over he said these words, punctuated by a throaty chuckle, as if he had struck comedy gold. Nobody was reacting to him, or even listening. Nobody except for me. He would change his tone of voice, repeating the words in the voice of a pirate, or in a basso-radio voice, or like a little girl. He could have gone on like this forever, and maybe he did. Maybe that’s what he does with his life. This is what I do with my life. I remember mundane, idiotic moments like this that dragged on for centuries, felling nations and warring against enemy tribes until the extinction of all governments was resolute. His words had deeper meaning than his deliberately idiot-pompous appearance let on. It has echoed in my mind and will forever be the mantra of a healthy, dignified peace of mind. GET OUT THE WAY, EH?
Memory is explicitly selective. The woman I’ve been seeing, we compare memories of our time 30+ years ago. She remembers things I did which seem plausible even though I do not remember them. But also she has memories of actions that would have been completely out of character for me, even as a relatively helpless, directionless young scrub. Memory is invented, incentivized, gamified, and monotonized. No two people remember a single incident the same way. Memory is intended to preserve one’s dignity, one’s standing in this life they have lived so far, with proud ignorance of anything contrary to this goal. I remember myself heroically, majestically, insatiably. Of course I do. Everyone remembers me that way, right? No. Few remember me at all, I’ve been told.
