Re:Living
The lie did it.
Robbie was minding his own business, which also meant he wasn’t contributing, but that was okay, because he was thinking about quitting anyway. The morning meeting was in full swing, even if ‘full swing’ meant the drone of a middle manager talking about analytics of market realizations, or some other work-crap. Charts were presented, conquests were planned, and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he should be someplace, anyplace else.
That’s when he heard his boss lie. It wasn’t a big lie, but it sure wasn’t the truth, either.
It was the latest in a string of little things from the jerk, sarcastic asides and passive-aggressive belittling of the junior staff. Funny how a lot of it was directed at those less apt to speak up for fear of losing their job. Funny how a lot of it was directed at women.
This lie wasn’t any different from so many he had heard in the past, but it was just so.. unnecessary. So once it was out there, sitting like a steaming pile of awkward, someone said, “That’s not what you said last time.”
All eyes swung around and looked at the speaker. That sort of startled Robbie, because they were all looking at him.
His boss blinked. “Pardon me?”
Well.
Robbie knew he could get out of it. He could dissemble, soften the comment enough to say that he didn’t quite mean to put it that way: they had discussed a lot of ideas last week, and maybe what he heard could easily have been attributed to someone else.
But that would be a lie, too, and he was sick of lies. So he said, “Last week, you said we should get data first, then decide what to do with it.”
His boss frowned “I don’t recall saying that.” His voice hardened. “In which meeting did this happen?” Smug.
It was his boss’s favourite misdirection, blaming it on the usual blizzard of reviews, status reports and project updates. Maybe Robbie was confusing two separate conversations in two separate meetings.
It was an easy out for both of them, but Robbie didn’t want to play the game. “The ten o’clock, last Thursday, third item in. Someone said ‘maybe we should decide what to do first, then go after the data, and you said ‘we should get the data first’. It was right after you said ‘Remember, boys and girls, correlation isn’t causation’”.
His boss had pulled a classic move, taking someone’s idea and presenting it as his own. Robbie knew the ‘someone’, but he wasn’t about to drag an innocent bystander into this. He also didn’t have to throw in that last line, but what to hell, the guy was an asshole. The thing was, Robbie’s account was so specific, so precise, that no one in the room doubted for an instant that it was the truth.
Everyone stared. After an uncomfortable silence, his boss said, “Well, if I did say that, I’m sorry for the confusion it may have caused anyone.”
Sure, it was their fault that his lie had caused ‘confusion’, but Robbie wasn’t thinking about that. His boss held his gaze for an extra second, and in that second, he knew that he was a gone guy.
“Show them your trick.”
Robbie gave his friend a warning look, but it didn't register. Ted was an all-around good guy, but sometimes he wasn’t up to speed on the little things, like social cues. Which meant he plowed right ahead.
“Robbie remembers things.”
They were sitting in Tuesdays (without the apostrophe) for a ‘quick afternoon drink’ that Robbie knew in an instant was a set-up. He knew because Ted’s girlfriend was already at the table, and gee, so was someone else.
‘Just Sally and some people from work’, Ted had said, but it turned out that ‘some people’ was one person, and what a surprise, she was single, too. Imagine the coincidence. Sal was sweet girl but she had a one-track mind, and that track was matchmaking.
Right now, she was looking at Ted in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean remember remember,” Ted continued. “I mean ‘remember’”. You could almost see the parentheses around the word, not that it cleared up anything, especially for Sally.
“I don't get it. So what?”
Ted looked at his girlfriend, eager. “No, really. Pick a date.”
Sally made a face and shrugged. “January first.”
“Year?”
Sally blinked. “2015.”
Ted turned to Robbie expectantly. Robbie stared right back at him, until Ted prompted. “Come on. January 1, 2015.”
He smiled and said, “Sunny. Cold.”
Ted frowned. “Quit bullshitting- ”
“April 14, 2008.”
The three of them turned to the other person at the table. ‘Abigail’ as Sally had introduced her. The other unattached person sitting at their table.
Ted grinned, then looked at Robbie. “Well? April 14, 2008.”
Robbie sighed. “Okay. Sunny, warm for April.”
“What day was it?” Ted asked. Excited.
“A Wednesday. School day.”
“What was your second class?”
“Geography. Miss McAllister, if you have to know.”
“What were you talking about?”
Now Robbie really gave Ted the look, but once again, his friend ignored it. He was goof, but lovable goof, which was the reason they were friends after all these years.
Robbie said, “Cirques. Glaciation. High-altitude mountain stuff.” He stopped, because that was enough.
Ted beamed proudly, Sally frowned.
Abigail cocked an eyebrow. “Really?” Skeptical.
Robbie nodded. “Really.”
“That’s his trick. Any date, he can tell you what day of the week it was, and what happened ”
“No!” Sally again, excited. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen. “June 1, 2005. What day?”
“Wednesday.”
“Yes!! June 1, 1996.”
“Saturday.”
Sally clapped, about as spontaneous a reaction he had ever seen, and Robbie had to admit, her infectious enthusiasm was catching. Or maybe it was just the company. He looked at Abigail, who was watching him with a flat look, appraising.
Ted said, “Robbie has… hypersomething.”
Robbie almost sighed. “I remember things.” He shrugged. “Details.”
“You know, like the actress,” Ted offered helpfully, “The one in that old taxi show.”
Sally said, “I think it’s fun.”
“Is it fun?” Abigail asked. “Or is it just a party trick?”
She was still watching him with that look, and he wondered if she did it on purpose. It made you want to know more, and maybe that’s what she intended. Then again, maybe he was just indulging in wishful thinking.
Interesting enough to look at, that was for sure. Especially the eyes. That’s what he noticed, her eyes. Penetrating. And quick, and intelligent. He held her gaze for a second or two, then said, “Not a party trick,” surprised by the admission. He turned to look at Ted. “Although some people think it is.”
Ted finally got the message. At last. “Ya, well, I think it’s fun.”
Beside him, Sally settled back in her seat. She looked from Robbie to Abigail and back, the tiniest of smiles pulling at the corner of her mouth.
It was Abby, not Abigail, and he was surprised how quickly he fell. Truth be told, he had never met anyone who could keep up with him, someone with a warped sense of humour, someone who got him the way she did.
“So I said it anyway.”
“And what did he do?” She leaned closer, fascinated.
“Gave me the lizard eye,” Robbie said. “But I knew it was over. Took him a few days to find the right excuse, but he did, and I was gone.”
“You know, 50% of middle managers are sociopaths.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Another thing: 62% of all statistics are made up on the spot.”
He paused, looked at her. “Probably 100% of the time.”
“Probably.”
She laughed, and Robbie loved the sound she made.
Soft summer night, sitting by the Canal, sharing an ice-cream cone. An older couple walked by, holding hands; on the other side of the water, cars whispered along the Driveway.
“You didn’t want to work there anyway.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Not in so many words, but you said it.”
Robbie shrugged, because she was right. Which was another reason he sort of liked her.
Lazy Sunday morning, lying in bed, listening to each other think. Couldn’t get any better.
“You realize something?” Abby’s brow arched in that way of hers, looking at him, knowing him.
“What?”
“Well dig this, brother.” A reference to one of his favourite songs, which she had known about! She almost smirked. “The day we met.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You liked me. I could tell.”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Could have gone either way.”
“And the next day?”
“Coffee. Dinner. So?”
“Coffee, dinner, sex,” she corrected.
“You suggesting I’m a slut?”
She ignored his taunt. “What about the day after that? Monday.”
“Dinner. Sex again.” He paused, looked at her. “You had that chicken, a bit dry, the Australian red. Oh ya, and an orgasm. Not at dinner, but later.”
“Maybe had an orgasm. And none of your memory tricks, just in general. Tuesday.”
Robbie frowned, because he genuinely didn’t know where this was going. “Okay: after work, dinner again. Nice walk, ice cream by the Canal… So, what’s up? It was only three weeks ago. You remember it, too.”
She looked at him. “We’ve been together every day.”
“Getting tired of me already?”
Finally she broke eye contact, and coloured lightly. “I just think it’s.. really cool, is all.”
“Despite only maybe having an orgasm?”
Those eyes came up again, dark, penetrating, electric. “Not my fault. That’s the boy’s job.”
That’s when he figured he might just marry her.
“Don’t be cruel.”
“Elvis Presley, 1950-something.”
She slapped his arm. “You know what I mean. Stop judging.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were thinking it, so don’t be cruel,”
They were lying on a beach, in paradise. For once, the hype of the travel brochures was close to the truth: warm wind, warm sand, the warm turquoise of the Caribbean. They were well back from the water, up under the shade of a palm, watching other vacationers wander up and down the beach. Some of those vacationers may not have been in the best shape of their lives.
Abby said, “Anyway, that’s us in 20 years.”
“As if. I will be the Adonis, and you will be... Mary Magdalene, or something.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”
“Not a bit.”
They grinned at one another and lay back, enjoying the warmth. “Like high school,” Abby said, “- everyone judging everyone else.”
“I thought you were one of the cool kids.”
“Not so much ‘cool’ as just keeping my head down. And I never liked that phrase, ‘the cool kids’ - it left everyone else out. Some of the ‘cool kids’ were major bitches.”
His hand snaked onto her thigh, and he squeezed. “You can be my major bitch anytime you want,” and he got the sly grin he was after. He added, “Anyway, kid stuff, and we have it pretty good now.” He spread his arms, taking in the beach, the water, the sun.
“You are lucky man,” she said, without a trace of sarcasm. Unless you knew her.
“I’m lucky? Look at you – you’re not repulsive, you met me, and in high school, you were cool without ‘being cool’. Sounds like a perfect life to me.” Then he remembered, and he winced. “Uh- sorry. Didn’t mean to be a dick.”
She waved it off. As usual, she was way ahead of him. “Hey, I did have it good, and it was fun. Yes, until mom, but I was 22 when that happened.”
“Still tough.”
She shrugged. “You play your hand. I had a good sense of myself by then, and you get through it. Anyway, everyone deals.” She looked at him. “Didn’t you fall on your head or something?”
“Fell out of a tree. Broke my arm.” Glad to have changed the subject.
“And you remember it, of course. What was it, a Saturday?” A playful dig.
“Actually, a Sunday. About noon.” He dared her to interrupt. “Cort Benson and Georgie Kincaid. Georgie went first, I was second. I went higher, because – well, that’s what you do when you’re a kid, you go higher than the other guy. Beautiful day. The bark was smooth, and everything smelled so.. earthy”. He sighed. “And the next branch was too thin and it broke.”
“Ouch.”
Uncharacteristically, he paused. And Abby being Abby, caught it. She gave him a look, like telepathy. It said, ‘Okay, explain.’
“Yes, well ‘ouch’. See, that’s what I really remember, the pain.” He made a face. “And…when they reset it, too.”
Abby leaned in. “Sorry baby, I didn’t think that would be part of it.”
“It’s all part of it.” He shrugged. “Sights, sounds, smells. What people said, details of… well, pretty well everything.”
She hesitated, which he caught. “What?”
“Uh.. I sort of did some reading. A while ago.”
“What, on-line? Must be true.”
“Be serious. We don’t talk about this. I’d like to know.”
He nodded, but the mood had changed. The reason they didn’t ‘talk about this’ was because he didn't, mostly because it wasn’t something he tried to think about. He said, “Is this where you go, ‘I’ll get the wine’?”
“Sure, if you’re in a commercial. Quit dodging.”
Man, she read him like a book. “Okay.” Robbie closed his eyes, and spoke as if he were reading from a script, which he sort of was anyway. “Yes, hyperthymesia, or hyperthymestic syndrome, which makes it sounds like there should be therapy involved. All it means is that I remember where I was and what I did.” He shrugged. “The details.”
“What’s…. ‘hasam’?”
“HSAM. Highly superior autobiographical memory.”
“So you’re, like, highly superior.”
“In the ways of love, obviously.” He nodded to himself, thoughtful. “It’s a bit like a movie, everything there, but… more. Smells, emotion.” He had never said that to anyone.
“Like when we met.”
“Like when we met,” Robbie said, happy to move along. “Quarter to six, give or take. You were wearing that blouse of yours - bit of cleavage, but I didn’t notice - and you had that brown purse with a flap. You ordered a drink, and then water. You looked at me when you thought I wouldn’t notice.”
“How do you know that wasn’t my plan?”
“Because later on you said, and I quote: ‘I’m happy where I am in my life.’ That was after the drink, and before you asked for water.”
She stared at him. “Does it scare people?”
“Not you.” It slipped out before he had as chance to catch it, and Robbie felt himself colour.
She leaned in and kissed him. “That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. One more question, and then I’ll shut up. Does is scare you?”
Robbie watched a wave slide up onto the beach. Then he said, “See, I think about that. No, it doesn’t, because I’ve always had it. People would say ‘how do you do that’?, and I would say ‘how do you not?’. So no, it doesn’t scare me, but I don’t like remembering days that… weren’t as good as other days.”
“Must be good on long flights.”
He looked at her, confused. She said, “Time travel. You can go back and sort of hang out. Any time you want.”
“I guess. But you don't want to do that a whole lot, because then you wouldn’t have a life. Everything would be in the past. And I wouldn’t have met you. Boring.”
“I gotta say, I don’t get it.”
Robbie looked over as they pulled away from the curb. Abby stared out the window, withdrawn, which was not her.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t quite… fit.”
“What ‘doesn’t fit’? Good neighbourhood, price is… well, stupid, but manageable.”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe. Might be tight, you never know.”
“But we do know. We ran the numbers.” It wasn’t annoyance, it was exasperation. “You said, ‘nice house, lots of trees, not too far out’. Well, we just saw all of that.”
Abby said, “Are we ready, though? House, suburbs, retirement. Then we die”.
“All in the same week.”
“Exactly.”
He let it ride for a few minutes, until they pulled up to a light. When he spoke, it was quieter, “You said it makes no sense to pay rent when it could go into our house fund.”
She shrugged. “Don’t know if I put it that way.”
Robbie looked at her. She didn't flinch, instead held his gaze. After a few seconds, she said, “Thank you for not doing it.”
The argument disappeared in the breeze.
“I would never do that to you.”
“That’s why I like you.”
Man, she was good at deadpan; not a flicker of a smile. And just like that, she was Abby again, with those eyes, with that brain, and Robbie loved it all.
She said, “Here’s the thing: I like us, the way we are.”
“So do I. A lot.” Then he added, “But, you know… maybe it’s not going to be just ‘us’ forever.”
She nodded. “Just not now. Maybe it’s the time of year, is all.” She paused, thoughtful. “Or maybe it’s the time of man.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“That confirms it: you’ve been hanging around me too much. That was the most God-awful deflection in the history of the universe. And you’re using my songs to do it.”
That earned him a quick grin. She smiled, looked out into the sunlight. Happy, living in the now. All was right.
Even though she had said all those things, exactly.
It was so beautiful, and so horrible.
Outside, spring was in full bloom, emerald-green leaves fluttering in the breeze. Flowers in tidy beds lined the walkways; patients and volunteers wandered the grounds, although it was never difficult telling them apart.
Inside her room, the gentle whirr of the IV pump was almost peaceful, unless you thought about what it meant. What it all meant, the machines, the tranquility, the quiet lassitude of everyone in the hospice.
“So nice out,” she said, her eyes bright once again. She stared outside, at the trees, at the spring warmth, as if trying to imprint the scene in her mind’s eye.
When she turned to him she smiled, and he had to keep from losing it right in front of her. But she would know anyway, and he saw it in her eyes.
“It’s okay, baby,” she said softly. Sure, she’s comforting me, and he raged at the unfairness of it all. She glanced at the side of the bed, an invitation. He crawled up beside her.
“I love your face,” he said.
“Is that all?” Part of a ritual.
“Okay, your body, too-” but then he really did loose it, and he buried his face in her hair and cried. He felt her hand on his cheek, and knew how much effort that had taken.
She whispered, “Shhh, shhh, it’ll be okay...” soothing him like a child, only no one was going to make the hurt go away this time.
She drew a ragged breath, and then another.
“Show them your trick.”
He looked at Ted, and even though he was/could have been annoyed, it didn't matter, because it was such a special night.
Then: “Robbie remembers things.”
Ted babbled, and Sally babbled, but he really didn't care because the anticipation was … so exquisite. And then Abby said, “April 14, 2008.”
It was the first time he had heard her voice, and he drew the moment out. And he let it happen again, that perfect moment of really looking at her for the first time.
He talked a bit, inanities really, the day of the week, geography, boring classes. He wanted to get to where she locked it in for him.
“Really?”, she asked. So skeptical, so beautiful, so Abby. She arched her brow, and he felt her eyes. Ted and Sally yammered on, all excited, and then she came back to it. Didn't have too, and he figured that was when it really started; he was already sliding past the event horizon.
Sally: “I think it’s fun.”
Then Abby, “Is it fun?” she asked, “- or is it just a party trick?”
Right to the core of it, just like that, with that mind, and he looked into her eyes again, and again, laughing and smiling on a beach, the smell of the ocean, and then watching him with such sadness as she wasted away.
“Not a party trick,” he said.
Tom New
Scratch
I think this is a good, sharp short story.
· one: Kerry/Cathy
· two: at work, memory is used
· three: show them your trick
· four: something else, with Abby, vacation explaining things further
· between four and five: more, talking house, fears
· five: deathbed
· six: show them your trick
A golden moment/event forever in his memory, as was..
Think summer 79. In fact, the flitting around might be interesting and hooky, going form one neat thing to another.
Describing the music, the atmosphere, the emotion within the events, the strength of it.
The anticipation was electric, waiting for her to come around the corner that first time. He hung back a bit, enjoying the churn of the school hallway, the voices, the laughter, the smells.
Kerry Able, and she was just about the prettiest girl in Grade 9. He liked looking at her, and liked talking to her... well, maybe not talking, because she didn’t really have a lot to say. But man, she was pretty, and in high school, with hormones flowing and the world a bright and wonderful place, ‘pretty’ was just about the best thing around.
So he waited, maybe even delayed things a bit before she showed up, and then there she was, her face, her walk, talking to one of her friends about… nothing, probably. A bit taller than he remembered, but wow, pretty. Too bad she wasn’t all that interesting. He had a quick thought: maybe he was shallow- no, he was shallow, in that know-nothing way of teenagers, more ignorant than willful, but that’s how you thought when you were 15.
So he just watched her walk and talk and come around the corner again, maybe even laughing, although it wasn’t that deep-throated chuckle that Cath had. Now there was someone he could actually talk to, and laugh with. Cath pretty well had it all, as a friend anyway, and it was fun to hang out with her in that dance club on College St., a good table over by the wall, “Rock the Kasbah” blasting from the speakers. They had a few greats nights there, dancing and laughing and sweating, the music so vivid, just like the smells, and he loved coming back to it because it was just before things got serious, graduation, the job, everything.
But then he went back to Kerry, watching her come around the corner that first time, pretty, vacant, and he felt all those hormones, so innocent and fun and young.
idea: Memory thing: someone who ‘lives in the past’, at least remembering things, maybe dwelling on them. He’s stung when someone mentions it, and starts projecting/living in the future
And living in the moment.
Hyperthymesia, also known as piking or hyperthymestic syndrome, is a condition in which an individual possesses a superior autobiographical memory, meaning he or she can recall the vast majority of personal experiences and events in his or her life.
Highly superior autobiographical memory, or HSAM.
What if someone goes beyond that, remembering a day, relives the sights, the sounds, the emotions, very vividly? They remember, and can relive the day, but they have all their experience from living life to further enjoy it.
It’s a form of time travel, a retreat for some people, retreating from their older/worried/traumatized state. They almost look or act catatonic, but brain waves reveal there’s a lot of activity. (There seems to be a relationship between this and a form of dementia or.. catatonia?.. in that people who live in their own worlds, locked away in a ward).
He comes out of it, talks, is apparently normal (their POV, then we switch to his POV, where…) he thinks back to what has just happened, and we realize it was in the present.
Presentation would make it appear as if there are two separate times involved: the present, with the apparent catatonia (which worries people), and the past. Then we find out, it’s all in the present, because they remember and experience everything so vividly.
Here’s the problem: how does he explain it? Can there be a way that he doesn’t have to ‘explain’ it, it just unfolds for us.
The traditional way is having a character, or the actions, explain things. What about an out and out explanation to the reader? Would seem initially too dry… I wonder. Maybe tart up the explanation above, and see if it would fit a flow. Don’t know- doesn’t seem viable.
Is it a paper, a presentation? Diary?
Thinking: ordinary guy living an apparently boring life..
Contrast: ordinary guy with someone who is living an ‘exciting life’, who may even talk up memories and experiences, so we think it’s him, but this older, ‘ordinary’ guy is what’s driving the story.
An ordinary guy in an ordinary life, except for this thing. But it would colour things, worldly it? Take away his ambition? Either: make him more prone to do nothing new, which curtails his remembrances, or that’s why we’re here, he’s upset that he doesn’t do new experiences. Or, he’s aware of the issue, and makes sure he does knew things so that he has things to go back to.
Does it get all confused with him, and that’s a denouement? No
Maybe he doesn’t explain it- he’s a teacher/proof (or researcher, at a forum? A Robbie Talk?), and someone ask him a question related, also lucidity, or he’s a researcher. “I call it Re Living”
Can it be examined form his point of view? He ‘enters the realm’, surfing back to the day.
He had done the research, knew what it was all about. The explanation.
Court case, competence hearing? no, cliche
Maybe this: Robbie Talk set-up make sit appear the questioner is the focus, when the hook at the end - besides the big one – is that the speaker is the main guy. The first event is relaRobbie to college, so we think it’s on the same time roll… clear that ‘he’ is a college student/young, so we think it’s the questioner.
Is he an old guy, alone, settling in at a home? And how does this differentiate from reminiscing? The old guy seneario is similar to the start of Proximate, so steer clear.
So: an experience as a college student/younger person, third person POV. Switch to ‘present day’, intro of buddy (unusual name, his POV, but still 3rd person), taking a question for a smart ass college kid.
He talks about super memory, going so far as to living it. Two episodes, maybe three.
At some time, though, we/someone has to see him in this state. Maybe that’s the revelation, in the end, we se buddy in catatonia, either universal POV, or someone sees him, and he’s reliving.