The Forgotten Man

April 8th

April 8th.

After work, I enjoyed a quick stop over at Doughnut Joe’s for one of his typical treats and a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Being a bit of an expert in the matter, I tried every kind of boiled chocolate beverage in town, and determined that Joe’s was the best.

You were there.

I paused at the entrance, staring at the profile of your face against the gaudy posters for local heroes that dotted the walls. You were alone at a table for two, a pile of books stacked on the only other chair present and one of them open in your hands. An empty plate sat on the table, beside a cup of Joe’s finest that was still warm enough to let out curls of steam.

Licking my lips, I stepped into the shop and made my way to the front, ordering a drink for myself and a rather light pastry. After paying up and trading a few quick quips with Joe, I made my way to your table and stood above you. “Hello, sir.”

“No, you can’t sit there,” you said, never raising your eyes from your book. “Not that you’re going to listen to me.”

I grinned at the daring comment and placed my things on the table. Then, with an ever widening smile, I picked up your books and set them aside.

You looked up, exasperation maring your features until your eyes locked with mine. “Oh. You.”

“Oh, me!” I said back. “How are you? I hope you don’t really mind me joining you?”

“No, no, of course not. Here,” you said as you began to pick up your books and place them on the table’s edge. I picked one up, eyeing the title. The Functions of Human Memory

“Memory? Are you studying for a doctorate or something?” I was mildly impressed, it wasn’t everyone that read into such deep subjects.

You shook your head. “It’s um. Well, it’s just a hobby. Sorta. I’m trying to find something out about how the memory works to see if I can get other things to work with it.”

I perked an eyebrow at you and we stared at each other for a second before I distracted myself with a sip of cocoa. “Care to explain that in... English?”

“Why do you remember me?” You asked, your own attention returning to your book. Though your eyes were glazed over, as though you were elsewhere.

“Because my senses perceived you over the course of our few interactions and created an imprint of who and what you are?”

You coughed and put your book aside. “Okay, I wasn’t expect that answer. No, what I meant was, why do you remember me, when no one else does?” You were looking at me right in the eye, but intently, as though there was nothing more serious then my answer.

It was unnerving, but I didn’t pull back. “My memory is perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t forget anything. Ever. It’s a cute little talent, I guess, but nothing that will ever be useful beyond making a few tasks easier here and there. No need for grocery lists.”

You settled back down, caressing the spine of your book. “That must be nice. I’m always afraid of forgetting. Or worse, being forgotten.”

“Why did no one remember that you were the one who saved the bank the other day?”

“That’s my power. The ability to be forgotten. Rather lame, isn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Your voice had such a profound sadness to it, such frustration, that I just sank back into my chair and cradled my drink. “Hey,” you said, pulling me out of my reverie. You were smiling, though it was timid, and uncertain. “You want to do something?”

“Something?”

“Yeah. Right now. Anything you want. You’re the first person that I meet that actually remembers me for more than a few seconds. That’s worth a reward or two, no? What do you want?”

I smiled, coy. This was unexpected. Odd, wild, but intriguing. Still, I decided to play it safe. “There’s a new movie on tonight....”