memoria technica
Dreams were emptying out of his head onto the pillow. Dreams he wouldn’t remember in the morning but would carry a feint emotion memory of, following him around, elusive, just out of reach of his mind. Occasionally there would be a glimpse, a moment, a déjà vu image that would retreat as quickly as it flashed before his brain. He never remembered his dreams.
Waking, there was a distant hangover fuzz of something or other but he knew enough not to try to reach for it. It wouldn’t be there for him in the end. Memory itself a problem, each day becoming more so. He knew better than to feel for the events of the previous evening or day, a conversation an action event or moment. It was all gone bar the feeling. The feelings were always present amassing for him in a big ball of overwhelming emotion that would implode whenever he gave himself relief, disperse around his body and settle in the dull twinge of muscle, cramp of tummy, ache of head. And then it would vanish. And he would sigh ready for the next onslaught. It was as familiar as his face, as unrecognisable once caught for a moment in reflection and then bringing home something to know, something to say – yes. It’s me alright. Me in my bland glory.
Out on the street the autopilot walk to the bus stop to the bus to work kicked in and the rain was the only variant. A variant, not a change. The thoughts in his head a remembered song. Songs were one thing he could recall. Thousands of them. Maybe tens of thousands. Sometimes he would count the titles, humming them to pass the time. Yes. It was very possibly tens of thousands. Maybe that’s why there wasn’t room for anything else in there. The songs were pushing them out, their repetitive comfort kicking away any unnecessary clutter. Today it was Gershwin. gershwin segueing into berlin then round to bacharach and off to kern. Humming, softly mouthing, holding a note a quiet vibrato. The occasional whistle though very occasional: He wasn’t a good whistler. Sometimes though, he couldn’t help himself.
And then. And then.
And then. An unfamiliar, a shock. Something that pushed itself into a new, unoccupied place, amongst the tunes, amongst the songs, quickly, stealthily, cunningly an image. An image of HER. There, before him a goddess. He had never ever ever. And there. There she was. The songs backed up, pushed against each other, the abrupt stopping causing a pileup, a collision of note, word, hum. Because of her. Waiting at the bus stop in an orange dress. Who wears orange? Let alone a tight fitted sixties style could be worn by a curvaceous starlet orange dress. Was it the dress that disturbed him? No. it was more it was her her alone. Alone. She was alone. Was she? In life? Why should it matter to him? What was her status to him? But it mattered. All at once it mattered like nothing else in the world. Could an orange clad goddess be alone in the world? And if not…if not…?
He realised too late that he was staring. Staring like a fool like a loon like an ultra maroon. And she was blushing but wearing a very small curious smile on her lovely lips. They were so so so lovely those lips, a hint of pale lipstick or her natural colouring enhanced by a shiny balm he couldn’t make out. Knew not enough of the paint of women to decipher. And blushing deeper he smiled back and looked away, quickly, looked at his feet. When he returned the gaze she was smiling more. What was that smile, what was it telling him? If anything…
She sighed, adjusted her bag on her shoulder. It was a large bag, multi coloured and brightly patterned. Containing what? Containing the mystery of her everyday needs. A lunch perhaps? A book or two, a purse a phone a picture of the love of her life? He needed to know. Needed to memorise every detail wake that dormant part of his brain so that he could remember. Remember everything that was in his experience. For once it mattered to him that he did. He must remember her. This encounter, even if it were the only one of his life and he never saw her again, he must he must he must.
The bus arrived. The moment of truth. It was his bus, was it hers also? It was. She got on, the sight of her glorious orange covered posterior before him. He tried to remember to breathe. That should be an automatic reaction of course but wasn’t seemingly happening right now. For some unknown, mysterious reason. She paid, he couldn’t quite hear her voice and was ACHING to. The rumble of the bus and conversation of noising teenagers drowning it out. Bastards. The lot of them. Including the engine of this bus. This bus which would carry the two of them. Carry the encounter further in time and location. Bastards. Why was this happening? What was happening? He wiped his forehead showed the driver his pass and stepped forward.
Fate. Fate a stranger to him in all his previous existence, for what need is fate for a man with no recall? But here. Of course, you could script it. The only free seat next to her, her waiting with an expectant smile on those those those lips, anticipating the next move in this development. He did, for a moment, consider standing. But what slight would that be, and how stupid? How completely stupid would that make him? And why? Why do that? So he sat, sat and sighed. Swallowed. Attempted a feeble whistle. Shifted. Sighed again. Deep breath. Allowing his eyes to wander to the corner of their socket to get the faintest glimpse of her. She was. She was looking right at him. Get a grip man get a grip you idiot. A last strengthening breath and he turned. She smiled, showing her sweet smiling teeth and he returned it. What to say, what the hell are you supposed to say?
‘I’ve seen you before’, she said. Her. She spoke. She made the first move. Of course. Why not? Why not her? And what? What did she just say? How was that possible? His expression obviously quizzical and needing no actual words, thank god. She said, ‘several times in fact. I was wondering when I might get the chance to speak to you actually.’
WHAT? How was this even remotely a fact? Was his memory so bad that he had in fact seen her over and over and not remembered her? Was this destined to be a vanished experience too? ‘Um,’ he eloquently said. ‘Um…here? On the bus?’
‘No’ she said. ‘From my window.’ She sheepishly tilted her head. ‘ I work in the building opposite yours. I see you all the time. Singing to yourself and always looking so preoccupied. I always wonder what it is that you are thinking, where you are going. Is that weird of me?’ she giggled nervously. So. She was nervous? This gave him the tiniest, though significant boost.
‘Not at all,’ he told her. ‘Not in the slightest. I am – amazed. But not weirded out. No. me? You sure? Me?’
‘‘Yup!’ she giggled more. Not a girlie annoying giggle. A woman’s giggle. A deep, husky, womanly giggle that stirred something…no not that. His heart. Yes, his heart. Oh. And that too.
‘Ok.’ He said. He knew he should say more, act now or forever regret and kick at self for always and on and on. ‘Ok. Well, lunch? You? Me? Together? Today? Maybe? Maybe I can learn to string a sentence together in the correct grammatical order by then as well?’
And she laughed. A delighted laugh. See. This wasn’t hard! It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible! Oh please though. Please remember that you have made this arrangement. Because unless it was routine, he rarely remembered anything new.
‘Absolutely. 12, outside your building? By the benches?’ she asked.
‘Indeed. Of course. Benches. Twelve. Building.’
She laughed again. He really must learn to talk or the comedy of this nervous idiocy would wear thin.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’
And with that the bus pulled over, he rose, she rose and they shuffled down the aisle, alighting from the vehicle and moving off to the side of the pavement. She smiled. He smiled. And they parted, each walking thoughtfully in their intended directions. Each with a small bounce to their gait. Each with something to look forward to all morning. A little buzz, an excitement.
This.
This he knew he just wouldn’t, just couldn’t possibly forget. And tonight. Tonight would he dream? And if so, would he recall?
(copyright corinna tomrley 2005)