MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS

“Come in my dear, come in. Now, just take a seat here. That’s right. Just there. Good. Now. How are you doing?”

He looked at the young women with warmth and intensity. She was beautiful. He knew that he was going to like her already.

He smiled at her then changed his expression. Pressing his lips together harder he let her know that there was something he wanted to tell her which was important. Something that would have to come first. He knew in his heart that it was not truly important, not important important, but for him it was always better to get the matter out of the way to save embarrassment later. It was a small thing but it could plague him if he did not address it straight off.

Even as a child at school his capacity to hold information had been limited. He had even been regarded as backward in his younger years, what with learning to read so late in the day and is inability to grasp even the most rudimentary basics of physics, chemistry or foreign languages.

It was not that he was stupid per say, but that he could not hold information long enough to make any sense of it. As he’d got older things had improved until eventually he had been sprung into the wider world of adulthood where to his shock and relief people genuinely appeared to know very little indeed. Almost nothing in fact.

In real life it turned out there was no motive for recalling the capital city of Malay and so people on the whole did not.

Those middle years of life were something of a respite but as he’d grown older his memory problems had by increments increased until his customary methods for avoiding embarrassment had no longer been sufficient. For years his standard opener to a story had been “stop me if you’ve heard this one before” which usually did the trick. There is nothing more tedious than finding that you have just related an anecdote for the second time to some overly polite listener.

But of late, this no longer sufficed. It wasn’t just anecdotes that were getting repeated but general clumps of conversation. Standard questions. Pleasantries. In the past year or two after a series of embarrassing moments he had taken to giving folks a brief pep talk at the outset of a conversation, one of which was in order now.

“Well my dear” he said. “The thing is, my memory is not quite what it should be, which is all well and good. I am not complaining. Such is life. However I would be most grateful if you could do me a little favour, just to save my blushes.”

The young woman looked at him with what seemed to be almost a sadness in her eyes. The vigour of youth looking at the frailty of age. The thing was, that apart from the wretchedness of his memory he did not feel like the proverbial frail old man.

In fact he was not old at all. At 63 he could still class himself as middle aged. Nevertheless, her look was unsettling. He moved in his chair.

“Forgive me” he said “but my memory is not what it could be. It never has been up to much but now I find it to be somewhat shot to buggery, so should I… If you find me repeating myself I’d be most grateful if you could do me the decency of stopping me there and then.”

There was a look on her face now that he recognised, part way between embarrassment and sorrow. He knew that look.

“Oh God!” He exclaimed. “Don’t tell me I’ve given you this little pep talk already.”

He thought about it a moment and realised the idiocy of the idea. She had just this instant come in and sat down. She moved forward in her chair. He moved back very slightly not sure of his situation. She was about to speak. This would clarify things.

“William” she said, her voice filled with a heartbreaking affection. “You’ve said it before. Of course you have. Of course you have dad.”