Short Story Collection

Fading Thoughts

"Forget the pain and keep your brain, memory erasing made easy. Promise!" the flier read. So cheesy, so full of shit, so dumb only a desperate idiot would believe it... but they "promise." They promise to take this wretched feeling away, to let me forget.

It is a prospect too good to be true, yet my feet had led me to their door, my hand had filled out the paperwork, and I'm sitting in the patient's chair before my mind has caught up to any sort of conscious decision-making. A nurse had taken my vitals, asked me a series of routine questions that I had robotically answered, and all I could really think of was how Simon hated doctor's offices. He was always so fussy with doctors.

I push the thought into a corner of my mind, but that corner is filled, stuffed with other thoughts like how Simon loved the color blue or that his favorite stuffed animal was a giraffe. "The places where I store painful memories are filling up and I guess that is why I am here," I tell the doctor. I think he is a doctor. He is wearing a white coat and has that air of professionalism about him.

"It's a simple procedure. We give you a small injection, you will look at some pretty lights, and with every blink, your memory will fade; your thoughts of Simon will disappear in an instant. We will have you attached to our machine and will ask you specific questions to help locate the memory, but once you blink, the memory will be gone and you will leave here without even knowing why you were here in the first place. Do you have any other questions?"
"Will it hurt?"

The doctor places a comforting hand on mine. I notice my own is clenched and shaking. "Not any more."

After I am hooked up to their equipment, I am given a shot and the chair reclines. There is a collection of lights and multicolored bulbs overhead.

"We are going to get started here, Ms. Evans. We are going to ask you some basic questions to get started but once the process gets going, the equipment will start erasing all associated memories automatically," the doctor's voice says over the intercom. "Your thoughts will drift toward the subject and will be erased one-by-one. Are you ready?"

I am ready.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Rachel Evans."

"Good, good. And blink. Great. How old are you?"

"32."

"Excellent. Blink once more. Good. What was your son's name?"

The overhead lights flash rapidly, the bulbs flicker in a spectrum of colors. I hesitate to say his name before "Simon" passes my lips like an autumn leaf. He loved to catch the leaves as they fell from trees.

"Good. And blink, Ms. Evans."

I do as I'm told and I'm left with a reminiscent memory of the fall. It was Simon's favorite season.

"What color were Simon's eyes?"

Simon's eyes were like warm water, the kind you can relax and unwind in after a long day. They always looked back at me with such positivity and curiosity and would light up when he saw me and -

"Blink."

His image fades from my mind. There is only a black void where his beautiful face was, like a cigarette burn.

Oh god, I've made a mistake. I can't forget Simon. I can't forget that his favorite toy was - it was - why can't I remember what his favorite toy was? He carried it with him all the time!

"And blink."

My thoughts jump to his favorite color and I remember it was the same color as his eyes but I can't remember that. Holding onto memories of him is like holding water. Simon used to try and hold water in his tiny, adorable hands at bath time. He loved splashing and - no, don't think about it.

I try and keep my eyes open. I don't think I will ever be able to close my eyes again but -

Blink.

I can feel the voids in my memories, a gaping hole in my mind, my soul exposed to the open air. The emptiness feels worse than having the memories. The corners of my mind are clearing and I am longing to hold onto the clutter for a little longer. That's where I kept Simon's first day at the park. That's where I kept Simon's favorite movie we watched hundreds of times. That's where I kept the smell of Simon's head.

I try keeping my eyes open but I feel sluggish. My eyes feel so heavy that they have to drop. I forget the shape of his ears. I forget the taste of his toes. I'm forgetting him completely.

Please, let me keep something to remember him by. Please, let me remember something about - something about -

Simon?

The name sounds foreign on my tongue. Like the taste of something familiar, some flavorful food I'd had long ago.

"That's it, Ms. Evans, we're done."

The flashing lights and colored bulbs settle and turn off as the chair inclines to the upright position. My eyes feel heavy and there are streaks of dried tears against my cheeks.

"What was I doing here?" I ask, my voice dry and cracked.

"We helped you forget some painful memories," the voice over the intercom says.

"What did I forget?"

"You forgot about your son."

I had a son? I try to pry up any sort of memory under the idea of "son" and come up blank. I'd think I'd remember if I had a child.

I feel tired and am escorted kindly from the building.

The brisk air feels cool against my skin. The leaves are turning and are falling to the ground. I grab one on its way and stare at the veins, tracing one along the leaf before returning it to the ground where it was headed.

Autumn was always my favorite season.