I Am the Real One, Right? (ONC2024)

Chapter Seven: Meeting an Alien

Let's rewind to the moment I reached Violet's address, the girl who lingered in my memories. I had vivid flashbacks of proposing to her, convinced we would spend our lives together. I imagined she'd be distressed about my sudden disappearance. Yet, there I was, standing before her, stunned to realize we were no longer a couple. I just couldn't tear my eyes away from her familiar yet distant face.

"What? Why are you acting so strange?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Strange? She had no clue about the turmoil swirling inside me. "Why didn't you say yes?" I blurted out impulsively.

"Huh?" She looked even more puzzled. "When I asked you to marry me at the beach, why didn't you say yes? We were so happy," I pressed, the frustration seeping into my voice.

"What? Are you okay? I did say yes," she responded, her voice soft yet firm.

That response threw me off balance. Maybe I had been a terrible husband and ruined everything. "Then why aren't we together now?" I asked, my tone softening, seeking understanding rather than confrontation.

"Because we never got married," she replied simply, her expression one of resigned clarity as if stating the most obvious fact.

Couldn't she see I needed more answers? "Look, I was struck by lightning a few weeks back. I don't remember anything but you. Please, tell me what happened," I pleaded, my voice cracking slightly with desperation.

She seemed momentarily lost for words. "Are you okay? We didn't get married because, a week before our wedding, I was diagnosed with cancer. We had to call it off. I asked you to move on, and you did," she explained, her voice laced with a quiet sadness.

People say time heals all wounds, but that's not entirely true. It's not time itself, but rather the memories we forge that help mend the broken pieces. As we create new memories, the old, painful ones slowly fade into the background. I must have walked that path myself, but now, with my memories erased—save for those few precious recollections—I was forced to relive the pain all over again.

I can't adequately express it, but imagine not remembering anything about your life, except for one person. Then, discovering that this person is no longer part of your story—it's like having one friend your entire life and then losing them.

"You look better now, are you okay?" I asked her, finally acknowledging why the long, flowing hair I remembered had been replaced with a shorter, more practical style.

"Yes, as long as the cancer doesn't relapse," she replied with a casual shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "Forget that, tell me about your memory."

I don't know why, but suddenly I felt overwhelmingly sad. I rushed out of her house and drove aimlessly, my mind a whirlwind of emotions.

That night, I yearned to return to the days when we were together. So, I secretly took a pill I had acquired without Julius the ape knowing. As the drug-induced flashes of memory flickered by, they always paused at the moment I first saw her through the mirror. I would stop there, staring, reliving all our moments together. This became my nightly routine, spending several evenings in my car and others in shelters, clinging to the past through the haze of the drug.

But it was only the next day that I would learn about the strange side effect of the drug—I was losing all my inhibitions. That inner voice that helps you navigate the odd, unwritten rules of society? I couldn't tap into that anymore. It was as if the filter between my thoughts and actions was dissolving, leaving me exposed to the whims of the moment without the usual guards.

One night I found myself on stage doing a Standup. This is how it bombed.

"Good evening, everyone! Remember those childhood games we used to play? You do? Well, I don't. My memory hard disk has crashed—completely wiped. Kind of like the guy in the movie who's hunting for his wife's killer, except I'm just hunting for where my wife might be right now. Spoiler alert: still no clue.