The Cost of Memories

In Which I Wrestle With A Memory

"How's little Mary doing?" I ask Mr. Pendells as I gather the jar, making sure that the lid fits before I set it on the table next to where he is reclining. He had shown up unexpectedly today, asking if I could afford to copy another one of his memories right now.

The teacher isn't necessarily what you would expect when you think of elementary teacher. He is ex-military with the muscles and the buzz cut he refuses to let grow out even now to prove it, but I know that he cares about his students with the same fierce love that led him to serve the country in the first place.

His posture softens at the name, and a little smile tugs at his lips as I roll my stool over to sit in front of him. "She's happier now that her mother isn't in treatment all of the time. I always tell the parents when they come in to talk to me that I know when there is something not quite right at home because their child tends to behave differently. The stress of Mary's family trying to find the money to pay for treatments as well as just the worry about whether she was going to make it was too much for the little one."

"That's great. I know that you were worried about her the last time you came in."

"That would have been to copy the shark memory, right? Was the quality of that memory as good as the buyer was hoping for?"

I nod, gently tilting his head forward. "Your memories are always of exceptional quality. The remarks I tend to get about them are directed towards how detailed they are compared to some of the other memories that people pawn. I had a request this week for something a little different than what we normally do, but you can always refuse it if you're not comfortable."

His gaze hardens to the point where I could sharpen a knife on it. "What exactly are they wanting this time, Mae?"

"They want one of your war memories. I wasn't given specific details on the variety that they wanted, but they were very insistent that it had to be a war memory. Something about the way they said makes me believe that they want the goriest one that you can possibly find in your head."

I feel his skin ripple beneath my hands, so slight a shudder that I wouldn't have been able to discern it with my eyes. I knew exactly what I would be asking of him when Shadow had brought me that last list of clients' requests, and I had hated the idea enough that I had fought with the dealer over it. That encounter had reminded me why it was best to keep my mouth shut and my head down.

The silence stretches, starting shallowly before it consumes enough of the room that I start to feel as if I am drowning in it. Mr. Pendells' eyes have clouded over, telling me that if I were to delve into his mind at this moment, I would likely find a confusing collage of the memories that the request had stirred up.

Finally, he sighs and reaches up to gently touch my hands, which are still touching the sides of his head. "Do what you need to do, Mae. And I will pray that whoever ends up with this memory wakes up in the middle of the night choking on their spit."

Against my will, a smile cracks the tension of my lips, and as I look into the teacher's eyes again, I see that peace has settled into the fissures that the request had opened. Glancing to the side to make sure that my jar is actually nearby, I take a deep breath.

"All right. Let me know when you are ready."

Once he taps a finger against the back of my hand, I scoot closer to the front of my stool and press my forehead against his. The memories suck me in like quicksand, hungry to feed on someone besides Mr. Pendells, and I let them.

Memory-mining always reminds me of hidden picture puzzles. Despite the best attempts of the people I coax memories out of, I still have to squint into the chaos of their minds to find the one memory that I specifically want. Sometimes the memory stands out brightly as if it wants to be found, desperate to have its seed planted into another mind. Other times, it slips through my fingers each time I try to grasp it, a child playing tag on the playground.