Remember Me

2021. 1. 2

"There's a premade meal." Eddy gestured the caretaker - Brandon, if he remembered his name correctly - over to the kitchen and swung open the fridge. "You don't have to do much; Brett normally eats at 7pm, so if you would just heat it up in the microwave and serve it, that would be wonderful."

Brandon nodded. "I can do that. Is there anything else?"

"You can let him sleep at around 9 or 10. I'll be back home ideally sooner than that, but if I don't, then you're welcome to get him ready for bed." He glanced down at his watch before spinning himself into the living room, where Brett was idly playing with the box of worn-out crayons. "If he wants more paper to draw, they're in the drawer right there - it's labelled - and more art supplies can be found on the other side of the room there. Everything else is in the sheet of paper on the counter. You have any questions or concerns, call me. Even if I don't hear your call the first time, I'll call back as soon as I can. Alright?"

"Yep." His eyes watched Eddy swoop down and pick up his violin case, as well as how Eddy pressed both of his lips against Brett's forehead and mumbled a vague I love you. A vague grimace appeared on his face. "Boyfriends? And you're a musician, going off to a concert?"

Ah. That tone. Maybe that was why Eddy's palms were sweaty; maybe that was why he shifted every time he searched the web for caretakers. "Husbands. And yes. But you don't need to worry about it. If I haven't specified it before, closet in the bedroom is off-limits. That room over there," he pointed at the storage room, "is also off-limits. Obviously, use the bathroom if you need, and you're welcome to watch the television or anything once Brett is asleep and well. Don't explore the house, don't take anything you aren't supposed to, all of that - but I assume you already know basic courtesy."

"I do."

"Good. I'll pay you once I come back." He swung the door open and took one last glance at Brett, humming the same four notes of Mendelssohn to himself. "Take good care of him. Please."

And with that, the door was shut.

***

"You want me," Eddy had cleared his throat, "to play the encore with you despite having not properly practiced in forever? And it's Navarra? You know how obscenely difficult that is-"

Ray had chuckled, and had given Eddy a hardy pat on the back. "Hey. Come on. I know you can still do it. You used to know it better than the back of your hand - it's still somewhere in there. And we could just print out a piano part for Julio. He remembers it pretty well. Even better, right?"

So here Eddy was, being ushered onto the stage where Ray and his pianist awaited him. Here Eddy was, playing the same notes he had played for the entirety of a world tour, in front of an entire crowd of people that recognized him, even if it was a vague recognition - but didn't dare ask what happened to him, Brett, and the channel. Who would? If someone had wiped all traces of themselves from the internet and left themselves to be shut-ins for the rest of time, who would want to question that?

If this was one of the few times they would ever see Eddy Chen again, why would they want to scare him away?

Somewhere in the audience was one of these old TwoSet fans, thinking the exact same thing. They watched as Eddy shut his eyes, blazing through the notes as his violin sang, filling the concert hall with something else: they forgot about Ray's Bruch and the drama that dripped with every sharp bow stroke, forgot Hilary's Sibelius that they had listened to earlier this morning, forgot Ziyu's Paganini that they had downloaded just a few months ago.

What was left was longing and regret. They could hear it, loud and clear, faded memories that were too far away to be reached. Eddy's nostalgia overwhelmed Ray's energy, pushing it all the way to the back of the concert hall; he reached out with everything that he had kept to himself this past year and suffocated the entire audience with fear, uncertainty, and frustration; he left them drowning as he threw memory after memory at them, each one tinged with unreachable joy and relief, each one forever trapped in the back of Eddy's mind as other thoughts consumed him.

Memories that sang unintelligible words. Memories that pleaded with the audience. Memories that told them all they needed to know without even asking a single question. Memories that prayed for their own continued survival, hoping that if Eddy dared not to slip back into the past and relive some of moments he had so eagerly suppressed, that at least the audience would. These memories reached out, intertwining their hands with the audience and bringing them through a journey: a bubble tea journey, a sloppy first kiss, a disappearing wedding-

Soon, they shut their eyes. And soon, they could hear what the memories sang as they felt loss reach their cores.

Remember me.

-a forgettable world tour, an empty YouTube channel-

Remember me.

-what else? What else, other than the faded feeling of comfort and security?

Remember me.

*****

-vilopan_