“One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.”
The noise in my head was deafening. It was like a static white noise that would just not quit. I could swear that I’d live with it, only that I could remember myself promising myself to break this.
I was walking to work when my eyes caught a bunch of white chrysanthemums. I really wished I didn’t have, but my mind was soon filled with the memories of my mother’s funeral.
It was 12th August, 1995. It was a rainy Saturday and the band was playing incorrectly a rendition of Beethoven’s ninth. The third violinist from the left was a note too low all the while. I could still recall the scent of the embalming emanating from the casket. My mother still wore her pearls, and the forty-six guests noticed that too. The priest started the note with an extract from the Bible, Ecclesiastes 3:1-2: For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted.
The bitter aftertaste of peppermint still persisted in my mouth, cumbered by my uneasy tongue. Uncle Wainwright sat six chairs to my left, and wept unabashedly. I remember him whisper goodbye into my ear, the whiskey clearly noticeable in his breath, before he drove back home, where he died exactly nine weeks and six days later, on 20th of October.
I had now reached the qualms of reality, trying ever so hard to decide whether at that moment, as I stared into my office building, was the past or the present. If man had problems in life, mine was a perpetual one. I had the ability to recall everything since I was eight. Doctors call it names; people God’s gift. And I could only call it noise.
Tom remembers everything and every day of his life since he was eight. He suffers from hyperthymesia, a disease that creates unforgettable memories of one's life. And then he saw Beth. So began his fight with himself and his own disease: the only that holds him back from creating stories of hurt that he'll never forget.
So will he or won't he?
Read it here: Remember This