Remember to Forget

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watched the sun fall behind the snow covered mountains through his small bedroom window. The room was lit by a single candle on the night stand to his right, where a torn paper seemed to glow under the deep black ink of the words, “I love you, I always will.” A drop of whiskey from his glass had spilled, smudging the word ‘always’. 

His bed was perfectly made with crisp sheets and pillows strategically placed the way she liked, his suit jacket strewn on the floor and his shoes placed neatly next to him. He breathed in deeply, keeping his gaze toward the bedroom door. There was a slight buzz coming from the electronic clock on the wall and the atomizer on his dresser filled the room with a subtle hint of honey and jasmine.

He could see them in his peripheral vision, two pills sat next to each other in a small silver bowl near the candle. 

“Take one to forget, one to live through it all over again,” the words of the hooded man echoed in his mind, “but be careful, choosing to forget isn’t the same as letting go and those memories can still haunt you. However, re-living memories can do things to your mind, they can trap you, and that bliss you feel can distort into misery in the blink of an eye. You may find yourself lost there. Choose wisely, my friend.” His voice seemed cold and distant giving him the impression he was speaking from experience, painful experience.

Closing his eyes, he drew the jasmine tainted air deep into his lungs, releasing tension and fear in a sigh as he exhaled. He stared at the capsules for several minutes before gathering them in his hand. The pills were strange, bigger than he was expecting and felt as if they were made of glass. He made a loose fist around both pills shaking gently, focusing on the musical sound they made as they bumped into each other. “Shake to activate, you’ll want to take them before everything settles to get the full effect.” 

Releasing them back into the silver bowl he was mesmerized, the contents inside each pill seemed to twirl and dance inside their capsuled prisons. The darker pill was filled with shadow, black smoke that swirled in little curls and the other seemed to emanate some kind of faint light, as if a galaxy of tiny stars had been stirred from a deep slumber. He brought them to eye level, one in each hand. “I don’t want to let go,” he whispered and placed the dark pill back in the bowl. Trembling, he picked up his glass of whiskey, the stones rattling in the liquid. 

“I don’t want to forget, not yet.” He swallowed and It was done.

Removing the rest of his clothes he wondered how long until the pills would take effect, or if he had just spent most of his paycheck on some kind of sick practical joke. He shook his head at his foolish decision. He was so eager to have some part of her back that he hadn’t questioned the man or the drugs he was hesitantly sold. Too many questions were left unanswered with no way back. 

The sheets were cold against his bare skin. He lay on his side of the bed, hers remained untouched, he couldn’t bring himself to remove her pillow. It was sick, the way he loved how her scent still lingered there. It had been weeks, or maybe it was months since she had slept there, her skin warming his as they lay wrapped in each others embrace. The whiskey flooded his veins with warmth and clouded his memory, his eyelids grew heavy and soon he was asleep.

“I don’t want to forget.” Those words echoed through him, spreading like an electrical current surging through his body, reaching every part of him. He woke slowly, a change that offered relief from the usual nightmare driven panic that had become normal lately. Blinking his eyes he tried to release the grogginess the whiskey had plagued him with from the night before. Something felt off, he wasn’t quite sure if he was awake or still asleep. His vision started to lose clarity and soon he was left with nothing, a blank canvas as he lay there, dazed. 

Again he tried to blink, but his eyes remained frozen, leaving him unable to determine if they were open or closed. He did everything he could to move, his heart beating heavily in his chest, skin moistened with small beads of sweat. An attempt to scream was for nought as his body betrayed him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, he couldn’t feel anything. He was numb, entirely. The struggle to gain control left him exhausted and soon he succumbed to the moment. He was fighting the memory he had paid such a high price to re-live. It was time, whether he was ready or not.

Even before fully waking he could sense her, feel her presence. She was there with him, again. Eyes closed, he reached for her, fingertips landing gently on her smooth pale skin. He wept. The woman he had loved so deeply and hurt so terribly was no longer lost amongst the thousands of people living in the city, she was his for just this moment. 

He hadn’t fully realized how much he longed for her, craved her, missed her. It tortured him. His inability to understand how much he needed her in his life was made painfully clear. He still loved her, still wanted her. He had lost her in his waking reality, but right here and now she was there and he wasn’t going to let any detail go unnoticed. He was addicted and she was his drug. Deep in withdrawal, the pills were his fix. He pulled her into him, inhaling as much of her scent as his lungs would allow, an instant high.

The memory played out just like a living movie, his view was omniscient allowing him to hear and feel everything as if it were happening again. As quickly as it had begun, the memory faded before morning. Once again there was nothing, darkness. 

Waking with a desperate fixation, he spent the day looking for anything that brought back memories of their time together. He needed another fix, he had to feel her again. Anything of value was sold, every penny held in his savings was cashed out and a meeting with the seller was set for mid-afternoon. He could afford 47 pills, 47 memories. 47 laughter filled days and nights of passionate love. 47.

The seller looked different in the grey winter light. He was taller than he remembered with a thick gray beard that seemed to curl in all directions. He wore a heavy leather jacket that smelled of beer and cigars. He had aged in a way that left his skin withered and harsh, but there was a softness to him despite his grungy appearance. It was the mans eyes, the way they looked through you and never at you, the way they pulled at your thoughts as if he could read them as easily as karaoke words on a dark screen in a dimly lit bar. He knew what was wanted before there was a chance to ask. 

They were gone and getting more would take a week, the deposit would be half of the price, the rest due during the exchange. The deal was made and 5 days were to pass before their next meeting. 

“Don’t forget to forget, son. That black pill is there for a reason. If you change your mind I’ll get your deposit back to you.” He couldn’t focus on his words. “LISTEN! Don’t forget to forget, you have to forget. You can’t hold her forever, you have to let go. Please don’t forget to forget.”

He had entered into a living hell. Driven to feel her again, his mind was completely off-course. He could’t focus on work, he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. It didn’t affect him, that first night he spent awake. The 4th night was the first time he had picked up the black pill. “Don’t forget to forget.” He felt himself breaking under sleep deprivation, mental exhaustion and hunger. He wanted his physical suffering to end, this madness he had found in searching for her was destroying him, but he wanted her, too. Sleep finally took him, darkness. 

Day 5 moved at a pace too slow for him and he found himself biting his nails, a habit lost with maturity. The seller stood with his back pressed against the same lamppost that lit the parking lot that first night, two identical briefcases stood on either side of him. The man explained that the pills were to be taken 24 hours apart, one to remember, one to forget. As he turned to leave, the seller grasped him firmly on the arm, pulling him closer. “Don’t forget to take the black pill, don’t get lost in your memories of her, they will destroy you. You’ll live in an eternal hell if you don’t let go.” Shaking from his grasp he laughed and walked off.

The cycle remained consistent for the first week. Wake up and take the black pill, before bed take the other. Sleep and remember, wake and forget. Remember to forget, over and over again. Life seemed to pick up where it had left off before his breakdown, work was great, he felt better than he ever had. Shortly he noticed the drugs weren’t working as well, they weren’t as strong and each night he was forced to end the memory before he was ready. Passing out from alcohol wasn’t enough and in a drunken stupor on day 8 he took two pills at once. 

His fantasy was restored and lasted nearly twice as long. He woke mid-day only to repeat the night before, skipping the black pill. He wasn’t ready to leave yet, he wasn’t ready to let go. His refusal of the black pill continued until that wasn’t enough. He figured each pill lasted roughly 8 hours, 8 hours of bliss, 8 hours of her. He had 30 pills left, it wasn’t enough, but it was all he had. And then they were gone, swallowed willingly with more than enough whiskey to put him back into her arms quickly.

An anonymous caller led them to him. Lifeless and cold, his body lay there, eyes open, holding the expression one gets when they’re searching for an answer to a heavy philosophical question. Screams of amazement echoed through his apartment as vitals were routinely checked, he was still alive. 

He still sleeps, they call it a coma, but some sense it’s deeper than that. His eyes open on occasion, that same look on his face. Some say they can see him in there, through his eyes. They say he’s not ready to wake up yet, they say he’s still holding on to whatever it was that hurt him. They say he just needs to remember. 

They say he’s losing time, and sometimes the nurses whisper to him, begging him to hold on, to pull through. They whisper words of encouragement, promises of a wonderful life. He’s still there, sleeping, stuck in his memories, slowly dying.

He needs to live to forget.