A story about memory and the reinvention of truth
Shadow of Memory
This story is true…
I remember waking up with Anna by my side. The morning light flowed through the window, painting her bare skin with a pale sheen. She smiled as she dreamt.
My problem with Memory is this. It is little more than a grab bag of truths, lies, stories and wishes. It reinvents everything.
I never learned what that dream was about. I left without waking her.
Today I woke up in this room. I sat down at this table. I picked up this pen. I wrote these words.
None of them are mine.
I can not remember what happened to Anna. I am not even sure how long ago it was that I closed the door on that dawn lit room. I do remember this, a part of me that is not memory tells me I loved her.
When I walk out of this room I will be lost. Out the window I can see seagulls hovering over a dumpster. I know I have never been near the water.
Her face, I can remember it exactly.
The seagull’s cry sounds like her laughter.
It is getting darker. I closed the door behind me. She is becoming a shadow of memory.
I can remember chalk lines flowing into a storm drain on dawn lit misty morning.
No, I am no longer sure whose memory she is.
This story is true.