“What say you, ghost?” asked the breeze of the fan.
But I wasn’t falling for it. It’s true I have a lot of time on my hands, which famously makes for certain challenges, but I wasn’t going to go for that one. I’m not talking to the walls yet (though this blahg is a kind of wall, I suppose). I heard an old friend, with more than enough in his portfolio to comfortably retire, tell another old friend he will never retire.
“What would I do?” he asked. She suggested travel.
“And after I travel the world for five years, what then?” he asked. Reasonable question, nodded another grey head at the table. I can see their point, but I don’t feel it, the work I want to be doing still just out of my reach.
“What has this to do with memory and mammary?” asks another disembodied voice, not unreasonably.
When we lose our memory, do not recognize old friends any more, cannot recall the things that excited us, made us happy, choked up, got us up and dancing… how much of life is left? I can’t recall exactly what thought sent me here to write it down. There was a short, coherent thought that inspired the title, now gone. Imagine being unable to recall anything at all. It’s not hard to picture, but it’s horrifying.
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just like a painless death, you lie back, look at the interesting pattern in that light fixture, the way the light changes color on the walls as the sun paints the room for nighttime. Coat after coat: white, yellow, orange, pink, the gradations are seamless, perfect. Now the light is almost purple, more blue creeping in, the electric lights go on outside the windows– or not. Soon it is dark and your eyes close. That’s right, dreams merge into each other and then slowly, gently fade.
“And mammaries?” asks nobody.
I remember them, Horatio. Pressed against me, too young and foolish to know exactly what to do, but I loved it, Horatio. To hold her for a moment, one more time, like a sleek seal, face upturned.
And then? I don’t recall.