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[personal profile] there_is_a_me
The truth is that memory doesn’t come back in a flood. You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly remember everything. It’s more subtle than that; you’re talking and you say something that makes sense, but isn’t something you knew. Maybe you and your conversational partner don’t even realize it, but you hadn’t relearned it. That’s important.

Then, later, thinking about the conversation you realize; hey! Wait! I knew that and with it you realize that you know bits around it. Darth Sarge, you’d said, and you remember sitting on the floor with some bird’s ankle on your shoulder while your bird leaned up against your side and some of your mates sprawled on the couch, the lot of you tossing crisps at the screen and bemoaning the lousy sword work of the people on screen.

Maybe there's nothing new for a day, or two, or a week. Long enough that you start thinking that was it, it's over, I've got what I'm going to get. But, creeping in on silent feet, there's more. Just a hint. It's unpredictable when it's going to come up. A little, and a bit more.

It’s like that with other things, too. You’re cursing your way through the first two chapters of a book, and then you hit the first major plot twist and you know what’s coming up. You look up hours later, the light’s died and your head is aching from the strain of making the words stay still, and you still only looked up because you’d closed the back cover of the book. The book that you remembered, every page telling you what was on the next one.

You’re afraid, at that point. You set the book down with shaking hands not because you remembered, but what if this is it? What if all you get back from your life are these little hints and teasing flirtations with fiction? Is that better than nothing? Is it worse?

So you put it aside and don’t think about it. You do evening chores, and have supper with your family, and curl up in your.
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Ron 'Spoon' Witherspoon

March 2013


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