The Last Memory

“Why did you come back, why? If you can’t do this… then why did you come back?

“Joe…I never came back… This…All of this…This isn’t real…I am gone…”

You know how some stories are like a streak of light; they are so beautiful at once, but they are forgotten the next moment. No matter how much you try to remember them, they just seem to be blurred out of your memory.

Memory? It’s a funny word…What does it “really” mean? It’s like we are a fucked up version of some human pendrive… We store everything that we come across with, and yet we have no choice over the things we can or cannot remember.

"If only we could choose the memories we want to remember."

 I remember everything about her-How she smelled, how she smiled, and how while drinking soda she nibbled the tip of the straw and how she loved wearing my T-shirt. I remember it all. 

"I wish I didn’t."

But that’s the thing, even though I remember every bit of it…I just can’t feel it again? You know how cruel a strategy it is- The ability to remember things- no matter how hard you try or how much you want to, you can't revisit em. You can only watch it like some stupid movie, with blues and melancholy, that’s how you know it’s not real-that it’s not there. Because even when you remember the happiest of your time, all you can feel is some loss. Loss mixed with fear that you won’t be that happy again. That’s why I wish there was a way to go back into my memories, feel it, relive it, embrace it. Because that’s what haunts me the most-the fact that I believe I didn’t live them enough. Whenever I remember, more than melancholy, I feel regret.

“I miss her…Dad. I really do.”

****

“Where are you taking me?” Joe fluttered as his father held his wrist tightly. “Just shut up! And follow,” his father said while dragging him into his grandfather’s empty walk-in closet. Joe had always admired that closet. Ever since he was a child, he was intrigued by the fine wooden craftsmen ship and greyish black color. He has never seen anything like that. It was old but strong yet somehow very delicate. It was a paradox; the closet was this massive greyish black wooden furniture with carvings all over it that reached up to the roof. It had no handles, no trace of another material. It was just pure greyish black wood. “It’s Oak,” His Grandfather once told him when he caught him staring at the closet with awe-admiration. “One day, you will be a part of the Oak too,” his grandfather told him while smiling in an apologetic yet nostalgic way. It was like this was destined to happen, and he was sorry that he brought this upon him. But Joe didn’t understand- what those words really meant, and he still doesn’t. A few months later, his grandfather passed away, and his father locked the room, hiding away that closet in the warmth of silence, like a secret lost in the sea. But today, the door is open, and the closet is open. It’s empty? And seems like it always has been. But as his father drags him inside the closet, he just can’t stop thinking, “One day you will be a part of the Oak too,” his grandfather’s words keep echoing in his head. He just can’t figure out what they really mean. While lost in thought, he snaps out, realizing. He is standing inside the closet. It’s spacious, but the weird part is it’s not that dark inside. You know? It is a closet. It should be pitch black inside. But it’s not. Even though the doors are closed, it seems like…the wood is radiating…light? But that’s not possible, or is it? While he was struggling through elementary science, whether there is any kind of wood that emits light. He looks at his father, “Dad, is everything alright?” he asks. He is responded in silence. But he knows something is off; his father’s face is half-lit, a silhouette in candlelight. He has the look of an apology, an apology that’s long overdue in its time. Like a sin, his forefathers committed whose burden he must bear and now is forced to transfer it to his son. He looked at Joe with solemn eyes, eyes that say I wish you didn’t have to bear this curse. “I can’t protect you any longer,” He said.

His mind was flooded with questions; none of this was making sense. The look on his father’s face was scaring him. But he didn’t say a word; it just didn’t seem right. So, he held his silence until he started to explain.

“Son, we have been bearing this curse for generations now. And, it’s time I share it with you too. 

The truth is a choice, and as to how you use it, it becomes a curse or a gift. 

Your grandfather used to call it a gift; I believed it to be a curse. So, now it’s up to you. How you’ll perceive it. 

This closet is made from the wood of the oldest Oaktree. The only wood that can emit light. Our family is said to be born with Oak in our blood, that’s why when we die our ashes are rubbed on the closet and they recover this old closet. That’s why it’s in such perfect shape to this date, and this phenomenon has allowed it to survive centuries.

 We are the descendants of Oak, our blood has Oak, the light of this closet gives us an exceptional ability. It allows us to go into our memories. It will enable us to relive them.

As soon as you go inside any memory, you can relive it like you are really there. But the only condition is each time you relive a memory, a fragment of that memory gets erased. That means if you relive a particular memory far too many times, you’ll forget all about it.”

It’s been three months since I last saw you. I always thought that the next time I’ll see you, I’ll run back and hug you tight like we used to after a fight; I’ll hug our differences away and say, “Let’s give us another try, why don’t we? We are worth it” And, like always, you will give me the death stare "what took you so long" you'd dart at me. I’ll blush, and we’ll have your favorite red velvet cake with orange peels. I hate it. But it makes you smile, so it’s pretty good.

But…I saw you yesterday, you were wearing that blue dress that you wore on our third anniversary, I always used to tell you-you radiate in that dress. His arms were around you; he is taller than me. So, I guess he holds you like you always wanted to be held. That’s what you used to tell me, remember El? Remember El…When I first held you…you said this is exactly how I always wanted to be held?

Remember…? I don’t want to remember…? But if I don’t? Then why am I holding the door of this freaky coset? Whats’s the harm in going back? Anyway, these are just memories. Right El? He closed his eyes shut and entered the closet. The closet smelled of history. Like years and years were just trapped within the walls, the light emitted out of the wood was subtle, like the brush of your lover’s finger across your cheeks. He sat, and the aura wrapped him like the bosom of a caring mother. Before he knew it, he fell asleep.

****

“What are you doing here, El?” “What do you mean, what am I doing here? We are here for the movie. You alright, Joe, you seem weird?” “Nothing…It’s like…I don’t know, It’s nothing, let’s go!”

“Joe?” “hmm?” “Don’t you think the movie is kind of boring?” She says while dragging my hands up her skirt. “What…?” My hands begin to shiver, my breath shortens; I have never touched her before, not like this. “Are you afraid?” Her voice starts to melt me like ice cream, and suddenly it seems I have lost all the control over my body. This trans, I gulp my nervousness down, and there I drag my fingers further inside her denim skirt- “Joe! Snap out, you need to do the dishes before the guests come” “What, where are we? What happened?” “What do you mean where we are? We are at our house, and we have guests coming over in like 15 minutes; you promised you’ll do the dishes, and I don’t see you doing that! So, baby chop-chop” “What house, what guests? We were just watching this movie, and you just kept my hand up your skirt, and I was so nervous. What happened? How did we get here?” “Honey, what is wrong with you? That happened when we were in class 12th? Stop freaking me out” “I am not freaking you…”- “Joe, can I be yours forever?” “Yes, El, you are mine forever; why are you asking this? What happened? You look so young?” Wait, I remember this place…This is where we celebrated our first anniversary, and I cooked for you for the first time, and you were so overwhelmed that you held my hand…and asked: “Can I be yours forever?” Damn, this is a memory; those were all memories; I am in the fucking closet.

And then this became a routine I’d spend my whole day in the closet, next to you El, talking to you, holding you, your hair smells like Lavender, Oh El, this is the best. Lying in your laps, you reading poetry and I pretending to doze off, I love you…I love you so much “I love you too, Joe.”

You know, something? You feel like home—a home I never want to drift from. The thought of living without is haunting…

El: “I am gone.”

Joe: “Why would you say that?”

El: “I don’t know, why did I say that…”

Joe: (Wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning and whispering in her ear) “I’ll never let you go.”

El: “You promise?”

Joe: “I promise.”

****

Slow her lips melt over mine, and it feels like poetry, she held me closer than always, her beating heart my symphony, I knew this is what happiness feels like, and apart from her face everything turned white…Is this what magic feels like?

“No,” she said, smiling. Her heather blue lenses jewelled her big eyes. My melted heart could craft only one line “Can I call you mine” She blushed, looked down, and nodded, and suddenly we were on the roof of her parent’s house, under the stars that once belonged to us. The white was gone…This is the place where we first kissed.

But when I looked in front of me, it seemed everything was fading like the world was closing in on us.

“What’s happening, El?”

She smiled; the memory is collapsing, you are forgetting me. “No, I can’t, and I am not!"

She turned towards me, “Do you remember what my hair smells like?”

Joe: …

El: I can’t do this…

Joe: “Why did you come back? Why? If you can’t do this… then why did you come back?

El: “Joe…I never came back… This…All of this…This isn’t real…I am gone….I am right now sleeping in someone else’s arms; his finger lingers over my back. I am gone Joe, I am long gone.”

“Don’t do this… Don’t go, please; I love you.” Joe said, shivering.

“You need to forget me, Joe, or maybe you already have. This… This never happened that night on my roof; you didn’t kiss me… this isn’t a memory. This is a dream. You always told me how you dreamt of kissing me that night and how you regret not asking me, “Can you be mine?” -This is a dream; maybe some dreams are stronger than the memories…that’s why this is the last thing,

Lavender Joe, you always said my hair smell like lavender…I never said you Goodbye, did I? Goodbye Joe…”

Joe: Goodbye, El, I love…

“It’s just life. It will be over before you know it”-Five Feet Apart