ONCE AGAIN, FROM MEMORY

ONCE AGAIN, FROM MEMORY

“Did you remember your fingerpicks?”

“Yes.”

“Flatpicks?”

“Yes.”

“Capo?”

“Yes.”

“Set list?”

“YES!”

“You don’t need to get mad.”

“I’m not exactly mad.”

“You look exceedingly mad to me.”

 “I’m just annoyed that you’re bothering me with all these questions.”

“Because every time we get to the gig, you turn out to have forgotten something, and I have to go back for it.” 

“That was the old me. I used to.”

“Last week you did.”

“What, are you keeping a record?”

“It’s not that hard for me to remember that I had to go all the way to Westwood Music at rush hour.”

“Alright, I’m sorry about that one time.”

“It’s not that one time. It’s every time.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to stop forgetting things.”

“How can I do that? It’s the way I am!”

“You remember things perfectly well when you want to.”

“No I don’t, I forget everything. You just said so.”

“You remember every mistake I’ve made since 1975.”

“Mistakes are different.”

“We’re talking about mistakes. Forgetting your picks when you’re a professional musician is a mistake. Why are you crying?”

“Because you always find fault with me just before I go onstage, and I’m already digesting my stomach from stage fright, which you very well know.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry!”

“Or whatever else you’d like me to be.”

“I want you to be supportive.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I AM FUCKING SUPPORTIVE.”

“Don’t yell at me, it makes me even more nervous.”

“I’m not yelling. Want to hear me yell?”

“Supportive people don’t yell.”

“Get in the car. We can continue this edifying conversation while I get you to the gig on time.”

“Wait. I can’t find my other shoe.”

“It’s probably close to where you found the first one.”

“Please don’t lecture me. I’m very nervous.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want sorrow. I want you to not aggravate me.”

“I’m trying really hard, but apparently you want to be aggravated.”

“It’s not something I do by choice!—oh, here it is.”

“Okay. Settle down. Do a quick check in your mind. Got everything?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Here we go. And let’s cool off and enjoy the drive.”

“Wait.”

“Wait what?”

“My purse. I forgot my purse.”

“Well, get it, but hurry. We’re running late.”

“I can’t hear you, I’m in the house.”

“Alright, now here we go. Yippy-ki-yi-yay. On the road again!”

“Thanks, now I’ll have that song in my head all night.”

“Sorry, what song would you like?”

“Ha ha, how about ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’”

“I’ll do my best…oh. Uh-oh. Oh shit.”

“Oh shit what?”

“I forgot to get gas.”

“What?? You said you’d be sure and have the car ready!”

“I had about a hundred thirty-seven other things to do, and it’s just possible I’m not perfect.”

“Yes, but the car? I don’t know anything about the car, it’s not my domain. You do the car. I depend on it.”

“Well, evidently you shouldn’t be so dependent.”

“I have enough to think about just remembering lyrics.”

“Quiet. I’m trying to think of a station that’s open right now.”

“Think fast, we’re already going to be late.”

“I’m sorry. I really apologize.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“We can stop at that corner place on Johnson.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean, we can’t?”

“I mean the last time I was there I forgot to take the nozzle out of the car, and I drove away and almost pulled the hose out of the gas thing, and the guy was really mad and told me I could have started an explosion and killed everybody.”

“Jesus, you did that?”

“Yes, I did that.”

“Well, we have no choice. Anyway, I’m the one pumping the gas, and he won’t recognize you.”

“He will. People recognize me.”

“Even in the dark?”

“The lights will be shining right on me through the window.”

“Look. If you want to do your show, we have to get gas.”

“Alright, but I’m going to huddle down under the glove compartment.”

“That’s paranoid.”

“It probably is. I have every other neurosis known to humankind, why not paranoia?”

“I haven’t been accusing you of being neurotic, you know, and you’re actually begging the issue.”

“Which is…?”

“Forgetting things. Turning your mind to things. Paying attention to your business.”

“Like putting gas in the car.”

“I already said I was sorry about the gas.”

“It’s not the gas. You’re accusing me of the very same thing you did, which is, forget something very important.”

“Alright, we both forget things occasionally.”

“Except I forget things all the time. Everything.”

“I never said you forget everything all the time. But you do forget a lot of things.”

“Think of all the things I remember when I go to the grocery store! I have the memory of an elephant.”

“Last time you shopped, you forgot three things—”

“Out of twenty!”

“—which happened to be the three that mattered to me: coffee, sugar, and half-and-half.”

“How was I supposed to know we were out? Since I don’t drink coffee.”

“You could look.”

“Or you could try telling me.”

“I did tell you. And you went ahead and forgot. My things. You remembered all the things you like.”

“No I didn’t. I forgot shortbread cookies.”

“Then that’s four things, right? Out of twenty.”

“This is really small of you. Can we talk about my lapses after the show?”

“Last time, if you remember, I saved all my criticisms until after the show, and you had a fit because I spoiled your hour of triumph. Which I understand. So I’m dealing with things right now in order to let you celebrate later.”

“You need to pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“PULL OVER, NOW!”

“There’s no shoulder here. What’s the problem?”

“I have to throw up.”

“Now? Why?”

“I can’t sit here discussing why I’m about to throw up when I actually am about to throw up. I’m scared, I’m nervous, I have stage fright. Just pull over, anywhere, I don’t care about the shoulder.”

“I really can’t stop here. Just throw up on the floor, I’ll clean it up. I promise.”

“This is my worst nightmare of being a performer—having people clean up after me because I’ve done something stupid.”

“Last time, you said your worst nightmare was everyone getting up and leaving.”

“Well, yes, I do have a wide variety of nightmares. I don’t think this is a good lifestyle for me. I think we should have children, instead.”

“Jesus, I pity our children.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t be this kind of person if I didn’t have to perform. It’s performing that makes me crazy.”

“I notice you’re not throwing up.”

“Not anymore. It passed.”

“That’s good, then. You look very nice, by the way.”

“I do?”

“I wouldn’t say so if you didn’t.”

“How can you tell in the dark?”

“I noticed before we left the house.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? It probably would have kept me from getting sick.”

“I couldn’t tell you anything. You were like a porcupine. I didn’t want to get too close.”

“I wish I hadn’t worn this dress.”

“It looks great.”

“I know. It looks too great. Like I think really highly of myself.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I wish I could go home and change. I’d give anything to not be overdressed like this. I can’t stand it!”

“Look. You’ll be fine. The dress is perfect. Your playing sounded fantastic in practice. You haven’t smoked for days and your voice is great. And people always like you, haven’t you noticed?”

“Well, that’s part of the problem. Things have been too good. Whenever something good happens, it means something equally bad is going to follow.”

“Who told you that?”

“I forget. Dickens. Somebody.”

“Okay, basta, we’re here. Safe and sound. Didn’t run out of gas, didn’t throw up in the car. You need to learn to—”

“It’s dark.”

“Huh?”

“It’s all dark.”

“It’s night, honey.”

“The building—it’s dark!”

“Yeah, I see. Maybe they haven’t turned on the outside lights yet.”

“I don’t think they’re even open.”

“You sure you got the date right?”

“Of course! Friday the 17^th.”

“Right, I wrote it down myself. What the hell…?”

“There’s a man. Ask him. Maybe he works here.”

“Okay, just wait. Be cool.”

“One…two…three…four…come on!…five…I can’t stand this…nineteen…twenty, well, what did he say?”

“Fuck.”

“What? Why are you sighing?”

“This is Thursday.”

“WHAT?”

“I said, this is Thursday.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“He absolutely knows.”

“How could you not have known what day it was?”

“How could you?”

“Oh my God, this is terrible.”

“Why? A few minutes ago you were saying you’d give anything not to be wearing that dress. In fact, you’d have given anything to not have to get on stage, and to have kids instead.”

“You can’t take literally everything I say when I’m under that much stress.”

“Well, comfort yourself with the thought that we’ll have another chance at it, tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’m so glad. I’m so relieved! I’ll be stronger tomorrow.”

“Let’s go get cheeseburgers.”

“Oh, yeah, let’s! Oh God, I thought I would die.”

“We can have kids if you’d rather.”

“No, not now. I’m a born entertainer. I have to follow my destiny.”

“Alright. But, about being forgetful…”

“What about it? Okay, I’m forgetful. We agree my memory isn’t good.”

“There’s one thing I want you to never forget. Ever.”

“What one thing? I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“No, I mean this very seriously—because you did forget. You do forget. You forget when you get scared. I want you to remember, always, good times and bad, that I love you. Will you promise?”

“Yes. I promise. I’ll never forget.”