Missing Reminiscing

“Mama,” Izzy called loudly as she slammed the front door behind her. “I forgot my lunch box at school.”

Janey rolled her eyes and imagined how freeing it must be to forget.

“It’s okay, Bug,” Janey called back, “just come, have a snack, and get started on your homework.”

Names and faces, slights and grudges, everything stayed with Janey permanently. Total recall, the doctors called it. They had told Janey that there were meds she could take that would help alleviate the burden, but she would not be able to choose which memories to release. Because her condition included incredible moments too, Janey chose to refuse the meds. Of course, the good memories didn’t keep Janey awake at night the way the bad recollections did. 

Izzy came through the kitchen door, humming a song under her breath. She was a scrawny 8-year-old and Janey saw in her sweet gap-toothed smile the echo of every moment they had shared.

Throughout her life, Janey found that building connections with people was difficult. With her daughter, Izzy, it was easier. With Izzy’s father, Janey’s ex, it was volatile. He had distanced himself from Izzy as well as Janey when he’d realized that Janey would never forget how disloyal he had been near the end of their short time together. Many years had passed with Janey and Izzy building a life on their own. Eventually and unexpectedly, however, Janey fell in love; unsurprisingly, it proved to be complex. 

When they were at dinner with friends, Peter liked to tell the story of how they had met, but he’d grow foggy near the end. His version would wander and he’d get a wistful look in his blue eyes. He would cast a romantic haze over any details that remained vague for him. This meant his version varied greatly depending on the audience. Janey, on the other hand, remembered every minute component in crystalline detail. To be fair, it was a legitimately charming meeting: an early Sunday morning grocery trip, both distractedly reached for the last bunch of bananas at the market, hands touched, eyes locked, and both stepped back shyly giggling. 

Next, in most of Peter’s versions, he recalled them flirting shamelessly, bananas a distant prop. Janey on the other hand, remembered the elderly woman wearing a green sweater atop orange pants stepping between them, snatching the bananas, and disappearing into the store. Consequently, Janey had been unable to make the banana cake for Izzy’s birthday as well. And lastly, she remembered that Peter had spinach caught between his teeth the whole time they talked. Janey wanted to forget these details and move into their future with Peter’s version of their history.

It was impossible to feel nostalgic when every crisp element rendered Janey’s memories sharp, constant, and unrelenting. And it created a life built on secrets for Janey. To begin with, Janey withheld the experience of total recall from Peter. He believed she saw their memories in the same light he did: with the rosy glow of sweetness and sentiment around the whirlwind that was their first few months. Janey let him. It was easier to let him be the keeper of the good memories.

This lack of nostalgia meant Janey was not caught up in the sorts of moments that other brides had been. When Peter asked Janey to marry him, after dropping what he felt were subtle hints for weeks, Janey had already known this would be the day. She and Izzy were dressed up and the family dinner at Gusteo’s was a bit out of the ordinary. Janey feigned surprise when Peter got down on one knee. She did feel love for him and marrying him was the next logical step for their family. So she said yes.

“Mama?” Izzy’s sweet voice pulled Janey back to the kitchen.

“Yes, Bug,” Janey responded, swooping down to kiss Izzy’s neck. “What is it?’

“Are you excited about the wedding?” Izzy’s lips pursed and her brows scrunched at the end of the word wedding like she was thinking deeply. Janey considered the question.

“I think we are ready for the wedding, if that’s what you mean, Bug.”

“But are you excited?”

Janey didn’t feel excited. Excitement and nostalgia were close cousins, and total recall erased both of them. This was something that other people rarely understood: you needed to be able to forget to have moments of anticipation that led to excitement. When the whole of your experience was ever-present, surprise was rare.

“I’m very happy for us to marry Peter, Bug.” Janey countered, giving an honest response, while still avoiding the question.

“So you aren’t excited?” Izzy pushed. She crossed her small arms over her tiny ribcage, in a show of frustration too cute to be taken seriously.

“Isabelle Marie, I think it is time for you to go pack your bag so we can head to the hotel. YOU are definitely excited to get the weekend started.”

Having her feelings validated by her mother was all Izzy needed. Her puffed-up chest deflated and all fight left. She bounced down from the stool and out of the kitchen. Janey sighed, putting Izzy’s plate in the sink and wiping down the counter.

The gift of total recall–always having things taken care of in advance because no detail is forgotten–came second to the price of it. Janey loved Peter because she knew love was a choice one made daily. Tomorrow, with Izzy by her side, Janey would commit to marrying her life to Peter’s. She would entrust the job of remembering the romance to him and take on the role of remembering every appointment or scheduled event. Together, they would make it work.

Janey crossed the kitchen to follow Izzy upstairs and tried to conjure up a sense of excitement. She had watched others feel it and could remember every detail of their expressions and behaviors. She would, for Peter and Isabelle, wear the costume of excitement. After all, a bride should be excited to create memories on her wedding day.