Mnemosyne

We were arguing again. This is not an unusual occurrence. The simplest question brought them on. We once spent the better part of an afternoon debating the merits of time-travel versus super speed. It ended with a three-day thaw out while we all revisited our worst memories, wondering which ones we would change. 

That’s just how it happened sometimes, but we always ended up back in the same pub on a Friday night, sitting at the exact table we always occupied. The table could tell the story better than us. It could tell every story. It could tell you about Savannah’s short-lived romance with the guy we may no longer mention by name. The table knows it. It could tell you about the day Martin found out his girlfriend was pregnant. It could tell you about the day four seats became three. 

The table knew every victory, every celebration, birthday and shame. It listened to every argument. 

“You’re wrong.” Martin spun the coaster on the table, his index finger holding it in place. If you bring your eyes level with the table, you can see the minuscule crater, hollowed out over years of repetition. “It was your idea to go there, and it’s your fault Savannah ended up in the hospital.”

“Okay, fine, let’s hear your version.” I couldn’t believe that the blame was being laid at my feet. He was the one with a botany degree. 

“You were obsessed with hiking, heavens knows why. You had the new boots and that stupid stick and you forced us out under pain of having to paint your new flat instead.” 

“It’s called a trekking pole. And Savannah is the one who told me about the trail, so technically it was her idea.” 

“Oh sure, let’s blame the victim again,” Savannah said from her spot in the booth's corner. “That’s fashionable right now. Carry on Martin, I like where this is going.” 

He carried on.

“You got us all into that ridiculously tiny car with our pre-made hiking packs and you drove. I navigated, which is the reason we got to the trail on time. It all fell apart when you took over the map. What sort of Geography graduate can’t read a hiking trail?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up the coaster, flicking it towards me as he said, “I’m talking. I’ve got the coaster.” We had not agreed to a talking coaster, but I let him play it out. “We hiked your damn trail for four hours and I almost died because you forgot to mention the giant spiders that would be our nature guides. And then you only admitted that you thought we were lost an hour after the trail should have ended. It took you a full hour to admit we were in the wrong place.”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Yes, I walked us for an extra hour, you know you needed the exercise Martin, but you were the one you got us lost.” I countered, waving my hands at him to emphasise my point. 

All it had taken was a spider, no bigger than a pound coin, to send a grown man careering through the forest like a buffalo on the great plains. He was lucky Savannah had outrun him, even doped up on more adrenaline than he would need to win the Tour de France. She caught up while there was still hope of finding him and called out to us until we joined them. They were standing in a perfect tableau. I would have titled it “harmony with nature.” Martin had added a mess of moss and twigs to his thinning hair, and he had a deep tear in his left trouser leg. Grazes ribboned Savannah’s arms and face. One of the deeper ones already leeching blood, ran a single rivulet down her face. 

I looked at her across the table. The scar on her cheek had turned white with age. It was still visible on her cheekbone, if you knew where to look. She caught my eyes. Her hand lifted to the scar, almost as if by instinct, and there was a pause. We were all thinking about who had patched her up. 

I swallowed and carried on. “If you hadn’t left the trail, we wouldn’t have had to find it again. Who knows if we ever found the right one? So, I think you’ll realise, Martin, that it was your fault.” 

“Then again, there’s something to be said for victim-blaming.” Martin was in no mood to accept blame for anything and turned his attack to Savannah. 

She snorted into her beer glass. “Oh, come on. Bridget, you honestly can’t be agreeing with the guy who fed us poisoned berries?” She said as she wiped her lips and set the glass down. “Fine. The way I see it, Martin got us lost, and you didn’t pack enough food. So it’s both of your faults.” She folded her arms, signifying her word on the matter as final. 

There was no planet on which I had not packed enough food. Except perhaps if we had been hiking on Mars and we would spend the rest of our lives there. Then the apples, breakfast bars and gummy bears would probably not have been able to sustain us for very long. 

“But I wasn’t the one who took the food pack out and left as an offering to the hiking trail gods. That was you, Savannah. And if I recall, you were also the one who took an extra shot of insulin. On a day when we were hiking. Of all days.”

The longer we walked, the more the insulin kicked in. At first we didn’t notice the symptoms, we were all sweaty and a little hungry by that time. But Savannah was the one who bore it the worst. 

“Oh my gosh, I remember how you screamed at Kevin when he tried to fix your face. You were so angry with all of us.” Martin said. It was easy to relive the memory with a smile, considering her irrational anger at the three of us, and the small woodland critter which bounced out of the tree above Kevin while he was doctoring. Jumping, he had applied more pressure than most first aid manuals recommend.

Savannah shook her head. “I was screaming at you, Martin. Definitely you. And that squirrel.” 

I chuckled and nodded. Martin had been the one on the receiving end of the screaming. I turned to Savannah. “I remember being terrified when he realised you were crashing. Even you have to admit to that, Martin.”

“There may have been some worry.” He replied, opting for understatement. I instead remembered the drop goal he aimed at an innocent rock while Kevin explained Savannah’s growing confusion. “But I wasn’t too upset, after all, we were literally surrounded by food.” He shrugged, trying to breeze past his next role in the memory. 

“So much food. Too bad you can’t recognise the difference between Ivy berries and Elderberries.” Savannah said, with only a hint of bitterness. She had mostly forgiven him for poisoning her. 

“But I didn’t make you eat them. I merely gave you the options. Bridget force-fed you.” 

I couldn’t dodge that one. When he came crushing his way back through the brush to find us, Savannah was asking us where we were. Her confusion threw me. She sank to the ground without taking off her backpack, and I ran to her. I helped her bend out of it. Sweat drenched the bag and her shirt, but her face was icy when I touched it. I took the berries from Martin and forced them into her hand. It didn’t take much to make the journey to her mouth from there. She was so confused by that point that the bitter taste of the berries didn’t register. 

“Just as well Kevin tried one too.” Said Martin. It was the singular sensible thing he said all evening. 

I saw the horror register on Kevin’s face as he realised the mistake. Spitting the berry in his mouth out; he lept over her pack. Grabbing her arms, he shook the remaining poison from her hands. The berries scattered across the trail, rolling in all directions. Purple and innocent in the dirt. He pulled her to her feet, directing Martin and I with the precision of a general. 

“Did you even realise he was carrying you?” I asked. I had never thought to ask her if she was aware of anything happening at that point. 

“Yeah. That part I remember.” She looked away from us as she spoke. 

Martin’s eyes met mine, reaching a temporary truce. He nodded his head and dipped his eyes, intently focused on spinning his coaster. I lay my hand on the table, just to the left of me. Kevin’s seat. Patting it twice, I got up to fetch us another round. 

The table knew the story.