The old lumpy bed, the 22-year old flattened pillow, the play of lights on the ceiling, Thom Yorke crooning “for a minute there, I lost myself…” tuned down low, the smell of charcoal burning, the taste of rain lingering in the air, and the calming sounds of a tippler’s scandalous tirade outside…c’mon…it’s the perfect setting to immerse yourself with the impending flashbacks.
I think of change. A friend once quoted Neil Gaiman and said “Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.” That feels like 20 years ago. I find it sad when a two-year old memory returns to you all crusted and rusty, a relic. Moreso when all you can remember are fragments, diluted images, and voices that fade. I want to forget. But I also want to remember.
And so I remember. It reminds me of the Kaufman movie wherein Joel frantically scampers to preserve memories. A memory.
And I found one. Something untarnished, pure, simple, and not overshadowed by complications. Amidst everything, I know it was the only REAL thing I lost.
A chessboard. A futile attempt to save a horse. A triumphant queen. A cowering king. A renegade pawn. A self-sacrificing bishop. And a collapsed tower. Checkmate. 11th in a row versus Zero wins.
Blinking.
No.
Something is lost in change.
You lose a friend.
Blinking.
A cup of coffee. The toilet flushing woosh-woosh. A necklace. A slip. An attempt to be oblivious and ignorant. A stab at faith. At trust. Cowardice. Masochism. Denial. And I’m disemboweled. And then we fade out with hurt.
Blinking.
I don’t want to be right, I just want to know if I’m right --- says Einstein.
Maybe nothing is truly lost indeed. Nothing that truly mattered anyway.
