Remember Me
by Robert Braid
As Roland brought me my third beer, I noticed a
young woman coming into the bar. She
was pale, a little pudgy and had long, dark, dry hair spread over the shoulders
of her jacket which was supposed to match the lipstick she used too much of.
Though I usually don't like to judge a person on their looks, I thought
she must be the most boring human being anyone could ever meet.
I felt sad for her.
‘Rob!
I haven't seen you in ages. How
have you been?’
Oh
shit, she knows me. And all that
sad I was feeling a minute ago was gone.
‘Mind
if I join you?’
I
was trapped because I had just gotten a new beer and couldn't say I was about to
leave. Worse than that, I was angry
(at her or myself I couldn't quite say). I
would have been content to feel sorry for her from a distance, and at least it
would have been sincere. Now she's
right in front of me and all I want to do is run away.
I don't even know who the hell she is.
‘No,
please, sit down.’
Normally
what happens is that the person assumes I remember who they are and I'm forced
to pay attention so I can figure it out using the goddamn context clues.
This happens to everyone once in a while, but it happens to me all the
time. And it's not just their name
that escapes me, I forget ever having seen their face.
I sit in too many bars and drink too much and usually never end up
figuring out who these people are that seem to know me.
I thought I should try drinking in only one bar so I'd get to know all
the regulars. But I don't want to know all the regulars.
They're all lonely drunks like me and I'd rather be alone, thank you.
I try to keep to myself and drink quietly.
So how do I end up supposedly knowing all these people? And why the hell should I care if I forget who they are?
‘You
don't remember me, do you?’
Had
she smiled when she said this I would have known that I was probably drunk when
I met her and wouldn't have to feel bad about forgetting.
I would even get an amusing though perhaps embarrassing story.
But instead she looks down and wrings her hands nervously as she says it,
and I start to feel sad for her again.
I
could see that now she was the one with the urge to run away.
The best lessons in life are the ones you don't like to get, and I
learned more from that look on her face than from years of state
ordered-counseling. I tried to
think of something witty to say but there was nothing humorous about the
encounter. Instead I looked in my
leather change pouch and offered her a drink.
‘No
thank you.’
She
looked disappointed, got up and went to the bar. Any hope that she might have had of forgetting how lonely she
was tonight was gone. I could read
it in her face. She wasn't going to
smile tonight because some jackass she knew couldn't remember ever having met
her. What hurt was that she didn't
blame me. It was written in the
cards that she was going to spend her life alone and forgotten, but she almost
forgot that tonight until she sat down in front of me.
I unwilling shoved a slice of reality down her throat and she swallowed.
She accepted her lot and carried on business as usual.
She was going to get stone drunk tonight and talk herself to sleep.
I know that look.
She left the bar before I could think of something to say to her. And I felt like shit. I took out another cigarette, asked someone for a light, downed my beer and left for home where at least I could remember I had a bottle of wine.
