Memory Stew (Short Story)

Tweet

The vegetables woke me up this morning. The celery just gets too raucous when it has been in the drawer too long. I really should stop buying celery so I can get a decent night’s sleep. Sometimes I wish food would just turn without letting me know. I don’t remember what that was like. I suppose food used to be more mysterious, more secretive. At least it wouldn’t disturb my sleep. The carrots are a bit jittery, too. At least chopping them up calms them down. Some spices, a little water and the crock pot’s heating itself up to 250 degrees. Finally some quiet. I really didn’t need the celery to keep yammering on like that. I really should drink less. It makes it that much harder to get up in the morning. I should probably make an appointment to get my cells checked and replaced. You can never be too careful about these things. • I must have fallen asleep with the TV on again. “BioTech: making life easier today for a simpler tomorrow.” More work really is all. I’m not sure I really feel that science has done anything for me. I think it’s time for a beer. Sometimes noon can be a little too real without a drink under my belt. I popped open the cap, and listened. I like it when it whispers to me. Yeast can be good company. • A knock at the door startled me. I don’t remember what I had been doing before. The woman looks impatient; I suppose I should open the door. “Jesus, Vi. What the hell are you doin’ in here? You’ve got this beepin’ just goin’ and goin’ like the freakin’ energizer bunny and takin’ twenty minutes to op’n the door. Look at this. Your crock pot’s throwin’ a tissy…” She just walked in. I gather she thinks we’re friends. I believe she lives next door. I really don’t remember when I saw her last. I don’t even recall her name. “Vi! Are you hearin’ a word I’m sayin’? Honestly now, I swear to God you don’t have your head on straight sometimes, now. Sometimes I don’t think you’d be able to find your rear with your hands if I didn’t come checkin’ after you. Come set down and eat some o’ this stew you hussied up here… I realize now that I’m hungry. I don’t remember when the last time I ate was. I suppose I haven’t really been too organized with my schedule lately. I can’t remember if I am supposed to go to work at all this week. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table across from this woman. I can’t here the whispers because she’s still talking. I know that she probably isn’t going to stay long, but I suppose she’s well enough company for now. “I heard tell they’re scannin’ our quadrant this afternoon. Don’t so much care for the ordeal myself, but not worth riskin’ any problems goin’ by untreated, if you know what I mean. I tell you I could have actually married that George Pye if I hadn’t been so darn stubborn. Eye infection, you know. Never fully able to regain my sight in the left one…” Sometimes people make you lonelier with you’re with them. I think that is what this woman does to me. I don’t remember the last time I had a real friend. It must have been years ago. “Course with this regulation gear not gonna be pickin’ up any lad soon, no how. Leave it to a war to take men away from their women. Don’t like it anymore ‘an you do I’m sure but I guess you don’t need me blubbin’ on about this. Did hear some good news though. Discovered an area that used to be desert all green and fertile. How ‘bout that? Supposedly near on five acres…” • When the announcement rang I walked out to my balcony without reluctance. The yeast were still whispering fairly loudly in my head. I glanced along the opposing street and up and down my side. A surprising amount of people are home today. A few children too. I hadn’t realized that it’s summer. Four full families with children. I don’t remember there being so many before. I looked over the edge to see if the blue-eyed man from floor 36 was around. Apparently not. Perhaps he has already chosen. I don’t remember the last time I saw him. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he moved on with his life. As I took a step back, the scanner came by and pinched that little dip between my shoulder and neck. It was only momentary, but it always feels longer. It makes me feel like it knows I don’t measure up. • The stew woke me up this time. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember much though. I don’t remember eating, but I don’t feel hungry. I believe that happens when you are too hungry, though. I should eat. I ladled myself a big bowl of food. Each bubble burst along the surface and said to me in a tiny voice “too hot.” I didn’t care though. The warmth sang to me through my fingers, into my nose and down my throat. Sometimes it’s hard to feel properly warm. Electric heat is so dry and unsatisfying. I feel like I should try to reduce the noise level in my complex. With space rations, a little bit of noise can just be too much. I seem to remember there being more space once, but that was a long time ago. I can’t remember the last time I sent my trash out for delivery. Rotting food tends to let out a low pitched whistle. The noise was audible even before I opened the chute. These were supposed to be sound resistant. I sent it off without even checking my space allotment. I would rather pay the fine than deal with that cacophony. There is broccoli positively screaming in the fridge. Well, screaming for broccoli. I can’t remember ever even liking broccoli let alone buying it. The smell of it is making me nauseous. I should go lie down. • The delivery woke me up this morning. It seems I’ve received a cryer. This is the first time I’ve gotten a cryer since I was in school, that I can remember. There is no mistaking that shrill tune though. The red of the envelope clashes against the grayscale that seemed to make up the rest of my complex. The cryer seems to almost glow with anticipation. I am none so eager. I decided to have a drink before opening it. The deep notes of barley will relieve the headache I am starting to get from the cryer’s song. I don’t know why it has to sing, there was no way I could have avoided seeing its red shine. As I tore away the plastic of the envelope, the color faded and disappeared. I had forgotten it doesn’t stay. I didn’t mind the color, but at least the song ceased with the red glow. As soon as I placed my finger on the plasma board inside, the message began reading itself to me. “You have been recommended for Korsakoff’s counseling. Compliance is crucial to protect proper brain functioning. On Monday at 10 AM proceed to the Central Building and report in for your counseling details. This is not an option. The results of your scan indicate this is for your own good.” The message began to repeat itself until I took my finger off of it. I couldn’t remember who or what this Korsakoff is, but I understand that mandatory counseling is the only way to be relieved at work. However, I can’t remember actually going to work recently. • The cryer woke me up violently. I hadn’t realized today is Monday. There is no doubt that it is, though. Cryers are never wrong. It has started a count-down. I have counseling in two hours evidently. I decided to have a few beers before setting off for the Central Building. I feel like it is always so cold in there. I don’t remember the last time I went, but I know that I have never really had the desire to return. • I had finished my last beer in the cab ride over, which I now think is a good thing as I look around the Central Building. The throng of people moving in every direction is overwhelming. I often feel very alone in crowds. I am glad of the quiet whispers to keep me company. I am waiting in line to report in at the welcome desk. At the front, the greeter only glances at me and then has the scanner take a pinch at my neck, before I even have time to protest. The pristine woman is handing me something. “Miss Shepherd. Please take this guide and proceed to your assigned room for counseling. Thank you.” She made it clear that she was through with me. I looked down at the silver orb in my palm, I had a strange sense of déjà vu. I vaguely remember that I had owned a set of marbles years ago, and this looks exactly like one. I wonder if they still make marbles any more. • I couldn’t remember how long I was standing there when I felt a touch on my arm. The woman who had handed me the marble guide was speaking to me. I looked around to get my bearings. I guess that I had only made it a few paces from her desk. She was now moving my hand that held the marble. I made the effort to register her voice. “…if you are having trouble hearing it, just hold the guide closer to your ear. Don’t worry, it will tell you where you need to go.” I listened closely as she let go of my hand near my ear. To my surprise the marble was saying repeatedly: “walk to the end of the entrance hall and take the elevator to the fifty-second floor.” With no reason not to, I did as the marble told me. • I was aware of entering the room, but I had a hard time remembering the route I had taken to get here. I decided to keep the marble in my pocket rather than deposit it into the guide return tube. In the room I saw three filled seats and one empty. I was presumably the last to arrive. A woman at the front of the room motioned for me to take my seat. After I had done so she began to speak. “All of you have been recommended for Korsakoff’s counseling. The scanners have indicated decreased functioning in the hippocampus region. Therefore, you will all be going through an intense session of what is commonly called memory therapy. Please remain seated and as still as possible while the therapist locks onto your brain wavelength.” • I left the Central Building with no distinct memory of what had gone on during the therapy session. Instead, a childhood memory kept playin