Sometimes it seems inconceivable I should be the age I am. When sunlight through the atrium bakes us in the common room like tacos under a heat lamp, I stop counting the days I do remember and consider this scene before me. If not for the fan blades turning, it might be a movie still, snagged in the projector lamp, crisping. Now come the young ones shining, pink and squeaky, Sunday afternoons with their fresh air, freckles and fragrant hair. I know that I have loved because a young girl breaks my heart, but what are these other memories that crease the corners of the ward? Something must connect them all besides these photos I’m shown of my young impostor, but when I sense that they expect me to remember, forgive me, I do. Silence comes at intervals, and a vertigo that feels like a falling away, but I cobble a life story from what I know: because I think in terms of loss and how it profits me, I know I once did business. Family would account for why I feel so orphaned. As for the war, I must have defended something noble. Tickertape is not for losers, nor for conquerors, only champions. The papers ask me how have I achieved this age, but to me it seems more like an accident. Don’t die is my advice. This girl who wants me to go home with her seems nice enough. Whatever it is she’s planning, my dignity’s involved. What could that possibly matter to me? I can’t have been consulted. I won’t make one more compromise for that cypher in the scrapbook. She’ll let me make a glorious mess, or be sorry, or leave me be. Either way, I’ve earned a little indignity and I shall have it.
Copyright © December 10, 2006 David Hodges
Very Short Novels 
5 comments
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December 12, 2006 at 11:57 pm
yzed
I’m going to read this one again, another time. I wasn’t able to immediately absorb it as well as the others I read. Love your metaphors: “When sunlight through the atrium bakes us in the common room like tacos under a heat lamp…” Great.
Well, no wonder, yzed. You tried to eat five at one sitting. They digest better one or two at a time. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you took the time to comment on all five. Thank you.
–David
December 13, 2006 at 3:07 am
litlove
This reminds me in some ways of the novellas of Theodore Storm, which revolve around the issue of memory, and in particular the fragmentation and partiality of memory. His work is very beautiful, and privileges the intense scrap of memory at the expense of any kind of coherent narrative, as if memory were an archipelago of disjointed events in the mind. I like the sense here of remembering being so profoundly akin to creativity and fantasy.
You are generous as always, litlove. I will investigate Storm. For me, extreme memory loss only illustrates the human norm: we remember almost nothing, really, but cling to the scraps that make a narrative.
–David
December 15, 2006 at 11:54 pm
Hajera
I tried to formulate an intelligent sounding comment, but to no avail. So I’ll just say that I loved this and thought it was an amazing piece of writing.
Sounds intelligent to me.
–David
December 18, 2006 at 8:48 am
mijcookie
I love your descriptions. I will be honest and say that I do not understand the piece completely – the last part, mostly. And this line — “Family would account for why I feel so orphaned. ” I am confused by this sentence, yet it is this that strikes me the most. And the title?
Would you spare me the time to explain? 🙂
By the way, I notice your copyright button. I don’t think you should worry, your style is far too unique to be copied.
Thank you, mijcookie. Chances are you understand more than you think. Regarding your questions, I will have to address them in email. Never should a riddle and its answer appear on the same page. Very sweet about the copyright button.
–David
December 25, 2006 at 8:44 am
Annelisa
Hello again, David
I’ve got behind on my story-reading…
…and the first one I read is this one. I’m about to go visit my mum, who has Alzheimer’s, in her Care Home. Apparently she is recognising it’s Christmas… so I want to be there. It’s a strange thing, memory. So inconsistent. I remember a few years ago, when she was losing hers, it was just like this story – oh so like this. She knew she should remember, but all she had to go on was what we showed her in pictures or told her in words. She would bluff her way through it, knowing she should know, but having only a void as answer.
Well captured idea, David!
Oh yes, I came by to wish you a Very Merry Christmas, and hope you have a Happy and Peaceful New Year too!!
I hope it touched you in a positive way. All my best well-meaning wishes to you Annelisa. Merry Christmas to you and Mum.
–David