I Remember

2. Day of reckoning

I don't hear from Grey until the next morning. Already the memories of yesterday have begun to fade, so it comes as a surprise when she continues the dropped conversation. "You know that classified information I told you about? Or, rather, that I told you I couldn't tell you about?"

It takes me a moment to get my head in the right place. "Oh, yeah, sure." The street we're walking on is busy with people, all of them heading to work, so I kept my eyes pointed straight ahead. Many are workers like Grey, people who have a role in Acyuta that needs to be met daily.

I, for one, have no schedule, no business hours nor lunch breaks to speak of. The only time I work is when I'm called in to Remember specific events. I'm requested more often than others because of the importance of my day, but not nearly enough to make me a busy man. For as often as a class of students needs to learn about the Half-Century War, a politician needs ancient advice, or an old woman wants to be told a story about a recently traced ancestor's last day, nobody needs me at all.

Those who don't Remember harbor some amount of jealousy for people like me. What they don't know is that memories need a lot of attention and upkeep, lest they risk corruption. Conversely, if I were to Remember too often, my own mind would be compromised. It's a delicate balance, one that not many comprehend.

Since I was called in early, Grey asked if she could walk with me into town. It meant she had to wake up nearly an hour sooner than usual, but I agreed, glad for the company.

It became clear that there was a greater purpose for joining me on my commute as she continued speaking. "Yeah. Well. I'm not actually supposed to know anything. But I can't stop thinking about it."

"I can," I offer, adopting a sly smile. "Just Remember like me, and it'll be easy to forget." I can't fathom how it would feel to have a firm grasp upon my own memories, so my sympathies are sometimes short. Usually Grey is tolerant of that shortcoming, but today my dismissiveness of events in my past rubs her the wrong way.

That's one of the biggest differences between people who Remember a specific day and those who remember only their own lives: we have very contrasting ideas of what is important.

"Don't joke," she scolds. I can't help but notice how her frown deepens. "This is serious."

"Sorry, sorry!" I bump her shoulder with my own, trying to lighten her mood. "You know how I forget things. Remind me about this classified information."

"I will." Grey is obviously wrestling with the bleak prospect of telling me only to have me forget again. But, the good friend that she is, she's still willing to try. "But we have to talk in private."

"The park again? That bench under the oak tree is nice."

"No. I don't mean a quiet public location, but a place where no one else is." I look down at her and we lock gazes. Her quiet intensity is sobering. "I'll be getting home around eight tonight. I know it's later, but there's a meeting tonight that I can't miss." She sighs and glances away. "Can you meet me at my apartment around then?"

My mind flicks to the spare key under her rug, and then to Grey's staggering inability to cook. She hates that I have a knack for it when I can't even recall Mom's face, but with a recipe and a bit of instinct, the kitchen seems a natural place for me to be. And, whether she admits it or not, she always likes it when I cook for her. "Dinner's on me," I promise.

Grey's shadowed expression transitions back to one of relief. "Thank you, Harvey," she says, already breathing more freely. As an afterthought, she adds, "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"For making you break up your evening."

I can't help but laugh. "That's my job, Grey! I Remember a day, and I go to people when they need me. If it makes you feel better, you can have me access a memory for you, and it won't be a lie when I claim I was on a business-related house call."