I Remember

5. Day of hazard

I take out my phone on the bus. My finger hovers uncertainly over Grey's contact, but I can't quite convince myself to click it and call her up. I try to message her, but I never know quite what to type, and whenever I do come up with something, I delete it immediately.

How will she react if she reads that there's a way to eliminate memories? That the work she's been doing has contributed to the development of such an infernal device? That I was asked to submit myself to it tomorrow morning so that some of my day's memories might be censored?

And, even more than that, what will she do upon knowing that I said yes?

She'd be sickened. Furious. Distraught. She needs to know, but I need to be there in person when I tell her. It's the only way.

I turn and stare out the window, thoughts of memory sucking machines and gloom faced scientists plaguing me. I hope that my imagination is far-fetched and that in reality things will be little more serious than a finger prick. Something tells me that I won't be so lucky.

A sigh escapes my lips, momentarily fogging up the bus's window. Kids would draw a quick picture, but I have no desire to smudge the glass, just watch as the elusive mist fades away.

Buildings fly by in quick succession, and I finally think of something to say to Grey. It's no grand message that will eloquently share the weight pressing upon my shoulders, but it is a step towards that end.

When will you be free to meet?

Grey responds quickly. Either she isn't too busy right now, or she's so excited to see a text from me that she can't help but compulsively respond. The former seems more reasonable, but I really don't message her much, so I wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter.

I'm free tomorrow evening. Do you want to meet for dinner?

I frown. That isn't soon enough, but I don't want her to put all plans aside for my sake. I don't see any other options, so I tell that would be good, and to remind me a couple hours before then so I don't forget and miss it.

Okay! See you then.

The phone clicks shut silently, and I return it back to the cramped cave of my pocket. My now freed hand rests upon my takeout box, courtesy of La Porte D'or.

I probably could've walked home. But my stomach is so knotted and my legs so insubstantial that I hate to so much as entertain the thought of moving more than I must.

If there's one thing I want right now, it is Grey's steadfast companionship and her silent comfort. The situation seems too big to handle, but I know that she would find a way to help me. If anyone could reassure me about being a human lab rat, it's her.

And she will. Just not until tomorrow evening. But who knows how much will be left of my day—of me—by then.

I know that I'm overreacting, that I'll likely be fine. At the same time, there's no promise that I won't pass away like a morning mist in the afternoon sun.

There's a bus stop near my apartment, so I don't have to go far to get home. I drift from Point A to Point B with little memory of walking between locations. I am led to simultaneously believe that I teleported to my door and walked hours to get there. Time is caught up in the frantic gears of my mind, becoming little more than an abstract thought.

Unlocking my door and letting myself inside is a mechanical task, putting my leftovers into the fridge a force of habit, but after those tasks are completed I stand absentmindedly in the kitchen, uncertain about what to do next.