the girl who never forgot has potholes in her memory, caught her clothes on some barb(u)ed wire fences and fancies herself a little too cool or too frigid to remember the details, or maybe just lost from time to time though she never used to need a map and had a pretty excellent sense of direction but there are things she doesn’t remember like “wait, have you ever spent a night in my bed, I don’t remember” isn’t something you should say out loud to a boyfriend, probably ever. He was more confused than hurt. More amused than injured, and this helped her laugh it off too. the girl who never forgot can still remember some times sometimes, like those days etched into the matter of her pia mater forever – but now everything rolls off, everything slides off, everything slips off, there is no surface to etch on, sketch on, move on, life goes on, or it doesn’t, and that was the most frightening thing about tuck everlasting. “I need more good memories to remember the old good memories, or it doesn’t last, does that make sense?” she asked, knowing it made no sense. ” Do you remember the bad memories?” ” Sometimes, that’s why I stopped remembering at all, and that’s why i need more good memories to remember the old good memories or all that’s left is
nothing” I am gritting my teeth and can feel it in my ear from the way my jaw is trying its damndest to push up into the matter of my face. It was always a matter of my face, I think, and always a matter of time before it went from ugly to fuckable to emotionally usable. There is a spider web in my brain, an arachnoid layer, slowly covering its cobwebs over photos when I was young, I used to make different faces in the mirror and some were kind and some were not, and there was a girl who never forgot about kindness and bought a bunch of bullies christmas presents one year (except one. because he was really the meanest of the lot) because she thought christmas was special and people and relationships should be valued, and wrote each one of those bullies a letter because she was an idiot and thought they were her friends; the girl who never forgot was not particularly bright about anything that mattered, and very bright about everything that didn’t and still doesn’t and the proper term for this is prestige, and she eventually became very good at pretending and prestidigitation, which are definitely related skills and possibly related words, and she remembered everything, once upon a time until she decided enough
was quiet enough.
and began pulling herself out from the inside, unraveling the cobwebs which held the photos together, they teased her for taking photographs so she eventually stopped. They teased her for existing, and told her to go back to her home country in the crate that she came in and that was when she seriously considered this notion of home and that was where her writing really began and that made her leave them (and she realized she belonged nowhere except on blog posts and that’s a little melodramatic but it’s only once in a while!) they made her a quilt, they turned to her in private and ridiculed her in public, they were confused when she said goodbye, they said she was the perfect height, the perfect height, they asked who she was dressing up for, they were there at her birthday, they threw a surprise birthday party for her to make sure she would stay so that there would always be the lowest rung on the ladder. and she unraveled it all so that the girl who never forgot became the girl who does not remember.