Story #58 - The Reminder

The Reminder

It was the white of the doctor's coat that first caught his eye, new as he was to the world of the sight. It was a bright white, the white of man who took a great deal of pride in his clothing and his office, a pristine covering free of the host of bodily fluids that a doctor normally encountered.

It was also well-fit, with a perfect stretch across the shoulders and just the right length at the arms, showcasing what could only be described as the “perfect” doctor, or so Roy Lazur had decided some twenty-five years after their first meeting. So far as Roy knew, Dr. Tyson was still practicing somewhere out in New Jersey, though the man had never known just how much of an impression he'd made on Roy.

Why would he? Men weren't supposed to remember their own birth, let alone the cleanliness of the coat the doctor was wearing at the time.

Roy could.

Roy remembered everything.

It wasn't a visual or mental assault as many who wondered about having perfect memory thought it would be; instead, it was more like a series of video clips that Roy could call up anytime he wanted to and sift through. Like a giant Google in his head, he needed only to think of a search term and whole list of possibilities would pop up, allowing him to pick and choose the moment he wanted to view. They were time-stamped as well, though not in a system that would make sense to someone outside Roy's frame of reference. Each clip, each moment felt different, and based on that feeling alone Roy could tell how it old it was, how far back it stretched. What had consistently amazed him over the years was the clarity of even his most distant memories.

At first, he'd been worried he could ruin them, like a VHS tape played too often, but many of his favorites – his first kiss, the third time he'd had sex and telling off his old boss – were still as clear and fresh as ever.

Of course, not all was well in the world of Roy, stemming largely from the fact that significant stimuli in his environment could prompt a memory whether he wanted it or not. Most people he knew went through the same thing to a lesser degree – the smell of perfume might bring up the face of an old lover, a sharp scream might dredge up a painful car accident – but for Roy it was as if he was there all over again, touching, feeling, smelling the events as they unfolded.

Roy was tired.

He'd tried all the meds, gone to self-help classes and even meditated in hopes of gaining more control over random memory eruption, but nothing had worked, and he was stuck will a head full of useless recollections about techniques that held no scientific merit.

“Last chance, Mr. Lazur. We're obligated to offer it to all memo-wipe patients before their first session, in case they've suddenly reconsidered. Do you want me to stop?” A white-coated lab tech's voice broke his recall; he knew something had set him off.

“No,” he said, waving for the young man to continue. Not much older than Roy himself, the tech carried himself like he knew what he was doing. Even if he was the newest kid at the company, Roy would never know, and there was comfort in that.

The tech placed a small metal cap over each of Roy's ears and hooked a cable up to each one, then ran them to the center of his head and down his spine. Coming around to the front of the chair the young man took his own seat at a console opposite Roy and shot him an apologetic look.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I'm obligated to list the risks again before I proceed. Company policy.” Roy nodded quickly – better to just get it over with than fight about it.

“First, some discomfort will occur as memories are erased. The amount varies with the intensity of the memories stored as well as their number.” Great, thought Roy, this is going to hurt like hell. Still, it would be worth it.

“Second, we cannot guarantee that a full wipe will take place. A basic warranty is available on all treatments for a second session at half price within six months. Finally,” the tech hesitated for a moment – these companies always left the worst until the last, “while you should be able to start forming new memories immediately after the treatment is over, we are not liable for any inability, lack of clarity, oddities, fractured minds, or death.”

Roy smiled; he'd take it all, if it meant he could be free. “That's fine. I agree. Let's get on with it.”

The other man nodded – he knew Roy's patience was wearing thin and he'd satisfied any legal obligation the company had in making sure patients knew the risks. His hand went to one of the many dials in front of him. At first, Roy didn't feel anything but a slight tingling in his spine, one that slowly moved up to settle just behind his earlobes. It was actually pleasant, in its way, a kind of dancing “pins and needles” that had him bouncing in his chair.

The tech pulled a lever and Roy screamed, every pin seeming to erupt in fire and burrow its way into his brain.

…

Roy's vision cleared, the image resolving into man in white standing above him, and Roy twitched hard to the side - he screamed, pins seeming to erupt in fire and burrow their way into his brain.

Slowly, his vision cleared and he saw a small room, a console and chair opposite him – and he screamed, pins erupting in fire and burrowing into his brain, writhing there as he shook violently in his seat.

Raising his head, Roy felt as though he'd been awake for hours. Where the hell was he? What was going on?

His vision clearing, he looked around the empty room, decorated only with a small poster on the wall. “Don't regret,” it said, “forget!”

Roy screamed, and pins of fire burrowed into his brain, tearing him up from the inside out.

- D