Memory, or an Excerpt ...

I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is. – Vladimir Nabakov

I have a ridiculously steel trap-like memory that captures weird details, mostly seemingly insignificant; but I’ve noticed lately that, despite the ever-growing influx of information that naturally accrues as I add days to my experience on the earth, I seem to be getting better and not worse at remembering. In fact, the details are much more specific than before.

It’s funny though – I used to remember names of people and places, but not contexts and incidental details. Now I am much more apt to remember very minute details, but not have a clue about very basic facts. It’s all about sensory experience for me – fabrics, smells, feelings, temperature, stuff … and the atoms inside the things inside stuff.

I also oddly have a similarly photographic memory for conversations, which is why I get so much good material and dialogue for stories I tell aloud or through letters. I really do use actually recanted dialogue from real conversations, rather than just providing the usually completely acceptable “gist,” which is really just an interpretation of reality and ultimately not to be trusted when filtered through a thirdly-, fourthly-, or fifthly-processing brain. Sometimes I cheat and actually directly quote parts of e-mails or letters that are not my own, either in oral tales or in stories I repeat to those close to me. Some people from my past will likely get upset and potentially litigious someday; but I cover my tracks well enough. I change the names, even if my new name choices contain clues that end up obviously pointing back to the original sources.

To be more specific and give an example, I recently remembered accompanying someone into a store to very briefly shop for a winter coat, and I could remember what the coat in the running for “the one” looked like, the details of the store, along with other clothing that was in it and almost exactly where the store was located. Still, I was at a loss for the store’s name.

That is but one example that has led me to realize how vague the details I remember are, yet also how strangely exacting at the same time. I can typically remember the longitude and latitude of where I was sitting in a room while talking about certain subjects to certain people, but sometimes I forget to whom I was talking. My memory puts me in a very particular spot at a time so equally particular that I would feel confident writing it in permanent ink on a static time line. I have tattoos of every moment I fell in love, triumphed, died inside, lost a vital soul chunk, like rigid due dates in library books.

I have a special love affair with memories. Those I love the best – even if on the surface mundane – rage with the blood and guts, joy and glory of the people and things inside them.