Unforgettable Part 3
I was obsessed for so long by a girl I let get away that when I went back to visit our old haunt and encountered her, I thought she was an apparition taunting me.
I faltered for a moment, fearing she might disappear, and then called out, “Abigail!”
Thankfully, it turned out she wasn’t a phantasm at all but flesh and blood and responded warmly, taking my outstretched hand.
“I can’t believe you came, David—and especially today. It’s been three years to this very day since we parted. I didn’t think of you as nostalgic.”
I stared into her face, our breath rising in the chill air, as Time overlaid transparencies of what we were.
“Can we talk?”
We made our way to a bistro bar nearby where over wine we recounted divergent paths.
“Are you still with Yuri?” I asked.
She nodded, but offered little more.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up like a girl’s. “Do you still play guitar? I remember all those songs you wrote for me. You were a psalmist on a lyre.”
I smiled bleakly. I remembered only too well.
She had a far away look in her eyes.
“Did I ever tell you about my uncle Felix? He was a pianist with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The end of his life was so sad. He developed Alzheimer’s disease and couldn’t remember my name, but when I asked him to play a certain song, his memory became clear and he recognized me.”
“That’s amazing,” I said, thinking of how she had no memory of that one special day we gathered leaves and wishing her dark network of memories would light up for me.
She reached across the table and grasped my hand. “These nothings, David—these trivial inconsequential facts—do they accumulate into significance—is that how it happens?”
I shook my head dubiously, “I’m not sure.”
The pianist in the bar suddenly shifted from playing Jazz slid into an upbeat version of Rachmaninov.
Doubt clouded her features and her brow furrowed as if she strained to recall something.
“I know that song! I heard it the time we went to the symphony on the anniversary of Uncle Felix’s death. I remember now—it was the day we gathered leaves in High Park.”
I stared at her, stunned that our past was finally recalled.
She began to weep and I reached out a hand tenderly to her face, using my thumb to smudge away a tear trail on her cheek.
“I’m sorry you’re sad about your uncle, Abi.”
She shook her head and her shoulders heaved. “It’s not that—it’s the other memories that have come flooding back.”
My heart leaped but I tried to remain calm. “What other memories?”
“Oh David, I’m so mixed up—so confused.”
“Tell me, Love,” I encouraged.
“I can’t draw the line between you and Yuri,” she sobbed. “Once, it suited me to forget the past, but now you’ve returned and I miss us.”
I slid into the window seat beside her, putting my arm around her, and holding her while she wept.
It’d be easy to say our lives resumed that day, but nothing is ever that easy. Time changes us in a thousand infinitesimal ways and prevents us from simply returning.
Try as we may, we can’t go back and dream the same dream.
We don’t notice it with people we’re with, but each day we’re changing and nothing ever stays the same.
I said as much to her telling her how we’re impermanent, that even our memories are susceptible to being overwritten or simply fading away.
I explained what I learned—the sad lessons life taught me.
I think she began to understand.
I’m not sure if our love story will have a happy ending because of the length of time we each stayed away.
Hopefully, we’ll be able to resurrect our love and perhaps even this struggle will eventually become part of our mutual past.
One thing I know for sure is I’m optimistic about our future because she’s finally discovered the significance our past.