The Curse of Memory

“The things you put in your head are there forever.”
-Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Four times in the last two months, I’ve had to travel to Dakota County for various events and appointments. More specifically, I’ve had to travel to the cities I lived in – Burnsville, Lakeville, and Apple Valley. Each time brought with it a flood of memory.

When I saw the sign for Apple Valley, I noticed it now boasts over 49,000 inhabitants – up from 34,000 that was on the sign when I moved into the city, and the 45,000 that was on the sign when I moved out.

And then there’s every building: so many had new owners. “Oh, that used to be a Burger King; I see it’s a Kane’s now.” and “Rainbow Foods used to be there.” And I remembered that one spot where I filmed part of a video with a friend, and that other spot where my grandfather took me to practice for my driver’s license, and that other spot where I went to the theater with Jennifer and her sister Kara, and how I whined about the movie afterward, and Kara rolled her eyes at me. I slowed down as I passed one strip mall, to see if the fish store I used to blow my money at was still there.

During one of the visits, I drove down the street I used to live on, and stopped in front of the town home – and I immediately remembered so much – playing with my sister when we were kids, all the religious meetings held in our basement, all the times I dragged the TV and VCR into my room at night to watch a movie, making out with my girlfriend in the basement, housesitting when the rest of my family was on vacation, coming to visit my dad when he injured his foot, stopping to see my mom when she had important news to tell me, bringing Owen there to be with my mom and our family dog, and finally visiting there when my mom invited me over for dinner to meet the man she intended to marry. And not only that, I remembered the dates of all those events, and what was said, and what else was happening in my life at that time.

Really, each time I went, I was so overcome with memories I found it hard to pay attention to the road. More than once I had to stop short so I didn’t hit the car in front of me. There’s so much emotion, so much regret, I don’t really like going to those cities.

The other day, I was having dinner with a friend, and he related a funny story that happened once when he went out to dinner with his wife. But he couldn’t remember which wife – was it his current wife? Or his previous wife? This, to me, was the most fascinating part of the story. How could he not know? I would know.

In fact, I would know too much. I once apologized to that same friend about something rude I said to him. “When did you say that?” he asked. “In July 1995,” I said. “Really?” he asked, “Where were we?” and I had to explain the whole situation – an event he had entirely removed from his memory. Geez, I was so jealous. I feel I would be so much happier if every month, every year, was simply the present – the moment to be lived in – rather than another chapter in a memorized book of mistakes and wrong turns. A book where I can go back each time and figure out where I made the wrong decision, or where I was cheated or hornswoggled into what is now the current predicament. I wish each grievance was simply that: an unfortunate thing that is happening or that must be endured, rather than the nth time I’ve experienced something. Like I’ve explained dozens of times, what makes me annoyed or mad or discouraged with my kids, my job, my cars, and even myself isn’t that something didn’t go right, it’s that it didn’t go right for the hundredth time. For example, when my 5-yr-old asks for a snack as I lay him in bed at night, the annoyance isn’t that he’s asked…it’s that he’s asked for the thousandth time.

When memory works too good, it just serves as a repository for shame and regret and melancholy thoughts about events and situations that shouldn’t matter anymore. They shouldn’t matter because they don’t exist anymore. But they do exist – in my mind.

What was the last movie you saw in the theater?

What was the last concert you attended?

How many times have you left your home state this year?

When was the last time you saw your best friend? Flown on an airplane? Ate your favorite food? Slept somewhere besides your home? Bought a car? Got in a car accident?

What! You don’t know?

I know.