Where Do Lost Memories Go? by Rinanda Hidayat

Somewhere in a land where only the forgotten remembered, stood a river flowing with discarded memories. Tears cry above it, ever begging for the one who shed them to return.

Sometime between now, today, and never, a man burst out under the river––let’s call him M. He splashed around, thrashing his arms, kicking his feet, but all was unnecessary, for the river never had the will to drown.

It carried him to a pillar-shaped building, extending upward beyond the clouds. There were no doors, no windows, or any resemblance of texture, it was white and nothing else, but not the kind that blinded, but the kind that absorbed and entranced.

M couldn’t help but stare, and after a few seconds, he lost himself to the pure white, not realizing he was about to crash right into it. He got closer and closer, and the white expanded deeper and deeper, yet still remained the same nothing–that was until it went right in his face. There he realized he was about to plummet into something painful, so he closed his eyes and bolstered his body, but once again, it was all unnecessary, for the walls had lost the will to be physical.

M phased through it and fell to the floor, yet he felt no pain. He got up, opened his eyes, and saw rows of glass displays lining up in all directions, stretching into beyond infinite. He looked back, the walls had disappeared on all sides; there were no ceilings either; it was all white, too blank to be boundless.

“Hello,” said M. His voice echoed inside the room, but never repeating. “Is anyone here?”

A set of storming footsteps answered him, he looked around to see where it came from. A woman appeared right in front of him. Surprised, he staggered and fell, but still felt no pain.

“Who are you!” screamed the woman. She was hunched and wrinkled, with an eye that twitched here and there, and she smelled of a homemade meal on the verge of rotting. “Who are you!” repeated the woman.

“I’m–” M tried his best to recall who he was, but he couldn’t even come up with a name “I–I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“This is a place for the forgotten, not those who forgot, you don’t belong here, you don’t belong here!” screamed the woman.

“Alright, alright, calm down, I don’t even know what this place is,”

“Museum!” answered the woman, “for all things that people forget, people, people like you.”

“So these things in the glass display, what are they?” The glass displayed held all kinds of things: a grain of rice, a twisted golden fork, an entire galaxy, and more. But no matter how small or big they were, they all fit inside.

“Memories!” answered the woman.

“I don’t understand, they all look different.”

“Of course! Even the same memories don’t look alike.”

M touched one of the memories, the one shaped like a black piano key. It transported him to another man, he was driving through a storm. On the other seat was a woman in a suit, she had her hand on her forehead, trying her best to knead away the wrinkles of stress.

“We had a good deal, why did you reject it?” said the woman.

“What else am I supposed to do? They were going to take over the entire company.”

“So what? We still get to manage everything ourselves, what’s the difference?”

“It’s under their name, it’s not right.”

“Who cares about that–”

“I care!” shouted the man. M could feel the man’s pride bursting into wrath  “And so should you, we built this company together, how can you sell it away so easily?”

“Of course I care!” The woman shouted. but her voice was fading, “Why do you think we’re–” into complete silence.

“Well I do!” said the man with a voice clear and loud, “So I’m searching for a better sponsor.”

“You think it’s going to be that easy?” Her voice was still a whisper.

“I know what my company is worth.”

“You and your big head, one day you’ll–” back into silence.

Then a loud boom, “Shut up!” screamed the man, and the memories ended.

M returned to his self and fell to the floor, shuddering with emotions he had never felt before, all of which he experienced in a blink of an eye.

“What’s the matter with–you touched the memories, didn’t you?” screamed the woman.

“Huh? I don’t–”

“Don’t touch the memories!” she screamed over and over again.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that would have happened.”

“It’s–” the woman took a deep breath and composed herself, “it’s fine, it’s fine, that memory is one of the bad ones anyway.”

“You’ve seen all the memories?”

“Of course! Nothing else to do.” The woman cackled as she twirled around M.

“Who are you?” Asked M. The woman paused for a while, kneading her forehead.

“I never had a name,” answered the woman. “I never even existed!”

“That doesn’t make sense, I can see you right now.”

“There is no now, not here, not here, you can’t exist without now.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course not!”

“Whatever,” M shook his head, “just tell me how to get out here.”

“No idea!”

“I thought as much,” M sighed, “maybe one of these memories can help me,” but just as M was about to touch another memory, the woman screamed at him.

“No! That’s my memory, don’t touch it!”

“Your memory? That’s great then, it’ll tell us how you got here in the first place.”

“I said don’t touch it!” screamed the woman, preparing to lunge at M, but before she hit him, M touched the memory.

This time it was in the shape of a mangled key. It transported him into a man, pushing a little boy on a swing up a hill.

“Higher daddy! Higher!” shouted the little boy.

“Alright, alright,” laughed the man as he pushed the boy harder.

“Wee!” shouted the little boy, feet stretched out to the sky.

M could feel a breeze blowing through him, cooling off the smile on his face.

“Again! Again!” shouted the boy.

“Alright kiddo, but this is the last one, okay? It’s getting dark.” The sun tinged the sky with its orange hug, setting with a warm goodbye to the world.

“Can we stay a little longer?”

“Okay buddy, 10 more minutes, but then we gotta go, alright?”

“Yes dad,” the man pushed the boy once again. “Can we stop for ice cream on the way?”

“Only if you don’t tell mom.”

“I never tell,” giggled the boy.

M felt joy filling his heart, he forgot all the worries he never had, as if the world was never cruel, as if pain never existed. He felt warmth, comfort, and joy, but in a blink of an eye, everything vanished, and he was back to his own body.

“Wha–” he crashed to the floor, rammed by the woman who was now on top of him. “Ow!” shouted M.

“Don’t touch it!” screamed the woman. “That’s my memory.”

“No it’s not!” M pushed the woman away and got up. “You’re not a man!”

“Of course not! He threw it away, so it’s mine now!”

“That’s not f–he threw it away? But why? it was–”

“Yes, I know, it’s one of my favorites, I should bite your fingers off for touching it,” grumbled the woman.

“Why did he throw it away?” M continued asking, more so to himself.

“You people are stupid! stupid! stupid! Don’t know the worth of anything,” answered the woman.

“Don’t you have your own memory here?”

“I don’t exist! No memories!”

“Right,” M sighed. “If your memory doesn’t work, then how about mine?”

“No! No more touching memories!”

“But it’s my memory! I have a right to it.”

“No, no, no,” the woman stomped her feet. “You threw it away, no return!”

“But I don’t even remember doing that. If memories I forgot aren’t mine, then actions I forgot aren’t mine either, right?”

The woman paused to think, kneading her wrinkled forehead. “You have a point,” she said.

“Then you’ll show–” the woman appeared right in front of him, “what are you–”

“Your face, I’ve seen it,” the woman hovered her finger all over the museum. “There!” She pointed at one of its many rows “Follow me!”
 M followed the trampling woman, and after just a few steps, they arrived.

“This has your face,” said the woman, pointing at a memory shaped like a buried flower.

“Then it must be mine.” M put his hands over the memory.

“What are you waiting for?” asked the woman.

“You sure this is mine?”

“I’ve seen it once, could never forget!”

“Alright then,” M took a deep breath, “here we go,” and touched the memory.

He saw a woman holding him with tears on her face.

“I’m sorry,” said the woman.

He heard the rushing of a river, though he never did see it–not with an unclouded eye. The sun, high up in the sky, staring right at them, as witness and judge.

“I’m sorry,” repeated the woman as she kissed him on his forehead; her lips felt brittle.

M could only stare with eyes unaware of even himself, but he knew what warmth was. He held up his hands and touched the woman’s face; it was rough, it was scarred, it was dirty, but he didn’t know what all that meant, it was his mother’s face, that was all that mattered to him, so he laughed.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman held him tight and cried harder.

M coughed, a great sickness festering inside him, but thankfully, the universe had some mercy; it spared him the pain.

The woman put M in a basket, complete with flowers, a piece of bread, and a pair of coins. The woman grabbed the basket and plunged it into the rushing river, then she turned away and ran, biting her tongue to hold her scream.

Carried by the river, the basket slowly sank. But M didn’t know better, he didn’t even feel the rushing water, all he saw was the sun, brighter than it had ever been. He tried to grab it, but his tiny hands could never reach it.

He died.
M woke up.

And fell, his feet could no longer support him, but still, he felt no pain.

“Wha–what was that?” he said.

“That one is weird,” The woman put her hands on her head, “still can’t understand it.”

“That–that can’t be me, that was a baby!”

“No, it’s you, it’s your face.”

“That doesn’t make sense, I am a man! Look at me, I’m not a baby, I’m a man.”

“Yes, but this is now, today, and never!”

“No, no, no,” M paced around the room. “This can’t be real, this can’t be–” he grabbed the woman’s shoulder and shook it, “You’re lying to me! Show me my other memories!”

The woman bit his hand and kicked him. “Nothing more, nothing more!” she screamed.

“No, there must be something else.” The man went around the building, touching every memory he came across. He saw all kinds of things: boring walks naturally fading, terrors willfully forgotten, and most of all, he saw laughter, warmth, happy times, so wantonly thrown away.

“This is–,” M broke down and wept on the floor.

The woman ran to him with a smile on her face. “I understand now, I know what you are!”

“What? Tell me!” asked M with a glimmer of hope in his eye.

“You’re a forgotten memory! You belong here! I got to find a glass case for you,”

“What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t it wonderful? You can be here with me now, today, never, and forever!” the woman laughed. “Friends, friends, friends!” repeated the woman.

“No, No, Get me out here, I don’t want to be stuck here with you!” M started to run as far as he could from the woman, but the echoes of her laugh followed him, no matter how far he was.

Her laugh was filled with madness, and yet it was pure, no malice, no ill will, it was joy and nothing else, a laugh that you can’t ever forget, a laugh that created memories, the man’s second memories, and just like that, in that split second of remembering, the woman disappeared, and her laughter faded.

The man stopped. “Lady?” said the man, “Lady, where did you go?”

“Is this one of your tricks? It’s not funny.” The man ran around the white halls, but no sign of the woman.
“Hello? Are you hiding somewhere?” The man grew desperate.

“You better come out here right now! or else I’ll destroy all your precious memories!” no answer.

“Lady?” asked the man in soft whispers. “Lady? Lady?” echoed the man to none.

Rinanda Hidayat

Image by Pexels from Pixabay – interior of a museum with glass display cases. One solitary male figure.