Photocopies of Memories

by J Gordon Curtis

Eric was sitting at a booth in his favorite (and only) diner when it happened. The server had just stopped by and refilled his cup with the sludge they passed for coffee. Her name was Joanne and she had rusted brown hair and glaringly bright green eyes. She wore pants in a boot cut that felt like they were bought in a different decade.

Eric was perched next to the window, staring outside of it with his hands cupped over each other in front of him. He had placed his cup on the outside corner of the table so Joanne could know to fill it.

She knew the drill: refill the cup, don’t speak.

Eric has come to this diner every Saturday for the last three years missing only one weekend when he was ill and nearly threw up at the thought of the gray globs of food that were served there. This was his recreation time. Time that he deliberately spent to decompress after a week of working a job he hated.

He did his best to relax throughout the week as well. Each day he would return home where he would pull a pre-made dinner out of the freezer and put it in the microwave. As it was cooking, he would pour himself 3 glasses of soda so he would not have to get up from his chair for more. Bringing all of that over to his custom, state of the art recliner, he would put on a show that was streaming, pick an episode that was exactly 7 episodes from the end of the series, and watch through the finale.

He liked being able to feel like there was a sense of completion and found it easier to transition straight from there into bed. On the bed, his blanket was pulled back and tucked so that he would be able to slide directly in, like an eel fleeing through a narrow, underwater canyon to avoid a predator. His fan was programmed to automatically turn on right as he was putting his head down. The TV was programmed to automatically turn off after 30 seconds of nothing playing.

Yet, he was unable to feel fully relaxed throughout the week. That’s why he came to this diner. The food was reliable and the servers were typically in bad moods so he was able to slip in and avoid interaction with relative ease at the beginning. Of course, as he became a “regular,” he knew that some of the workers might mistake him for wanting friendship.

Whenever one of the servers would speak to him, Eric would have to exit his own head and return to reality to answer them and he found it all frustrating. Another result of this unfortunate circumstance would be that Eric would often feel as though he had a lesser intelligence whenever spoken too. He would feel this because it would take him an amount of time that felt unacceptable to return back to the Earth and be able to respond in a way that communicated cognition and comprehension.

Two years ago, Eric snapped after a server attempted to have a conversation with him. She had misjudged his being alone for being lonely. She was a sweet woman who felt deeply in her heart that she was assisting this poor man who comes in every week and sits in silence for an hour and a half or more. Instead she was met with a cherry-red face and bulged out neck and forehead veins. A few choice words shared and Eric had established his status as a person who should be left alone at all costs.

Within moments Eric felt remorse build in his stomach but elected to ignore it since he knew that he was in the right for being upset and he would absolutely not, under any circumstances, apologize. Such humiliation was therefore counterproductive in his life and he decided it was just plain not worth having. In opposition to this feeling, Eric returned to the diner the very next Saturday, head high, and pretended as though nothing had ever happened.

There were talks in the back room about whether or not to allow Eric back in under the circumstances. It was decided that this would count as a first and last mark against him before action would be taken. This, of course, to the dismay of the poor server who was rendered terrified of other customers afterwards. Said trauma caused her work ethic to deteriorate at a rapid pace to the point where she was let go from the job.

Eric had ascertained that this was the situation and he initially had poor feelings about it but decided finally that feeling bad couldn’t change anything. She had the opportunity to overcome her fear and become a better worker on her own and elected not to, Eric decided. He released himself from feeling any shame about it.

Outside the window that Eric’s table was up against was a bus stop Eric was able to disappear into. He found it therapeutic and rhythmatic and would often slip in and out of reality while counting the passengers of the Chicago bus system. Twenty people get off, ten people get on, twelve people get off, eight people get on, two people get off, fifteen people get on. None of them have features or bodies or faces. Each of them is represented by a number. Until one slips through his hazy filter.

It had been a long time but he knew it right away; his mother. Eric’s face remained still. He caught the eyes of the woman who had just gotten off. She had wispy gray-blonde hair and sorrowful eyes that hung heavy on her face. She gave a timid wave.

Her dress was dirty and her demeanor downtrodden.

Eric waved back, dumbfounded. Turning her back to him, she pulled out a book and sat down on the bus bench. She didn’t recognize him. At least, he hoped she didn’t.

Eric was twelve when his father told him that his mother had passed away. He can remember the quiver in his father’s voice and the absolute fear that he felt having seen his father express himself emotionally for the first time in his (Eric’s) life. A tear rolled down his father’s cheek as he told Eric that his mother had been in an accident and wouldn’t be coming home.

There was a pregnant pause. Eric didn’t cry. He felt so guilty about not crying. He was old enough to understand what had happened. Inside his head, he felt as though he was making photocopies of all the memories that he had with his mother. Processing the images of her reading him the Bible, talking about how proud she was of Eric, telling him to keep his feet poking out of the igloo he created out of a snowdrift so she can pull him to safety if the two inches of snow were to collapse leaving him — in her mind — helpless and imobile.

Then, yelling at him, lying to him, telling him he was the reason they were unable to pay bills that month. Eric knew that he wanted to remember everything about his mother. That he needed to remember those other times too. When he got older, Eric would realize this is not a common practice and that people tend to remember what they wanted their loved ones to be instead of what they really were.

Working up the nerve, Eric asked his father what kind of accident his mother was in. His father collapsed crying and was unable to answer. Fearing that he would incite a similar reaction, Eric elected to drop the issue and not bring it up again in the future. Curiosity ate away at him though. He had even considered at one point hiring a private investigator to try and find the buried bones of his mother, having never been to the funeral since his dad said it would be “too hard.”

Thinking that it would be something that his father would bring up if he were ever emotionally available to again, Eric learned how to store away the pain from the event. It was a packed bag of luggage waiting in the closet for a trip that his father never allowed him to go on. As the years passed, the luggage sat there, forgotten.

Surprisingly, Eric connected the dots that his father was lying to him almost right away. What he didn’t know, and what he could never bring himself the courage to simply message his father about, is why he would have told him that she was dead.

In truth, the morning Eric was awakened by his father, his father had not slept through the night.

She started by breaking all the dishes and screaming, then she began threatening and knife-wielding before finally collapsing into herself like a dying star and rocking back and forth. She couldn’t understand why she was unable to control her emotions. She felt as though there was a lightning storm going on inside of her head and she never knew when or where it might strike. All she knew was that she couldn’t figure out how to not be this way.

Eric might have known this but he always slept with an industrial fan on high in those days so that he couldn’t be awoken by the frequent fighting of his parents.

Eric’s father asked her if she would be open to therapy. She scoffed.

Instead, she decided it was best if she removed herself from the family, Eric included, until she could get her life together. What she would discover was that this was a task that was impossible to do in isolation and seclusion.

She left for him in her eyes. For his safety. For his sanity.

She pleaded with Eric’s father to not tell Eric the truth. She never wanted him to know that she was abandoning her son. How could he ever forgive her for doing something like that to him? Eric’s father was totally against it but backed down and allowed it in the name of Eric’s mother leaving the house and not coming back.

What she wasn’t banking on was that Eric would also find it difficult to forgive her for dying.

Joanne walked by the table again, looking gingerly into his cup, still located on the corner of the table, to see if it needed to be refilled. Eric had not taken a drink of it since she had last come through. His eyes remaining firmly focused on the back of the head of the woman on the bus bench.

Is she here to see me? Chills at the idea of having to leave his comfy life to learn how to make room for another person within it.

Joanne noticed a dark ring of filth forming just above where the coffee is sitting in the cup. She stood there for a few seconds to see if her silent patron would be asking anything else of her and then she walked away. Her eyes locked with Eric’s in the reflection in the plate-glass window but he didn’t notice.

Eric knew well enough that he had fifteen minutes until the next bus came but he could not figure out if he wanted to confront her. Desperately trying to play out the scenario in his head, he realized that he is in uncharted waters and a decision would have to be made.

His entire life, Eric has blamed his shortcomings on the loss of his mother. Her death was a crutch for him on the few occasions that he was called out. Later in life, he would realize that having a dead mom is less of a shocker as you get older and would transition to simply not interacting with others so that he doesn’t have to think about or improve his attitude.

Sofia would cite his unresolved emotions about his mother on the day she began packing her items in a large black suitcase and moving out. Claiming that he needed to talk to somebody or he’d never be able to love anyone ever again, she slammed the door on her way out. Eric stood shocked for a moment before going over to his recliner, finding a show, and going fourteen episodes back from the end of the series.

After Sofia left, it became easier for Eric to disappear into himself. He no longer had to make or keep plans with anyone else. No cleaning his home for others, he was able to live with a home that was just as clean as he wanted it to be (not very.) No watching something that he doesn’t want to watch anymore. No complications, no arguments, nobody keeping him from having to do anything other than what he absolutely wants to do.

Eric never loved again after Sofia. A fact which, to this day, brings Sofia immense guilt. She thinks that it’s because she broke his heart but, in reality, it’s just because he’s decided that he wouldn’t like to risk his comfort for the chance to share it. Sofia is doing well enough now though. She’s married and has a child on the way. Eric knows this, having looked her up just last week.

In his defense, he did try therapy exactly once. He had been referred to a therapist by his measly insurance that was provided by his company but, when he got in there, he noticed that the therapist’s socks were on backwards. The gray part where the heel is supposed to be was on the top of his foot and it bunched up as his foot bent while his legs were crossed.

This was, initially, very troubling for Eric. He tried to look past it though.

Eric confessed his story to the person with backwards socks who merely nodded and took notes. When the time was up, the doctor handed Eric a book that was titled “Coping with Loss” and said that he would make an appointment for them to meet again in a month. Eric booked the meeting to be polite but then didn’t show up or return the book he never read which the therapist thought was very rude.

From then on, Eric decided that he was going to handle things on his own

Eric slowly rises from the table. He reaches into his wallet and he pulls out a $20 bill and places it on the table. His legs appear to be in a different dimension, moving and operating on their own accord by (or for) somebody else. His hands tremble as he attempts to put his wallet in his back-right pocket, dropping it to the floor with a leather thud. Eric leaves it there and moves towards the door.

A bell clangs as he pushes the handle outward. His legs continue moving him dutifully forward. His mother snaps her head backwards at him and there is fear in her eyes. Eric freezes in his position when he realizes that he has startled her.

Slowly, his mother rises from the bench and begins backing away from him with her hands pumping downward from her head to her chest. “Stay away from me!”

“I think you misunderst-”

“I said stay away!” Her face is red. She is dabbing away the perspiration that is loosening the dust from her forehead.

“It’s me, Mom.”

“I know who you are.” There is so much disgust in her voice. It punches Eric in the stomach. “You’ve been following me for years!” She is jumping around and waving her arms to draw attention to the events unfolding. “Just leave me alone.”

Tears were forming behind Eric’s eyes. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.” His hands were up at his head, remaining still. He slowly backed into the restaurant and returned to his table. His mother returned to her spot on the bench.

He watched her for the next five minutes as she waited for the bus. Then, she got in the bus and it took her away. Eric sat there, looking forward. Joanne silently picked up Eric’s wallet and placed it on the table before picking up the $20 and walking away to make change for him. Nobody had noticed the brief lapse in his presence.

Eric finally moved the cup from the corner and took a drink of his refilled cup of coffee. It was cold and bitter, undrinkable.