Forgetfulness

Forgetfulness

Forgetfulness

17 days ago

words ()

Tiny details, that may seem insignificant to some, are slowly slipping from my memory. I've always applauded myself on how well I remembered people’s faces and random details no one ever cared about. I’m the girl who pretends she doesn’t remember people, but truthfully, I rarely forget a face.
And numbers. I used to know telephone numbers like it was my job. Thanks to cell phones, knowing someone's number offhand is a thing of the past. But passwords stump me these days. I am embarrassed to admit how many times I've changed my password. And if I'm being completely honest; its most likely the same password.
I noticed it a while ago but brushed it off. While introducing hubs to people I grew up around, I realized I could not remember their names. People I grew up seeing on a daily or weekly basis, names I used to call confidently; their names vanished from my memory bank.
I rushed through the introductions, hoping no one noticed. When hubs asked me later, I told him pathetically, “I forgot their name.”
A year ago, at a family wedding, my mother dragged me around a party, re-introducing me to family members I hadn’t seen in years.
Mom: "You remember Tonton So-So?"
Me: "Of course, I remember Tonton."
And I did know them…then. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. My mother suffered from secret memory lapses herself, something I’ve long noticed but never commented on. I figured growing old was traumatic enough without your daughter marking the dreaded milestones.
While driving through my hometown, a tiny town I left right after college, I could not recall any of my trusted shortcuts. Like most suburban kids, I got my license as soon as I turned sixteen. I quickly became everyone’s chauffeur. As a compromise to using her car, I dropped my mother off at work and her numerous church engagements. Once, the guy I dated long ago drove his rickety car to my house, so I could drive us to the movies.
So here I was in the town I used to know like the back of my hand and I could not remember the shortcut to the local pharmacy. It wasn’t the shortcut that upset me, it was what it represented.

Brenda Fadeyibi
Brenda Fadeyibi
comments powered by Disqus
Back to top