Mary felt melancholy wondering what would make her cheer up after an evening of stories and jokes with a couple of men she barely knew.
Conversation, Mary found herself starved for the give and take of thoughts. The two friends traded quips to her delight, their well-matched wits worked overtime as one fellow stole the spotlight while his buddy waxed eloquent.
Beyond a doubt Mary enjoyed male company; they assaulted each other verbally in mock battle with her laughter encouraging. Men, Miz Mary thought, talk differently, the raucous ribbing never punctuates a conversation with the girls; men are funny. They challenge and retreat talking over the other to demonstrate prowess with Mary’s attention the symbol of superiority. The coffee and conversation buzzed in her brain on the way home.
Mary doesn’t remember the event that led to her memory loss as if she fell out of the sky landing in someone’s house. How she manages her life is anyone’s guess. Some say she sleepwalks through her life, but really nobody much talks about her.
You see her at the gym sometimes; she smiles and nods. The expression on her face tells the world she’s lost, but no one seems to notice. Vaguely, she thinks she remembers exercising in a younger body, but she paused, wondering if that’s the body she imagines having. There aren’t enough repetitions in the world she thinks as she does another set.
Why can’t I remember who I am? Why am I here? This world seems strange but familiar. A wispy veil separates Mary from others; brief moments like last night she reached through the veil. Mary analyzed every second as if it would help her remember.
Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings soothed her disorientation; she likes men, but the man who grabbed her,
“For the warmth of human contact, “ upset her.
“Keep your f’ing hands off me,” she snapped.
Did men always tell you to calm down after doing something upsetting? A familiar chord, perhaps she is remembering her life on Earth.