You see, they tell me I lost my memory, but I can't remember doing it - why or where it happened. Or rather, the events that preceded the fact that I can't remember.
They tell me that things that I should remember, and I think I remember them. I see them in my minds eye, but my memories are shattered when they tell me that Aunt Edna was wearing a red dress - for I remember it as blue. Cobalt blue. I think I don't remember too much that is red anymore. A powdery blue bike, navy pants, Dad's slate blue trucks. But not red.
Yes, I see red, I'm not color blind, nor do I remember being color blind. There are stop signs, stop lights, a lady with a red purse and red shoes I think...I don't remember.
I remember we had orange and white fish in a azure blue aquarium, but the others remember the red-finned sharks that we had. I remember the Prussian bouncy balls that we had as a kid, but others remember the red and white ones. I remember the lapis lazuli bachelor buttons, they remember the red dahlias. I remember the fields of canola, way back when it was still called rape, under the cornflower skies, but they remember Uncle on his red tractor. I remember the steel of the train engine, but they remember the caboose.
They also remember the accident.
They remember the fire engines.
They remember the blood.
They remember the surgery.
They remember the transfusions.
I remember none of this.
I'm just blue.
This short piece of fiction was inspired by several stories that I encountered this week about those that could not remember. I light of the serendipity that has been happening to me lately, though I do not understand my muse, she requested I write it.
This is for Chad, Alice and Eva.
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