Thanks for the Memories

When I was sixteen I bought a condom to keep in my wallet. At the time I mocked the use-by date, but since then I've replaced it three times.1

That alone should tell you that I am a rather pathetic person.2

OK, that's harsh, especially as it's not entirely my fault. Mid-term memory loss makes many things - such as remembering to eat, set an alarm clock, go to work, or attend that crucial date - difficult. On average, I forget one important thing a day, and multiple unimportant things. A topical example: forgetting her favourite cuisine, unimportant; forgetting her name, important.3

Somehow or other I haven't actually been murdered or got myself killed for all of thirty-two years, but that's the nearest thing to what could realistically be termed "success" in my life. I have a stupidly high job turnover rate, losing them as fast as I forget that I have them, and while this does give my life a pleasing sense of caprice, occasional consistency would be appreciated. I go through friendships like fat kid through cake, tending to form rapports with colleagues and then losing them as soon as they cease being my colleagues. There are one or two guys that call me every so often, but I have to make an almost Herculean effort to remember to turn up for social events. As for girlfriends, well; if I even remember to call them back, I've grown sick of turning up to a date two hours late only to face either the inevitable storm or a restaurant manager telling me that she's gone home.4

Which explains the out of date condoms.5

My doctor says I should tell people about my condition. Fuck off. "Hi, I'm Kurt, I'm going to forget your name." I consider myself reasonably intelligent; why pretend I'm a retard just for sympathy? I've got enough to deal with without adding prejudice to the pile.6

Oh, there are pills and therapies and lots of other bullshit, but they've never really worked. I do have a personal organiser that shouts at me every so often, but that's only helpful when I remember to set it. About the only thing in my life that's solid and regular and I always, always attend is my quarterly check-up with aforementioned doctor; and that's only because he calls me when it's time to leave. I stick a post-it note on my windscreen to tell me where I'm going.7

I was staring as this post-it note one really, really bad week. Lost another job. Got called by my first name at the job centre, too. Didn't eat for thirty-six hours and almost fainted, not because I'm one of those pathetic teenage girls subsisting on air and apples but simply because I forgot to eat. And missed my television programme. Which would usually be relatively unimportant, but today was just one more thing in a far-too-extensive catalogue of errors.8

So I drove into the doctor's car park in a foul temper, the reasons for which were slipping in and out of my crippling, self-destructive hippocampus (which is meant to store my memories; though multiple brain scans haven't been able to figure out why it doesn't). Stomped into the lobby, opened my mouth just as I forgot why I was there, but recovered myself quickly and told the nail-buffing receptionist who I was.9

Five minutes later I was shown into Dr Pich's office.10

"Ah, Kurt," he smiled as I walked in.11

I nodded brusquely at him and sat down.12

"A new treatment has just come onto the market."13

I'm sure it will be very effective. Just like all the others.14

"Here he is."15

And he opened his palm to reveal a thumb-length, orange-and-black striped mustelid.16

It stared at me.17

I stared at it.18

"This will be your memory from now on. He lives off his energy stores and does not eat, drink, or defecate. He has a lifespan of about a month."19

*20

On the drive home I stared at my new hippocampus. It was rather cute, in a way. Big fluffy tail, short stumpy legs, stubby nose. Bright, inquisitive black eyes. Clearly not any natural species, but of course I couldn't remember what Dr Pich had said about it. Possibly something related to genetic engineering?21

"Tell me what you want to remember and I'll repeat it back to you," it said suddenly.22

I jumped. "What the fuck!"23

"Anything. From eating to skydiving."24

"Jesus Christ. Scared the shit out of me."25

"I'm sorry."26

"It's not like I've got anything much to remember at the moment. Recently unemployed." That was one fact which was refusing to be blissfully forgotten.27

"Need to sign on?"28

I sighed. "Again..."29

"I'll remind you in the morning."30

"God. It's like being back at home with Mum."31

The creature blinked at me.32

"But she wasn't as furry. Or...actually, she was occasionally as orange."33

It blinked again. "I could also remind you to eat? I understand that you have problems remembering to do that."34

"Fine, fine. Have a name I can abuse you by?"35

"No."36

"Then I'll call you - Fuzzbum. Yeah, that's quite appropriate. Fuzzbum, remind me of your name next time I talk to you."37

*38

Unexpectedly, Fuzzbum turned out to be really, really helpful. Over the next week I had the novel experience of remembering almost everything, and the things I did forget were no more than mundane details: where did I leave the keys, what's my second cousin's brother's name, normal things like that. A new sense of optimism surged over me - perhaps my life had a chance in hell after all.39

Fuzzbum had reminded me to shop for toilet paper (you know how it always runs out precisely when you don't want it to?), and as I opened up my wallet to pay I spied my aging condom. As I silently gloried in the small luxury of comfortable shits, a morally dubious idea occurred to me.40

Back outside, where no one would notice me talking to a neon weasel, I said:41

"Fuzzbum?"42

"Yes?"43

"Is it against some kind of weird medical rule for you to help me get laid?"44

"I don't think so. Why?"45

"Oh, Fuzzbum. How innocent and naive you are. Remind me to call Rob when we get home."46

Because there was no way Rob would say no to a night on the pull.47

*48

I'd dressed carefully. Collared-shirt, a perhaps over-formal touch, but it gave Fuzzbum a place to hide. And Fuzzbum was vital.49

Met up with Rob, ordinary chit-chat, hello, how are you, his conversation couldn't possibly be more dull. But he could have been saying anything, and I would not have cared, I was far too excited - because tonight was the night. Previously, in the dark, pre-Fuzzbum era, I had been able to pick up girls, get talking to them, flirt a bit, but it always fell flat at some point; usually when I forgot their names.50

None of that was going to happen tonight. I had Fuzzbum on my side.51

Sure enough, from paying for that first drink to the magic "like to come back to mine?", nothing went wrong - which is the same as everything going right. I remembered to stay where I was when she went to the toilet. I remembered her name; and her friend's. I remembered the job I told her I did; I remembered her preferred cocktail, and to tell Rob - with more than a hint of triumph - where I was going.52

And oh god that precious moment when I finally, finally managed to break into the condom wrapper's vale of secrets. I could barely restrain my excitement as the beautiful girl I had somehow managed to charm smiled seductively and lay back on the bed.53

Fade to black, etcetera etcetera.54

In the morning I woke with her still beside me. I kissed her cheek, rosy in the creeping sun, and slipped quietly out of bed. My eye caught the discarded condom on the floor, and I smiled to myself.55

Then, as my mind shifted itself into gear awake, knowledge of the situation faded. I gazed blankly around. What was going on...?56

"Kayla." Fuzzbum came scampering across the floor to sit at my feet. "She's called Kayla. You had sex with her last night. This is her house. And it's breakfast time."57

"Ah. I see. What would I do without you, Fuzzbum..."58

"I don't know."59

"Not much is the correct answer."60

I pulled some trousers on and sauntered to the kitchen, Fuzzbum reminding me where it was. A warm glow of fulfilment suffused me as I searched the cupboards for cornflakes. My memory of last night was rather flimsy (then again, my memories always were), but the world-defining bliss remained. The feeling of triumphant satisfaction had not faded. And, best, the itching desire for every man's birthright was gone, replaced only by a leisurely thirst for more.61

"Did I take her number?"62

"It's in your phone. She's got yours too."63

I made little pleasurable humming noises as I began my breakfast. Life had never been better. And I was determined that it would stay this good. Daydreams uncoiled in my head; Kayla and I would fall in love and have beautiful sex day and night and afternoon, in the garden and in the shower and on the table I was currently sitting at, we would play with handcuffs and whips and definitely try strawberries and cream. It would not fail, because Fuzzbum would remind me of every date and promised call, reiterate her mother's name and favourite restaurant; aided by my little mutant blob, calmly resting on the table, I simply could not - 64

A high pitched scream suddenly rang through the room, closely followed by a saucepan that whistled through the air to score a direct hit on Fuzzbum.65

I stared, shocked, at the orange and black splat on the table.66

"What was that thing?" the girl in front of me squealed.67

I opened my mouth.68

Wait.69

What was her name again...?