Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Random Memory

RANDOM MEMORY
by Glowin

“Did I leave my memory with you?”
No hello, no preamble, just that. His voice always thrilled me, even though we were no longer a couple. He was my best friend, and yes, he had left his memory with me. I told him exactly that. “Yes, you did, and I shall cherish it forever.”
Silence, then a snicker. “Ahem. Funny. No, I mean the one I plugged into your laptop at band practice last night. It’s blue and white.”
“Your memory has a color scheme? There’s a good one. I have been told I dream in Technicolor, now I am also able to remember in Technicolor, or blue and white, as it were.” This was a great one to chew on!
“Seriously, do you have my memory? I left it there last night.”
I could not get serious. “Actually, darling, you left it here last year. Don’t worry. Your memory is safe. I will never lose it. It will follow me to Shady Pines, and my room mates will envy me because I have a memory of the greatest guitar player that ever lived, and the finest man that ever shared my life. So you see? Your memory is safe with me forever. ”
Silence. I was still chuckling, and finally I heard a whisper of a laugh, then outright chortling. We had fun with his memory for a few minutes, then this: “I’ve been playing with your mouse,” he offered.
“Oh, yeah? Didn’t feel a thing.”
Another silence, then an explosion of laughter from his end. I had asked him to look at my wireless laptop mouse because it wasn’t working as it should.
“Yeah, you had the batteries in backwards. When you replace the batteries, the mouse forgets everything. You have to stick a pencil in the thing on its bottom, push the reset, then it talks to the computer and remembers everything it’s supposed to do.”
Computer technology lingo 101 at ten in the morning as voiced by a programmer.
“I put the batteries in backwards on purpose. I tried every configuration, thinking maybe, just maybe, the assembly line person who etched out the pattern under the batteries had just this once gotten them wrong, so I deliberately set them in that way.” I had to say that so he didn’t think I was a complete idiot about mice, which I suspect I am, but don’t want anyone to know about it.
“Okay. So I’ve been playing here with your mouse, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. In fact, it is working perfectly.”
He should know… “Yeah, I keep myself pretty healthy, and I’m not that old yet. Still lots of life in me, heh, heh.”
“You betcha. So hold on to my memory. I’ll get it next time I see you.” He was still laughing that sweet laugh.
Not if I can help it. No one gets this memory.
“Hey, baby. You just keep playing with my mouse. You never know what might happen," I teased.
“Have a great d-d-day!” He was a little unglued by now.
“You too, see you tomorrow night. I’ll bring your memory. Bye for now.”
Yes, darling. I will bring your memories, all of them. Methinks we have some unfinished business.

Author’s Notes This conversation could not have taken place in the early nineteen hundreds.

An addendum on the mouse thing--this is an email from the mouse-fixer himself:
I have done everything to your mouse that I could think of-- I pushed its buttons, switched its switch, pushed and pulled it around, plugged and unplugged, reset its reset, squeezed it, patted it, stroked it, turned it off, turned it on, took away its power, gave it back its power, unplugged its transceiver, plugged its transceiver in, turned off the computer, turned it back on and still the mouse is mouse-ing as every good mouse should mouse.

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