Sunday Scribblings (Dangerous): Remembering and Forgetting

He smiled at the waitress as he departed. A cute girl. No more than twenty, he guessed, with her blonde ponytail reaching the center of her back. She was studying biology, wanted to become an endocrinologist. Whatever that happens to be. He remembered a time when he could woo a girl like her with his irresistible charm. Alas, that charm had dwindled with age. Now, young girls simply felt sorry for who they considered to be a man well past his prime. They smiled at him, certainly, for he was kind. But the smiles were as limpid as he. They were but the shadows of erotic glimpses that women once stole.

He stepped from the diner, noticed the street lamps flicker and thought of Memory. The tune played in his head; he could remember only the first line. He passed in front of a Rite Aid. In the doorway laid a black man in his sleeping bag. There were newspapers strewn about; he recognized the Sunday Funnies from a few weeks back. The latest Cathy. He read somewhere that Cathy would end soon.

He found himself on a street alone in the city. Not where anyone wants to be. Towards him walked a band of strange young men, their hats turned sideways and their pants falling from their respective waists. They shouted obscenities at no one in particular, mock fought along the sidewalk as he passed. He felt their glares but made certain to avoid eye contact.

He retrieved the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The smell of something rotten wafted from the apartment. He checked the refrigerator but found nothing. Upon further inspection, he knew the trash to be the culprit. He carried the trash to the proper receptacle and returned to his apartment for the evening. The television kept him company as he dozed. Memories of his ex blossomed in his mind; he half dreamt of lost children and broken promises. He awoke to find himself drooling on an ochre couch pillow. The bed called him, and he complied. A too large king bed with seven pillows of differing shades.

He listened for the sound of his ex snoring but heard only the central air. The bed proved too large. He moved to the leather couch with a sheet and a single pillow. Television didn’t help his cause. He clicked the power button after a time and the room went dark, apart from the lone street lamp that shone through his window. He stared at the barren room and wondered how he’d recover this time. He then had another thought he’d never contemplated. What if it all ended? What if he didn’t have to worry about lost children and empty beds any more? But the thought automatically gave way to another. ‘Danger, Will Robinson,’ he repeated to himself. It saved him for another night as he finally dozed into thoughtless oblivion.