eidetic
adjective
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Ken looked at his date in surprise. He and Lisa had been going out for almost a month and he was just hearing this now? How could he had missed it?
“So, you really have a photographic memory?” He asked.
Lisa sighed. “Yes, yes I do. And I really wish you’d just drop this now. I really don’t like talking about it.”
“But why not? That’s amazing. To not forget things is like a dream come true.”
“You’d think so wouldn’t you? You and every other guy I’ve dated. Hell, every person I’ve met thinks the same. But it’s not. It’s really not nearly as great as you think it is.”
“Why not? I mean, you never have to worry about forgetting important meetings, or birthdays or anniversaries or anything like that. You don’t need to worry about calendar appointments, because you always remember them. And, frankly, you don’t need to worry about forgetting why you went into a room.”
Lisa smiled weakly. Ken could see a weariness in her eyes. A tiredness that came from having to explain something a few times too many. Had he really done something bad by talking about this? Maybe he should just let the subject drop. But it was out there now anyway, so he might as well see it through.
“Yeah, there are some good parts.” She said. “I remember all my friends in school. I remember the first time I had ice cream. All those wonderful, amazing things that we go through. I remember them all.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
She leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh. “When I was seven, my parents got divorced. I remember verbatim every word or every argument they had. When I was six, we had a dog. I loved that dog. Sweetest thing in the world. It got run over right in front of me, and the driver didn’t even slow down. I remember what that dog looked like before and after that accident. I remember getting picked on by kids in my class, and why they did it. I remember in vivid detail what my grandparents looked like before they passed away. I remember the smell of my aunt’s so called ‘designer’ cigarettes. I remember every stubbed toe, every scrapped knee.”
Ken felt the color drain from his face as she spoke. He had never even considered what a perfect memory really meant.
“So yeah, remembering everything that happens to me isn’t so great.” Lisa said.
“I…I’m sorry for bringing it up.” He said, perfectly sincere. “If it really makes you that uncomfortable, I won’t bring it up again.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You can say that easily enough. But it always comes up. Everyone does it, without even meaning to. Asking me to remember some important detail, some date or number or password. And I will. I can’t help but remember those things. The important thing is that you’ll ask. And you probably won’t even realize you’re doing it.”
Ken began to say something. Something like how he would not do that. How he would never take advantage of her like that. But he also knew that was probably not possible. Lisa seemed to understand that.
“At least you have the ability to forget this conversation.” She said. “That’s a luxury most people never even consider.”
“Yeah, I guess we don’t.”
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This is not a problem I have. I sometimes forget what I did five minutes ago. Yeah, my memory isn't super great. There are some things I can remember reasonably well, but those are few and far between.
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