He tells you that he lost five years of his life. He cannot remember the period of time between 2007 and 2012. Or that’s not quite right, he says. It’s not like he forgot them, it’s like he never lived them at all. Instead there’s a blank space, like God or whoever dictates his life ran out of time on a test and forgot to fill it in.
You imagine his memory as a cassette player fucking up and spitting out tape.
There are things he remembers before, like his granddaughter being born, holding her tiny hand in his own as she slept. And then the time after, when he found one day that he was awake again and it was 2012 and he had no idea what he had done for the last five years.
He tells you that existing without memory is no different from not existing at all.
What he won’t tell you is that his mind feels like it is being ripped away from his body, that he lives his life afraid that he is living in another blank period, something that will be wiped from his mind. He won’t tell you that he’s worried that the conversation he is having now will become another empty space.
About the Author: Colby Cox is a graduate of the University of Kansas. He studied creative writing and sociology. He spends most of his time working on his podcast I Took A Film Class Once with his best friend. He loves nothing more than his cat, except maybe Big Brother.