Unforgettable

By Charlie Melton

I talk from time to time about being remembered when we're gone. I think that being forgotten someday is the worst. I've found that for me, someday is today.

My wife and I moved here after my 33 year jaunt around the world. We spent a lot of time getting reacquainted with old haunts and former associates. This coming home thing is something I’d anticipated for a long time, and it’s very gratifying.

I’m in Norris City and a lady comes in that I recognize immediately. It’s my girlfriend from high school. I think that this is going to be awkward. I try to recall if we had a bad break-up. I wonder if she still has my class ring. I speak out and greet her by name. She looks perplexed, because I’m now bald and a lot older. I introduce myself. She still looks perplexed. I describe my car, my favorite jacket, and everything that might jog her memory, but nothing works. The poor thing must have dementia. I persist. I say, “I hung around with my cousin Craig.” Her face lights up. “Craig?” she asks. “I remember Craig. He drove a tan Cutlass. He liked denim jackets and vanilla Coke. He danced really well. Who are you again?” I wonder whose class ring she really wanted to wear.

We take our Grandson Charlie to ball practice and I see people I recognize. It’s my former preacher and his family. I introduce myself, but he doesn't remember me. I mention he mentored me and taught me about the bible. He looks confused. I tell him he baptized me, but he doesn't recall. I remind him I worked for him all through high school, but I might as well be from the moon. “I hung around with my cousin Craig.” I say. His face lights up. “I haven’t seen Craig in years! How is he? I remember his Cutlass. Who are you again?”

I just found a Facebook group for people I was stationed with in Germany. They are chatting back and forth about some of the more memorable events I was involved in. I pipe in. They respond by asking my identity. One of my old comrades asks why he doesn't remember me, so I describe myself including where I’m from. He replies, “Southern Illinois? I knew a guy from there. Do you know Craig? He drove a tan Cutlass.

I don’t like this being forgotten thing. Maybe I need to ask Craig’s advice on how to be memorable. I guess I can find a tan Cutlass but the dancing thing isn't possible. Perhaps I can get my obit to start with “Craig’s cousin.” Maybe then I’ll be remembered.