Remember
Diane Payne

One afternoon, they sat on the floor in his dingy apartment looking at Cuban propaganda stamps. He put the stamps away, and not long afterwards, they each relocated.

Umpteen years, it felt like a lifetime, later, after watching a video that involves two lovers on a small motorcycle, the woman starts thinking about this old boyfriend and does a Google search. She finds over one hundred seventy-four thousand sites linked to his name, and e-mails the first two addresses that surface, asking if this is the same person who once lived in Tucson.

Within hours, he writes back that it's him, el mismo. On the site connected to him, it mentioned his interest in collecting stamps. She writes back asking how long he's been interested in stamps. Disappointed, he writes back he can't believe she doesn't remember sitting on the floor of his dingy apartment, looking at his stamp collection.

She tries to conjure up images but can't remember if the stamps were in a collection book or stuffed in an old envelope or affixed to letters he received from friends and lovers.

He knows his stamps were in a thick black stamp collector's book. He also remembers unraveling the history of each and every stamp to her with endless stories. Hours passed as he turned page after page, telling story after story.

She wishes she could remember these stories, but she's trying so hard to remember, she's not sure if she's creating memories that never existed or mixing up his dirty floor with another lover's dirty floor who showed her scripts for TV shows that his dad wrote. Surely these are two different men? Tired of thinking poorly of herself for not remembering who's who and for becoming so calloused that she forgot about his stamp collection, she doesn't send any more e-mail.

The next month, she tires of rereading his two e-mails and decides to look him up. A friend makes her a bumpersticker with Cuban propaganda stamps surrounding the word Remember. She places this on her car and heads east until she reaches Boston.

If they pass each other on the street and recognize each other, great. If not, in three days her vacation will be over and she'll head west and drive back home to Dallas.

Just as he's about to enter a music store to talk about this Puerto Rican folk singer named Ramito who is now dead, another passion like the stamps, he sees the bumpersticker. He runs down the street chasing the car, waving frantically. He notices she still has that crooked smile, but she doesn't see him.

He watches Remember disappear as she turns the corner.

© Diane Payne