Forget Me Not - Short Story
FORGET ME NOT
Michael had been a hero once. A champion. People had shouted his name from expensive seats, cheering him on. Strangers would stop him in the street for autographs or just a short conversation with a legend. Hard work and sacrifice was the foundation to Michael’s life, his motto. His literal blood, sweat and tears now represented by some dusty trophies in a cardboard box and an old book of newspaper clippings from earlier times.
It’s not everyday someone who was an impressive fighter, was nick-named the gentleman. Intent on keeping boxing a sport and not a personal vendetta against anyone, Michael would make sure he shook his opponents hand after every match. He was polite, humble and in all his years had never been knocked out. He was a true Champion.
Dorothy was the typical young girl, swept off her feet by the attention and affections of a famous boxer. She was always in the background, playing the role of supportive wife, devoted mother and hard worker, never in the limelight but always in the background holding things together. She had gotten lucky after all. Yes, Michael has his quirks but he was a God-fearing, solid, family man, not to mention famous which obviously meant money wasn’t an issue.
Coming from poverty, Dorothy had been taken aback that this famous boxer had been enamoured with her. Leaving a fairly happy but hard childhood in her wake, Dorothy embarked on a journey into the unknown with the famous man from the boxing matches that played before the movies started.
Sure, Dorothy had to put up with rigorous training routines. This meant often coming home to Michael sitting in his home-made contraption consisting of a large enough box for him to sit up in, strong lights and heaters; this would aid him in sweating out excess water so his weight would come down in time for weigh ins before big matches. Not even tea-time was normal in their house. Michael’s ¼ cup of tea would be slurped off a spoon to make it last longer in trying to avoid picking up any weight, even a cup of tea.
“I don’t mean to interrupt Dorothy, but when is tea time?” Dorothy raised her eyes from doing her crossword but not her head, “are you serious? You just had a cup of tea 10 minutes ago!” She failed to hide annoyance from her voice. Not that it was any different from any conversation they had these days. Words seemed to flow purely from a place of exhaustion. Michael looked shocked, “I most certainly did not have tea ten minutes ago! It was ages ago. I’ll make some more.” He started to rise from his chair but Dorothy new the result of Michael’s tea making. If he miraculously got the sequence right then he was sure to spill it all the way down the passage. “Sit down please Michael,” she sighed, “I will make some in a minute”. “O ok only if it’s no trouble.” He sat back down. Dorothy added another word into some blank boxes wishing it was only that easy to fill ‘something’ like Michael’s head with information that would be retained.
Now Dorothy was the hero. She couldn’t complain about her life. It had been good. Not many people had a car before they were twenty back in their day; they did. And she couldn’t forget the honeymoon of a lifetime they had shared so many years ago. What adventures they had, travelling around the world on a motorbike. Sure, it meant their trip was full of experiences like staying in a tent on the side of the road in Europe and running out of petrol in the middle of an African dessert, but it had been an unforgettable adventure, foreshadowing very much the rest of their life which was too, full of adventure and new ventures.
Michael had not only been a Champion boxer, held back from the title only because of a broken leg he attained from a motorbike accident. He also got into dentures. Making them. A job that was fresh in the developing technological world and he had one of the first businesses, making and selling false teeth. Of course, to practice as a dental technician without a dental license was illegal. So Michael’s ingenuity and genius were banished to the secret chambers built under their garages or in one case, under the linen cupboard where he could pop in and out by climbing in and out of the cupboard floor. The police who raided the property after being tipped off, more than once, only ever found the gear once.
Unfortunately for Michael, his ideas would be patented and used by another company who would never actually pay him out. His legacy in that industry remained the friendly, gentleman dental technician who had a small but faithful client base who would keep the secret of his business in exchange for reasonable priced dentures.
For the third time that morning Dorothy took her husband a cup of tea and gave the same instructions, “Please don’t mess on the couch Michael. Hold it steady.” “O my, is this for me? Thank you, thank you very much.” Michael said, his old, weathered hands that boasted many scars and bulging, oversized knuckles from the boxing clasped the delicate tea cup as he struggled to steady it and bring it to the table next to him. “Now tell me Dorothy, when are we going home?” he said bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink, listening intently to what his wife would say. “I have told you already Michael, we are home. We live here.” Michael looked confused and then his expression changed to resolve, Dorothy knew what was coming next. “No, no. We have to go home. I mean home to South Africa. If we don’t go soon we will be late for my appointments, people are relying on me to fix their teeth.” A painful flashback of earlier days made it hard for Dorothy to dismiss his vivid memories of the past without remembering it herself.
She thought about the past often, even longed for it again sometimes. The difference between Michael and herself though, was that the past was Michael’s reality, all that was real to him. His brain acted like a sieve for any knowledge of current events he had been involved in. “Michael, we live here now, in New Zealand. We immigrated with the family 5 years ago. We sold your dentist technician business decades ago.” Dorothy was exasperated. Four years of repeating the same story to the man who once new everything. “No, no. I’m not living in New Zealand! I have to get back to South Africa, I have people waiting for me.” Michael looked a bit bewildered but stuck to his story. He had clients waiting in the past, waiting for him to come fix their dentures.
Dorothy new Michael was just longing for something familiar. The sad thing was, when they went back to South Africa two years ago, he didn’t recongnise anything. Even the familiar was now new territory, well in his mind anyway.
Michael tired Dorothy out with endless, senseless arguments about non-existent things, but she did feel extremely sorry for him. His life now was a myriad of questions. From his moment of waking up in the morning until the asking if he was allowed to go to bed started from around 5pm at night. The reality of the darkness Michael was living in was overwhelming to think about, but that pity for him was often overshadowed with Dorothy’s exhaustion and frustration.
What is someone if they don’t have memories? They are the same person on the outside, in fact Michael was still surprisingly fit and healthy. Mentally though, memories of things they had shared and even of who he was, had vanished like sand that had slipped through an hourglass, never to be returned, leaving everyone else just waiting for the day when the sand is finished falling, the day the time is up. The hard thing for Dorothy to face, is what else is there to lose? Her husband, the strong, determined, successful, self-sufficient, not to mention good-looking, man was no more. All that was left now was a reminder of what was. Sort of like a photograph. An image of something that was once there but really isn’t there anymore at all.
Dorothy tried to stop herself from the involuntary walks down memory lane that her mind went on. For some reason, the memories were more painful now that the person in them was just a shadow of a man and no longer shared any of these memories. What a conflicting place to be in. What tension. It was one thing to mourn for someone who had died but no one gave you permission, least of which, yourself, to mourn when the person you love was right next to you, breathing.
“Brigette has had her baby Michael.” Dorothy looked down at her phone from behind her glasses.
“O, very nice. Very, very nice.” Michael whistled. Dorothy knew he didn’t remember which granddaughter Brigette was.
“A little boy.” Dorothy started tapping away, a congratulatory txt to her granddaughter.
“A boy hey? That’s lovely…These girls need to stop having babies now though”
Michael would often use that line. Mostly when a pregnancy was announced. Or when he saw one of his pregnant granddaughters who he had forgotten was with child. It had become something everyone had a good giggle about. Michael was completely serious.
The strong, capable, fighter of a man who she had married was still strong. In fact although his mind was racked by dementia, his body was as fit as someone ten years younger. A life obsessed with health had been to thank for that. Even now, Dorothy sat with books full of newspaper cuttings from the latest fads and medical advice. For all the days family and friends had put up with a kiss on the cheek from someone who swallowed cloves of garlic whole. For all the separate meals Dorothy had to make to ensure none of his food touched any kind of animal product. For all the years of daily walks and exercise. A bowl of fruit every morning. Michael had done everything in his power to live a healthy, long life. But nothing can save your mind when it decides to leave you. Trapped in a body that has no functioning control room. A shell.
She stared out of the second story window, looking down the road. The road where Michael had disappeared down not too long ago. He had left the lounge saying he needed to use the bathroom. He had gone downstairs, forgotten why he had gone down there and walked out of the front door. He had forgotten why he had walked out of the front door and walked down the road. It was an all-out panic when it was realized that he was missing. It had taken the visiting family a good half an hour to find him. It was raining now. There was a lock on the inside of the front door now.
Michael stared blankly at the TV screen for the remainder of the morning breakfast show. Dorothy filled in a few more words in her crossword. The two sat in quiet company of the TV presenters who now smiled and shared a joke, their jovial voices provided a nice alternative to the usual conversation in the room. Michael’s fingers tapped a rhythm that was obviously going around in his head. He was always tapping.
“Well that’s all from us,” said a smiling, pleasant looking woman, “we’ll see you tomorrow New Zealand. Have a great day.” And the credits rolled, the camera lingering a while on the pair of presenters who continued to talk and shuffle papers.
“Should I make a cup of tea then Dorothy?”
Michael had been a hero once. A champion. People had shouted his name from expensive seats, cheering him on. Strangers would stop him in the street for autographs or just a short conversation with a legend. Hard work and sacrifice was the foundation to Michael’s life, his motto. His literal blood, sweat and tears now represented by some dusty trophies in a cardboard box and an old book of newspaper clippings from earlier times.
It’s not everyday someone who was an impressive fighter, was nick-named the gentleman. Intent on keeping boxing a sport and not a personal vendetta against anyone, Michael would make sure he shook his opponents hand after every match. He was polite, humble and in all his years had never been knocked out. He was a true Champion.
Dorothy was the typical young girl, swept off her feet by the attention and affections of a famous boxer. She was always in the background, playing the role of supportive wife, devoted mother and hard worker, never in the limelight but always in the background holding things together. She had gotten lucky after all. Yes, Michael has his quirks but he was a God-fearing, solid, family man, not to mention famous which obviously meant money wasn’t an issue.
Coming from poverty, Dorothy had been taken aback that this famous boxer had been enamoured with her. Leaving a fairly happy but hard childhood in her wake, Dorothy embarked on a journey into the unknown with the famous man from the boxing matches that played before the movies started.
Sure, Dorothy had to put up with rigorous training routines. This meant often coming home to Michael sitting in his home-made contraption consisting of a large enough box for him to sit up in, strong lights and heaters; this would aid him in sweating out excess water so his weight would come down in time for weigh ins before big matches. Not even tea-time was normal in their house. Michael’s ¼ cup of tea would be slurped off a spoon to make it last longer in trying to avoid picking up any weight, even a cup of tea.
“I don’t mean to interrupt Dorothy, but when is tea time?” Dorothy raised her eyes from doing her crossword but not her head, “are you serious? You just had a cup of tea 10 minutes ago!” She failed to hide annoyance from her voice. Not that it was any different from any conversation they had these days. Words seemed to flow purely from a place of exhaustion. Michael looked shocked, “I most certainly did not have tea ten minutes ago! It was ages ago. I’ll make some more.” He started to rise from his chair but Dorothy new the result of Michael’s tea making. If he miraculously got the sequence right then he was sure to spill it all the way down the passage. “Sit down please Michael,” she sighed, “I will make some in a minute”. “O ok only if it’s no trouble.” He sat back down. Dorothy added another word into some blank boxes wishing it was only that easy to fill ‘something’ like Michael’s head with information that would be retained.
Now Dorothy was the hero. She couldn’t complain about her life. It had been good. Not many people had a car before they were twenty back in their day; they did. And she couldn’t forget the honeymoon of a lifetime they had shared so many years ago. What adventures they had, travelling around the world on a motorbike. Sure, it meant their trip was full of experiences like staying in a tent on the side of the road in Europe and running out of petrol in the middle of an African dessert, but it had been an unforgettable adventure, foreshadowing very much the rest of their life which was too, full of adventure and new ventures.
Michael had not only been a Champion boxer, held back from the title only because of a broken leg he attained from a motorbike accident. He also got into dentures. Making them. A job that was fresh in the developing technological world and he had one of the first businesses, making and selling false teeth. Of course, to practice as a dental technician without a dental license was illegal. So Michael’s ingenuity and genius were banished to the secret chambers built under their garages or in one case, under the linen cupboard where he could pop in and out by climbing in and out of the cupboard floor. The police who raided the property after being tipped off, more than once, only ever found the gear once.
Unfortunately for Michael, his ideas would be patented and used by another company who would never actually pay him out. His legacy in that industry remained the friendly, gentleman dental technician who had a small but faithful client base who would keep the secret of his business in exchange for reasonable priced dentures.
For the third time that morning Dorothy took her husband a cup of tea and gave the same instructions, “Please don’t mess on the couch Michael. Hold it steady.” “O my, is this for me? Thank you, thank you very much.” Michael said, his old, weathered hands that boasted many scars and bulging, oversized knuckles from the boxing clasped the delicate tea cup as he struggled to steady it and bring it to the table next to him. “Now tell me Dorothy, when are we going home?” he said bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink, listening intently to what his wife would say. “I have told you already Michael, we are home. We live here.” Michael looked confused and then his expression changed to resolve, Dorothy knew what was coming next. “No, no. We have to go home. I mean home to South Africa. If we don’t go soon we will be late for my appointments, people are relying on me to fix their teeth.” A painful flashback of earlier days made it hard for Dorothy to dismiss his vivid memories of the past without remembering it herself.
She thought about the past often, even longed for it again sometimes. The difference between Michael and herself though, was that the past was Michael’s reality, all that was real to him. His brain acted like a sieve for any knowledge of current events he had been involved in. “Michael, we live here now, in New Zealand. We immigrated with the family 5 years ago. We sold your dentist technician business decades ago.” Dorothy was exasperated. Four years of repeating the same story to the man who once new everything. “No, no. I’m not living in New Zealand! I have to get back to South Africa, I have people waiting for me.” Michael looked a bit bewildered but stuck to his story. He had clients waiting in the past, waiting for him to come fix their dentures.
Dorothy new Michael was just longing for something familiar. The sad thing was, when they went back to South Africa two years ago, he didn’t recongnise anything. Even the familiar was now new territory, well in his mind anyway.
Michael tired Dorothy out with endless, senseless arguments about non-existent things, but she did feel extremely sorry for him. His life now was a myriad of questions. From his moment of waking up in the morning until the asking if he was allowed to go to bed started from around 5pm at night. The reality of the darkness Michael was living in was overwhelming to think about, but that pity for him was often overshadowed with Dorothy’s exhaustion and frustration.
What is someone if they don’t have memories? They are the same person on the outside, in fact Michael was still surprisingly fit and healthy. Mentally though, memories of things they had shared and even of who he was, had vanished like sand that had slipped through an hourglass, never to be returned, leaving everyone else just waiting for the day when the sand is finished falling, the day the time is up. The hard thing for Dorothy to face, is what else is there to lose? Her husband, the strong, determined, successful, self-sufficient, not to mention good-looking, man was no more. All that was left now was a reminder of what was. Sort of like a photograph. An image of something that was once there but really isn’t there anymore at all.
Dorothy tried to stop herself from the involuntary walks down memory lane that her mind went on. For some reason, the memories were more painful now that the person in them was just a shadow of a man and no longer shared any of these memories. What a conflicting place to be in. What tension. It was one thing to mourn for someone who had died but no one gave you permission, least of which, yourself, to mourn when the person you love was right next to you, breathing.
“Brigette has had her baby Michael.” Dorothy looked down at her phone from behind her glasses.
“O, very nice. Very, very nice.” Michael whistled. Dorothy knew he didn’t remember which granddaughter Brigette was.
“A little boy.” Dorothy started tapping away, a congratulatory txt to her granddaughter.
“A boy hey? That’s lovely…These girls need to stop having babies now though”
Michael would often use that line. Mostly when a pregnancy was announced. Or when he saw one of his pregnant granddaughters who he had forgotten was with child. It had become something everyone had a good giggle about. Michael was completely serious.
The strong, capable, fighter of a man who she had married was still strong. In fact although his mind was racked by dementia, his body was as fit as someone ten years younger. A life obsessed with health had been to thank for that. Even now, Dorothy sat with books full of newspaper cuttings from the latest fads and medical advice. For all the days family and friends had put up with a kiss on the cheek from someone who swallowed cloves of garlic whole. For all the separate meals Dorothy had to make to ensure none of his food touched any kind of animal product. For all the years of daily walks and exercise. A bowl of fruit every morning. Michael had done everything in his power to live a healthy, long life. But nothing can save your mind when it decides to leave you. Trapped in a body that has no functioning control room. A shell.
She stared out of the second story window, looking down the road. The road where Michael had disappeared down not too long ago. He had left the lounge saying he needed to use the bathroom. He had gone downstairs, forgotten why he had gone down there and walked out of the front door. He had forgotten why he had walked out of the front door and walked down the road. It was an all-out panic when it was realized that he was missing. It had taken the visiting family a good half an hour to find him. It was raining now. There was a lock on the inside of the front door now.
Michael stared blankly at the TV screen for the remainder of the morning breakfast show. Dorothy filled in a few more words in her crossword. The two sat in quiet company of the TV presenters who now smiled and shared a joke, their jovial voices provided a nice alternative to the usual conversation in the room. Michael’s fingers tapped a rhythm that was obviously going around in his head. He was always tapping.
“Well that’s all from us,” said a smiling, pleasant looking woman, “we’ll see you tomorrow New Zealand. Have a great day.” And the credits rolled, the camera lingering a while on the pair of presenters who continued to talk and shuffle papers.
“Should I make a cup of tea then Dorothy?”
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