With my three-hour mnem session, there wasn’t really time to go home and pick up my lunch before I went to work, but that would be okay. There were plenty of places to eat at the food court. I could even get a fairly large piece of pizza for four dollars, which isn’t really a bargain considering you can get a whole pizza for approximately twelve, but in that case I would be paying for other, intangible things. Like the way people paid Memory Forge to have me explain something to them in person that they could just as easily read on Wikipedia.
Also, eating in the food court would put me among a number of people, which would make it less likely for Ryan to make that face at me—the one Dr. Bergman explained was supposed to look like someone performing fellatio, which I supposed made sense considering the jerk-off-toward-the-mouth gesture he’d given earlier. When we’re around the other clerks, Ryan does whatever he wants and they somehow tune it all out. But when we’re around a bunch of strangers, he only does things that can be construed as “playful teasing,” like that dumb nickname, Twitch. I suspected it would be more difficult to brush off the fellatio-face with a “just kidding…can’t take a joke” remark.
Once I got to Memory Forge, it turned out that Ryan wasn’t even there, which was a relief. I was working with JoAnn and Sonic (whose time card was labeled “Sean,” though no one ever called him that.) Sonic was a UW sophomore who changed his major every semester and his girlfriend every month. He claimed to own over one million MP3s, though I didn’t see the point in that. If each song file averaged three minutes, he’d need to do nothing but listen to music for nearly six years, nonstop, to even hear each song one time. While I didn’t really like him, I didn’t particularly dislike him either. Especially compared to Ryan. I’m not sure how much he actually saw since his sleepy-looking eyes were typically half closed, though I was disconcerted by the fact that he smiled a very knowing kind of smile. Since JoAnn never seemed put off by his expression, I figured I was better off not worrying about what it meant. He and JoAnn were currently both standing behind the counter, half-lounging on the countertop. JoAnn was busy trying to work out which of two New Year’s Eve parties she should attend that night, while Sonic was planning to get “totally wasted” once his DJ shift was over.
They both looked at me strangely as I briefly said hello on my way back to my classroom, JoAnn blank, Sonic with a knowing smile. Then JoAnn called after me, “Elijah…did you mnem this morning?”
Oh yeah, the mnevermind.
I found it difficult to look directly at her while my memories of the morning shifted as I attempted to sort out my objective and subjective realities. Had she been present in my mnem? I didn’t think so. Memory Forge had been the setting, though. But the magazine rack had been moved since I mnemed to take up the space left by the old Christmas displays. Not only was I experiencing the cognitive dissonance of a fading mnem…I was hoping she wouldn’t ask me about it. I didn’t like telling people how often I needed to see Dr. Bergman, because then some of them would think seeing a psychologist meant I was crazy.
“That’s so cool,” JoAnn said. “I mean, that you keep up with your field like that, y’know? Some people? People with their mnemography Master’s? They would figure they knew all there was to know, and that they didn’t need to keep mneming.”
She presumed I’d been mneming for recreational or educational reasons. That was good. Also, it seemed like she expected me to reply to the final statement—the only one that wasn’t a question. “Advances in mnemography are being made every day,” I said. When she stared at me for a moment, blinked a few times, then turned back to Sonic, I decided I’d just fulfilled my chatting quota for the morning and headed back toward my classroom.
I checked my schedule. Again, thanks to the $199 punch card, my classes all had enrollment. I checked my equipment. Everything was exactly as I had left it…though I was missing my recorded Business Tycoon mnem subject. Good thing Mnemography Techniques wasn’t on the schedule. Then I checked my upper lip in the bathroom mirror. It looked a lot better today, just a little pink. I applied my cocoa butter balm and prepared for the day’s first round of dabblers.
None of them wanted to record their session, even though I was looking much less red and greasy than I did the day before. Figures.
I needed to get Mr. Executive back sometime over the weekend, but when I checked Daniel’s phone during my lunch break, according to the operator, it was still off the hook. I thought some more about how I might get that software back, and then I remembered the “boundaries” that Dr. Bergman had been harping on all morning…and then I got an idea. I called Recollections and asked if they were closing early for New Year’s Eve. They said they weren’t, and offered to slot me in for a mnem that evening. I hung up on the receptionist before I needed to come up with some excuse as to why I didn’t want one, and as seven silver-haired ladies in purple coats and red hats filed in to fill out the largest Mneming is Fun For Everyone class I’d taught in my entire career, I hoped that asking about the borrowed software was a valid enough reason to go and see Daniel that it wouldn’t violate anybody’s “boundaries.”
I made it to Recollections in plenty of time. It was cold in the parking lot, though it was only a few degrees below freezing. The streets had been slushy, but the parking lot was scraped bare and salted until the black asphalt sparkled powdery white in the glow of the outdoor lights. I recognized Daniel’s car from when I met up with him outside his shop, and I went and stood beside it. But I didn’t lean on it.
Boundaries.
At 10:02 p.m. the side door opened and a tall man came out, the one named Larry. Daniel followed with an unlit cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. He stopped in the doorway, turned away from the wind and lit up, while Larry told him something with lots of enthusiasm and big gestures. Daniel nodded, Larry clapped him on the shoulder, and the two of them turned toward the parking lot and started to head to the far end, where the employees were parked. Where I was standing.
My heart pounded hard as Daniel approached. I would have thought I might not get quite so excited by now, having seen him several times, but instead of growing accustomed to the anticipatory feelings that swirled around inside me at the sight of him, it felt like I’d become more sensitized to them. He hunched against the cold, shielding his cigarette from the world, pinching it with his thumb and forefinger with the rest of his hand cupped around it. Sometimes I thought he seemed more like a regular guy, out here in the objective world, than he had in mnem. But then I would catch a glimpse of the way he would move—gingerly, like he was walking around land mines—and I would decide that way down deep where it mattered, he was exactly the same.
Some words carried across the still, cold air. Larry’s end of the conversation, animated and loud. “…and all it would take is a few scented candles and a can of paint. And I’m an amazing painter, bro. I’m not so good at taping off the molding—you can do that part—but I guarantee you, I can rock a paint roller like nobody’s business.”
Daniel nodded, and smoked—and as he took a drag, he looked up…and he saw me.
He didn’t stop and stare, though he did break stride for just a moment as recognition hit him. It took Larry another few seconds to notice, since he was busy naming paint colors. When he did see me, though, he knew exactly who I was.
“Elijah Crowe,” he called out, in a booming voice that would verge on painful, if I were hearing it indoors. Outside, though, it seemed as if the sound waves had a chance to dissipate before they got to me. “Fancy meeting you here. Come to talk with Daniel, the Man with the Plan? See about contributing a few wrinkles of your gray matter to the Adventuretech brain trust?”
He was smiling. It was dark, shadows were severe, and I didn’t know him well enough to judge if he was being sincere or mocking me. Also, I had no idea what he meant by the things he’d just said. “What?”
“Larry,” Daniel said. “I need to talk to Elijah alone.”
Larry looked from him to me to him again, then pointed at Daniel with both forefingers and said, “Riiiiight.” Then he gave me a salute, unlocked his car, climbed in and started the engine. Meanwhile, Daniel shuffled up to me, got nice and close, looked up into my eyes and said, “Hey.”
“Hi.”
We stared at each other. It made me nervous, looking at him so closely. But it seemed like it would be worse if I didn’t look. If I missed anything.
After a pause, he spoke first. “Are you pissed off?”
“No.” And I couldn’t imagine why I would be. But it wouldn’t be the first time my objective appraisal of a situation was nothing like the other participant’s. “Are you?”
“Mad? No, I was worried. I mean, you kinda just took off. I thought maybe you got cold feet.” He shrugged, and smoked, and then said, “Uh, you know what I mean? Second thoughts.”
I did know—I was familiar with the phrase—but having him state it plainly made it feel more anchored in reality for me, and I appreciated that. “Second thoughts about what?”
“You. Me.” Smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Fooling around.”
“No,” I answered, quickly, and a bit too loud, I think, because he flinched a little like I’d startled him. “Everything was good. Except the whiskerburn…but I didn’t even know about that until the next day.”
“What the…?” Daniel reached up with his free hand, took me by the chin and angled my face beneath the streetlight. “Fucking hell.” With anyone else, I would have ducked away, but not him. Being touched by him was scary, like looking into his eyes was scary. And like looking into his eyes, I wanted it so much that I’d frozen. “That’s never…I’m so sorry.”
I leaned toward his hand as he released my chin, wishing his touch would linger on me for just one more moment. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” He watched me and waited, as if he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. “So, I need to pick up Mr. Executive,” I said.
“Right.” Daniel took a final long drag, dropped his cigarette butt on the salty asphalt and crushed it under his heel. “Is that all you want—your cartridge? Or are you thinking maybe we could get to know each other before I send you home with your borrowed gear?”
“Like…a date?” My heart was pounding.
He nodded and looked me over. “Like a date.”
“Yeah. Okay. I can come over now.”
His brow furrowed. “I have plans already. New Year’s. You know.”
It took a moment to sink in that I had just presumed Daniel Schroeder had nothing better to do on New Year’s Eve than hang out with me, and I was so embarrassed when I realized what I’d just done that I turned away from him—or I tried to. He caught me by the sleeve and made me face him. Which I did. But I looked over his shoulder instead of into his eyes. “Hey. It’s just a family thing. My cousins. My dad. I’d tell you to tag along, but my dad and me…it wasn’t a good day for us.” Big Dan. I’d forgotten all about him—or, at least, about his persistent mnem. And I’d forgotten the pain in Daniel’s eyes whenever he spoke about his father, too. “Tonight needs to be family-only.”
“Oh. Okay. So…do you want to call me? Because your phone is—”
“Aw, shit. Yeah. Gimme your number. I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
I told him it was, but when I recited my number to him, he said he would need to write it down. He unlocked his car and dug through his center console for a while, then his glove compartment, and finally ended up jogging over to Larry’s car, where the window rolled down and a hand holding a pen popped out.
Daniel came back and wrote my phone number on his palm. It would bother me—I’d need to go home and wash it off. Then again, he drew crosses on his palm, too. So he was probably desensitized to finding ink on himself.
“You know, there’s that Mnemography Expo at the Alliant Center tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that?”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Okay. Back up. Let’s try that again. Would you want to go to the expo, with me?”
“On…a date?”
“Yes. On a date.”
It sounded like the best date in the world. “Yes.”
“You need a ticket? I can score another one. Except, Big Dan’s supposed to go with me—but don’t worry, we always split up at those things anyway. I understand if that’s weird…I mean, my father coming with us.”
“No. He’s a mnemographer, right?”
Daniel thought about it for a long time—and since he obviously knew whether his father was a mnemographer or not, I supposed he was really thinking about something else. But finally he cleared his throat, nodded, and said, “Right.”
And then he slid his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss.
The last woman I’d kissed tasted like mint ChapStick. Daniel tasted like coffee and cigarettes, and his whiskers prickled when they poked into the tender spot on my upper lip. That sensation only made me want to kiss him more. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, and his fingers pressed into the base of my skull, and everything about him felt strange and masculine, and thrilling. Kissing him, here, out in the parking lot where anyone could see, I felt raw all over, like a live wire with its shielding pared away. Yes, it was thrilling. And scary, and good.
So good that when he tried to pull away, I found myself grabbing onto his shoulders, dragging him up against me and kissing him even deeper. The bite of the winter air stung my cheek, and his fingers wove through the back of my hair and tugged, and his mouth was all over mine. I never wanted it to end…but, I also needed to breathe. I pulled away and sucked in a gasp, and then he did disengage, stepping back, knuckling my spit from his mouth. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Nice. And here I was worried you weren’t into me outside of mnem.”