House of the Sun (Part 2)

Memories are a fickle mistress.

I remembered attending a seminar on neuroscience last year. It had been a ploy to get extra credits so I could skip a few days worth of extra curriculum without it affecting my grades. An hour-long talk on something no matter how boring, sounded far better than yet another day of biology field work under the July Sun as Mr. Everett yelled at us for slacking off.

It had been a lecture on our brain’s methods of storing memories and processing functions, as it turned out. I had mentally checked out of it for the majority of the lecture, until of course, he said that.

Memories are a fickle mistress. They use that term a lot when it comes to fate. But fate is far less cruel than our memories. Because you see, fate doesn’t lie. Interestingly, the centrepiece of this thesis was presented by Niccolò Machiavelli all the way back in the 15th century. Guess whose name machiavellian comes from… Cunning, eh?

It had been such a radical shift in tone that I, along with a fair few others as I would find out later in the post seminar discussion, had woken up from our daze to those words. They were almost entrancing. Not everyday you get to hear such words from a professor after all.

He talked about how memories were stored and brought back to our conscious awareness. How they got compartmentalised along with so many other things in our hippocampus and neocortex. The more recent ones making their way to our prefrontal cortex. It was nothing I hadn’t read before in those drab life-science textbooks, but something about the way he said it just clicked with me like those sterile printed words never did.

Memories are strange in how they behave. You would have no reason to remember what you had from breakfast today unless I asked you. But that might lead you to think of the twitter post you saw while having your cereal. And then you remember how you shared that post and what your friends responded with. It all connects together. But now, imagine if I asked you what you had for breakfast a week ago. A month ago. A year ago. Could you tell me?

Memories often grasped onto contextual cues, like the timings of the movie you wanted to go watch, or the place you had your first date at. It could be the emotions you felt when you finished performing in front of a massive audience for the first time, or the deafeningly loud applause that came after.

And then those memories associated- interconnecting with each other and being stored in an almost spider web of complex network-like connections. When you remembered something, odds were it would trigger a domino of several other memories, often linked together with a singular connective tissue. But our brains age, just like we do. And so do our memories with it.

In short, we forget.

Memories get tainted. Hazy, blurred and clouded by a shade of our emotions and moments of strong resonance that give it priority to stick out after several years or even decades. Your happy memories can make you forget the bad parts, your sad memories might do the same to all the happy parts. But emotions aren’t just binary, that complex range of feelings might fundamentally alter your remembrance of things. When a long, long time later you meet an old acquaintance and suddenly remember who they were and what they meant to you, I hope you remember what this old man babbled on for about an hour today- Memories are a fickle mistress.

—

My fingers froze as the torrent of memories hit me like a truck. A wave of emotions swept past me. Overwhelming me with its sheer intensity. Lily was looking at me. Frozen in place just like I was. An almost melancholic smile on her face.

“Really should have started with that, Lily.” Somehow it was starting to make some sort of twisted sense again. I could still be wrong. I could just be imagining things. But that smile of hers wasn’t. And really as a musician I awfully trusted that pounding heart of mine, beating with chords loud enough to burst.

That professor had mentioned an old acquaintance in his talk. But see, that was just the tip of the iceberg. He had failed to mention what it would be like to see someone that was so much more than that, almost a decade later. What sort of upheaval it could trigger in that wrinkled mass of grey matter, neurons and embarrassment.

I took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the predicament I was in. In the end, it just came down to saying it out loud. “I remember, Lily.”

The professor had failed to mention what could happen when you suddenly remembered someone so very dear to you. Someone you thought you would never forget; but you did anyway. That almost odd ball line he had spoken that day rang uncannily true.

“We met right here in these halls, so many years ago. I never asked for your name, did I? The happy-go-lucky loser that I was.” I slowly got back up on my feet. “This place used to be so much livelier back then. Teeming with the sound of ensemble parts, dance groups and frankly unhinged artists.”

I started walking towards her while I spoke, “Look at it now. Quiet and nigh desolate. Almost makes you miss that nightmarish chaos, huh?”

I stopped with Lily right before me, the sound of the sea ever so softly coming through the window. The light of the Sun casting a mellow shadow in our wake.

“There weren’t a lot of kids who used to come around here. A few visits and they would inevitably leave. They joined to get lessons from the master himself after all. It’s still funny to me that they thought he would teach anyone at all. Not all musicians are good at teaching, you know?”

Lily stayed silent. A dazed look on her face. Somehow I had only just noticed that she was slightly shorter than me.

“But one day you were just there. And then you were always there. Gosh, I still remember the absolute fright you gave me when I saw a large shadow cast upon my keys and looked to my left to see you staring right at me.”

A choked laugh escaped her. That little dimple on her right cheek, it was still the same.

“We made a promise too, didn’t we? Maybe you could jog my memories a bit.” Her loosely tied red hair, as vibrant as it had always been. There was a part of me that wanted to ruffle it so badly. I raised my hand without even realising. But before I could reach her hair, she punched my torso. Or rather, she rested her fists on it.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, she rested her head on my chest. I could feel my heart beating through it, destroying any sense of clarity I had just gained. For whatever reason, I decided to put the hat back on her head.

“It’s not fair. You aren’t fair.” She said, snivelling and probably leaving snot behind. The thought made me regain some form of control over my emotions. I hugged her tight as she tried in vain to regain her composure. “You broke your promise, idiot.”

“I am sorry.” I stayed quiet, waiting for her to speak again.

“Don’t fucking apologise, you dummy.” She pounded my chest and I winced. Talk about not holding back. “If anything, I should apologise. I- I don’t know what came over me when I decided that blackmailing you was a good way to go about things. Or when I decided to act so cool and aloof, not apologising for saying all those things. Putting all of that baggage on you, when I didn’t even know what you were going through.”

She slowly raised her head from my chest and stared at me. Her face, a whirlwind of emotions, tangled in those puffy eyes and flushed cheeks. “Hey, why did you even put up with me? You had no reason to even go along with anything I said.”

“I guess I somehow always knew. I just didn’t realise it.” I said, more to myself than her. “I did wonder why I felt so at ease around you. Like we had known each forever, even though I knew practically nothing about you. It was weird.”

“You really are a weird and creepy one! Really don’t think it’s normal for someone to put up with such a violent girl.” She paused for a second and then leered at me. “Hang on, is this some weird new kink I am not aware of?”

“Rude!” I shouted as I stole her hat and ran for it. I heard her cursing as she chased after me. And somehow in that moment, I felt more free than I had ever felt in my life. Later we would be lying on the cold maple floor, laughing uncontrollably, our hands clasped together. Like we were kids again.

I will be your muse after I play in a HUGE concert hall. You know, there’s sooooo many people there! I have heard Master say it’s almost… fifty ten-thousand!
You mean five hundred thousand, right?
You are so smart.
Oh, shut up.
Next time we meet, I promise I will play you my new masterpiece! And you can draw me while I play it.
Pinky promise?
Pinky promise.

I wondered how I had ever forgotten. Those days at the workshop by the seaside. The house of the Sun glimmering so very bright.