Monday, November 5, 2012


I ran into an old friend at work this weekend.  He was there with his six year old son.  He explained to his son that we'd gone to high school together and were friends a long time ago.  Appropriately, there was no mention of how this had become a much-more-than-friends situation, but this fact is important to this story, so I will mention it now to you, the invisible reader.

I ran into this old friend for the first time since high school about three years ago.  Because of some loose casual common circles, I've seen him a handful of times since then.  Each and every time he has offered up some memories of things we'd done together when we'd hung out as teenagers.  Each and every time now he has been incorrect.  These conversations have resulted in my saying things like:
"Maybe you're thinking of the time we were at the zoo.  We didn't ever go anyplace where there were ponies."
"We never went there together."
"No, you saw that film with Jennifer."
"It was Jeremy that gave you that.  He made it in art class and since he'd given me something the day before he gave you that one so you wouldn't feel left out."
"Um, no.  I'm quite sure that we had sex more than twice.  Glad it was as important to you as it was me."

Initially, I was really perturbed by these errors of memory. I took them really, really personally.  If I'd remembered all of these things with incredible ease, plus much, much more, then how was it he'd forgotten it all?  Or worse -- confused it with someone else?  Then I finally realized that my memory is simply different than that of others.  It's been pointed out to me that my memory is absurdly keen.  It was ridiculous to have ever felt hurt by any of his forgetfulness in the first place.  We'd not spoken for more than fifteen years, and there'd been no lamentation on my behalf over that.  Why would a few mis-remembrances affect me at all?  Feeling at all miffed is absurd as well.  I've learned that in the world of multiple-intelligences that I score highest on inter and intra-personal levels.  It should have occurred to me that my head being so full of specific memories about all the experiences I've had with people was a result of that.  (Perhaps this wasn't obvious to me because my Logic intelligence score was not all that hot...)   It freaks people out that I can tell them what they were wearing and where we were when a certain conversation was held.  I've got to bear that in mind and stop myself from saying things like:
"It was the art fair we went to.  It was raining and we were holding hands.  You kept your hand on my knee as we drove back to your house and we both knew your parents were out of town.  That's how it got started."
"Popcorn instead of cotton candy because you said all the sugar would make you throw up when we rode the Ferris Wheel."
"Your favorite dress was the vintage black linen with white piping.  I didn't own anything with a herringbone pattern."

It's quite funny to me now since I see it for what it is.  It's ridiculous on both sides, is all.  His memory is crap, and my memory is way beyond the normal realm. So now, it has become a funny game for me when I run into this old friend.  I like to see what detail he'll offer  up and marvel at how absurdly incorrect it is.
"Yep.  Still not me."

No comments:

Post a Comment