@kingdonmicrofic day twenty: stargazing | 494/314 | rating: g
He took her stargazing on their third date.
More accurately, he took her camping. They had both, miraculously, had the same two-day period off. So they drove about two hours outside of Pittsburgh and spent their âweekendâ together, just the two of them. Just Mel and Frank.
She found somewhere for them to sit at night, somewhere they could see the sky unimpeded, and told him that her dad always used to stargaze with her on summer nights in their backyard, pointing out comets and planets and galaxies. She asked him if he knew any constellations, and he pretended to point out Ursa Minor to impress her. She called him on his bullshit immediately with a giggle, and then took his hand, using his finger to trace the pattern of the real Ursa Minor in the air.
It was the first time he knew, unequivocally, that he was in love with her.
He guesses thatâs why itâs one of the last memories to go.
When Shen first suggested the procedure to him, he had outright refused to even consider it. It was an experimental procedure, first of all, and the last thing he needed was to screw up his brain and not be able to remember his kids, or something.
Plus, he didnât want to forget her. He wanted it to stop hurting, but he didnât want to forget her.
âIâm just saying, dude,â Shen said, taking a long sip of his iced coffee. âYouâve been moping around here like a kicked puppy for months. I know some researchers at the Cleveland Clinic who specialize in it, and they say it works fucking wonders.â
It only takes seeing one picture of Mel, with someone elseâs arm around her shoulders, on Beccaâs Instagram for him to tell Shen to schedule a consultation.
The doctors in Cleveland describe something that seems too good to be true. Completely safe, ninety-seven percent effective. Itâs an outpatient procedure, they tell him, with minimal recovery time.
The best part? He wouldnât even realize it was happening. He wouldnât miss the memories, because he wouldnât even know they were gone in the first place.
In the end, itâs different than they describe it.
He doesnât miss her, per se. And in a few weeks, he doesnât even know who heâs supposed to be forgetting. Sheâs like a dying flame, flickering less and less brightly with each passing day.
He just knows that, suddenly, he canât get the color of her eyes right. Or the sound of her laugh.
Itâs around the time he canât remember her name that he thinks he mightâve made a mistake.
So, when he startles awake one night, trying to decipher if the feeling of her hand around his pointing out constellations was real at one point, or was always just a dream, he does something he hasnât done in a very long time.
Please, let me keep this memory. Just this one.
