severe head trauma can cause memory problems, steve knows this. he knows that he shouldn't be getting upset that at 30 years old, he can't remember his teachers' names from elementary school. he shouldn't be confused as to why he doesn't remember any of his birthday parties that happened before 1983. he shouldn't cry fat ugly tears as he tries so hard to think back to what his field trip to dc was like or how it felt to win that swim meet in middle school or what his first kiss was like.
he knows why. it doesn't make it easier, the knowing why. in fact, it almost makes it worse. he used to be the person that remembered everyone's name or birthday or favorite color but now he considers himself lucky if he can remember his own. steve thinks sometimes in the sad, angry place in his mind that he wishes he could go back in time. if only he'd been more careful or hadn't gotten mixed up with nancy wheeler or-
but that's not it, is it? because if he hadn't gone to jonathan's to apologize, he wouldn't have gotten robin or dustin or max or nancy or eddie, and that would have been much worse, wouldn't it?
he wouldn't be curled up now on his lumpy couch with eddie singing something a little off key in the kitchen as he makes them pancakes for dinner. he wouldn't have their stray cat that somehow migrated to being a spoiled indoor cat purring next to him while he grades papers. he wouldn't have a rolodex full of phone numbers that span across the united states of people he can call when he needs help remembering the fuzzy things. he wouldn't have a family to call his own.