The Forging Page 3

  My retort was brilliant. “Oh yeah,” I took a second and sighed. “It is not a performance. I have a unique memory. I call it an “Infinitely Indexed Memory Bank” like in the old sci-fi movie Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers. Some people refer to it as photographic memory; however, the correct term is Eidetic memory. I believe my memory even goes beyond that definition. The fact is I can recall with exact precision anything I have ever experienced: every conversation, every book I have ever read, every song I have heard, each movie I’ve watched. All of it. Everybody experiences this to a lesser extent. There are moments in all our lives when an event chisels itself into our memory. The assassination of JFK, the Challenger explosion, and the Twin Towers are all examples of when an event so ingrains itself we can remember every last detail. My whole memory is like that.”

  Still smiling, “Why, it would be amazing if it is true. However, I find it strange a man, such as yourself with perfect memory as you claim, would be working as a night manager at a twenty-four-hour drug store. With this kind of memory, why you could work in any number of careers which are, shall we say, more upwardly mobile. So, tell me why, Mr. Embers, you would not study to be a doctor, or stockbroker, or even a … “

  "Lawyer?" I interrupted.

  “Attorney,” she countered.

  “Whatever,” I snapped back, “I had higher aspirations than being a lawyer.” As I made the statement, it must have looked like I ate something that tasted nasty. I leaned back in the chair, and it creaked. After waiting for a beat, “Lawyers don’t create anything. They never build up. They only tear down. In other words, I didn’t want to become someone who takes a slice of everyone else’s pie. I want to make a pie of my own.” I looked away for a moment. “The truth of it is I made some poor choices in life. I have missed opportunities; I was lazy in my youth. You name it. My failures are why I never became upwardly mobile, as you put it. Now, it is too late to change. I have a wife and child to support. I don’t have the luxury to do things by the numbers anymore.”

  “I see.” She crossed back to the defendant’s table and picked up a binder. “I have a report here from a Dr. Lapse of UCLA,” she held up the binder. “He tells of a study he performed on memory. He writes about one subject, in particular, whose memory…”

  “Ok, quit the games and ask your questions,” I yelled.

  She looked at me again and smiled. It is a pretty smile.

  “Ok. Let me help this along. Did I participate in the study you mentioned? Yes. Is the subject Dr. Lapse talked about me? Yes. Let’s get on with it,” I motioned with my hand in a rolling manner.

  “Very well, Mr. Embers, as you wish. Let us get right to the heart of the matter. You say you have a perfect memory, but in fact, your memory has a hole in it. Does it not?”

  “I would not use the word hole so much as a slight flaw,” I ground my teeth as the admission came out.

  “Flaw, hole, the point is it is not, in fact, perfect. You lied,” she accused me making those little quote marks with her fingers as she said “perfect.” I hate that. She is staring at me, unblinking straight in the eyes.

  This woman must have earned an A in “Bitch 101".

  “This flaw you speak of what is it? Oh, and please be precise. We would not want to have to call you back in order to clear up a lie.”

  “Misunderstanding.”

  “Whatever.”

  I take it back: she earned an “A plus with honors.”

  I broke eye contact first. I lost the stare down. “With my memory, it is not only remembering the facts but rather when I recall events, I experience the flavor of it all over again everything including the emotions, fear, joy, disappointment, etc. However, I can’t remember tastes as clearly as everything else.” I took a breath and steadied myself. “However; I don’t see how that fact has any bearing on this case. I sure as Hell didn’t stick my tongue down his throat!” Several people in the courtroom broke out in laughter. The bailiff, who had been looking so bored earlier tried to cover his laughter by pretending to cough. Even one of the Matrix boys is laughing.

  “Order. Order,” the judge demanded as he banged the gavel.

  Now it is Ms. Refrain who broke her stare and turned toward her right-hand man as it were. A flash of anger crossed her face. She is not quite as beautiful as before.

  “Even with this flaw, as you call it, I would have to say it is quite a blessing,” she announced all the while never turning her attention back to me until she was finished with her statement.

  “It’s enjoyable at times. Oh yes. I can recall with fondness things like the first time I made it to second base with a girl, Veronica. We were both fourteen.” My internal radio station started playing “In the Summertime” by Mungo Jerry. “She had braces, freckles, and the cutest little button nose. We kissed behind her parent’s house in the avocado grove there. Her breasts are becoming evident. I was able to slip my hand under her…” The judge cleared his throat and broke my chain of thought. The sound of a needle being pulled across an LP ended the song. I pondered with a smile on my face for a brief moment. “I wonder how you are, Veronica? Safe and happy, I hope. Thanks for the memory.”

  “Forgive me. That memory gets my heart racing every time,” I readjusted my position in the chair. It creaked again. “Where was I?” I glanced at the jury. Based on the slight smiles on their faces, some of the jurors seem to be enjoying a walk down their own memory lanes. “Yes, I don’t only have happy recollections. I also remember all the boring daily routine stuff too. All the time I’ve spent brushing my teeth, every time I’ve pulled up my socks, grocery shopping, those are entertaining recollections there. However, those memories are but a sample. I also remember the bad times. I remember every faux pas I ever made. I remember every cruel remark I ever made to a person who had never done me wrong. I remember every petty action, childish behavior; I remember everything. I remember every time I was sick with the flu, every time I had a migraine, every time I’ve tossed my cookies. I even remember every time I have ever stubbed my freaking toe. I remember everything. I can also remember those moments of living Hell. I remember the day I realized my father was never coming home again. I remember my mother’s slow death. It’s like a time-lapse movie in my mind. I can recall each day of those five years it took her to die. I remember her wasting away to the shell of her former self. I can also remember with agonizing clarity the time I failed my daughter and almost killed both her and my wife. I relive that particular nightmare at least once a year. Thank you very much.”

  A wave of melancholy hit me. It washes over me like the tide stretching to reach the high-water mark. Every time I even mention that night, it tries to drown me in bitter regret at my failing as a man. Stop thinking damn it! Oh God, I wish I could travel back in time and change that one mistake. I would pay any price, even my life, to correct that one instant.

  I dropped my head and took a deep breath. After a moment, I spoke. “Imagine, Ms. Refrain, every hurt lurking in the back of your mind. Imagine every disappointment you’ve experienced in life taunting you. A single word from a friend, colleague, loved one, acquaintance, or stranger can invoke a torrent of memories to flood over you. Picture your memories becoming like a drug. You’ll spend countless hours reliving ecstasies time after time until you realize you are missing the here and now. Maybe sometimes you won’t care about what you’re missing. Envision all the pain, every tear, all the hours your broken heart has ever cried out in your soul. All that is yours to savor in absolute and perfect clarity. Think about it, Ms. Refrain, think about it for a moment,” I had to take another beat to steady myself. “Do you know what the kicker is? Do you?” I turned and looked at the jury. I screamed, “DO YOU?” I was out of my seat and leaning out of the witness box. I realized what I was doing and sat back down. Calmer but with a great deal of intensity, “I will tell you. I remember remembering. A blessing?” I stopped for a moment and let it sink in. “No, it’s a God damn curse.”

  Through sheer will, I in
voked strength in myself. I blinked back the tears forming in my eyes and swallowed down the lump in my throat. God, help me. “May I have some water?” I asked the judge.

  “Bailiff, give Mr. Embers some water.” The bailiff was already bringing me a glass as the judge issued the order.

  I took the glass offered. I drank deeply. I set the glass down and looked at it for a few seconds watching the water condensing on it slide down to form a ring on the lovely wood. I thought I heard the court reporter sniff. I looked up, and by their expressions, I could tell the three associates, Manny, Moe, and Jack, did not understand, that or remind me never to play Texas Hold’em with them. Ha! Remind me. Sometimes I even think funny.

  "It was a moving monologue, Mr. Embers. Is this another performance?” Ms. Refrain asked with a little mocking in her tone.

  I looked at the judge, “I need a short break.”

  “Your Honor, if I could continue, I will be through with this witness in a moment,” her voice once again had a musical quality to it.

  Before the judge could rule, I made the mistake of mumbling something under my breath. “I am sorry, your Honor. I didn’t hear the last few words the witness stated,” the court reporter announced.

  “The witness will repeat his last statement, and please speak loud enough for everyone to hear.”

  “Your Honor, I don’t think the court…,” I fumbled my words.

  “Mr. Embers, you will repeat your last statement.”

  “Yes, your Honor. I turned to face Ms. Refrain and the other attorneys at the defense’s table. In a clear and loud voice, “I said, I swear all you lawyers are pricks."

  “Lord knows it is true, Mr. Embers, but while you are in my courtroom, you will keep a civil tongue in your mouth. I think we can all use a little break. We are recessed for fifteen minutes,” the judge banged the gavel. Most of the court stood up and filed out the door.

  I worked my way down the hall to the washroom. I traveled there in no real hurry. I went to the sink and washed my face in cold water. The crispness of it brought me back to reality. I have a mind to walk out and go home. Of course, it will accomplish nothing except get me arrested and thrown in jail for contempt. They would let me rot there for a few hours until I apologized for being a bad little boy. Lose another day to this foolishness? I don’t think so. I had to get a grip on myself, but getting caught gripping oneself in a public bathroom would cause its own legal problems. So, I took a deep cleansing breath in through my mouth and out my nose. Why do they call it a cleansing breath? My lungs felt just as dirty as before. After my revelation, I blanked my mind and headed back to the courtroom.

  Some people are milling around the hallway in front of the courtroom door. As I approached the group, an older lady dressed in slightly out of fashion clothes caught my eye and walked toward me. This woman had been sitting in the gallery while I had given my testimony. Without breaking eye contact with me, she took my right hand in both of her hands, “Mr. Embers, I have been watching this trial since it began. I watch a great many trials. It gives an old woman something to fill her days. I love watching people. Some days it’s boring. Some days you learn quite a bit, and other days, like today, you hear a witness who touches you. You touched me today. I am so sorry for you. I can’t imagine what it must be like. However, you know your gift doesn’t have to be a curse. I would give a great deal to spend another day, even if it was only the memory of a day, with my Albert.” Before I could answer her, she gave my hand a little pat and turned away.

  Compassion; who would have ever thought I would find some here? She is right. Everything is a matter of perspective. It would only be a curse if I chose to make it one.

  The door into the courtroom opened, and the bailiff stuck his head out, “Court is reconvening.”

  Well, back into the lion’s den. I entered and made my way around to the witness box. As I sat, I surveyed the room. I purposefully didn’t make eye contact with the she-wolf and her cubs. Everyone is in their place. The woman who spoke to me in the hallway is no longer sitting in the gallery behind the defense. She has moved to the prosecution’s side of the courtroom. In her own way, I think she is telling me she is on my side. As our eyes met, I gave her a little wink. She mouthed the words “you’re too young.” I laughed to myself and nodded. I finished my survey of the room. The screen and laptop are gone.

  Then it popped out at me like a bad 3-D movie. All the legal pads which were pristine during the whole of my testimony had several of their pages flipped over and curled tightly under the pads. The Wicked Witch of the West must have been giving instructions to her Flying Monkeys or observations or whatnot during my absence. No worries. It’s not like I’m the one who is going to be worrying about dropping the soap in the shower during my stay in the pokey. I wonder if it’s why they call it the pokey.

  As the judge came into the courtroom, the bailiff commanded, “All rise.” Why he said it I don’t know because we are already getting up?

  The judge banged his gavel rather lightly as he adjusted his position behind the bench. “Ms. Refrain, you may continue.”

  “Thank you, your Honor. Mr. Embers, why did you make your last statement? Surely you knew better than to use profanity before this court.”

  The vision of Leslie Nelson popped into the view of my mind’s eye and recited, “Yes, I do and don’t call me Shirley.” I hushed the bored part of my mind.

  “Believe it or not, Ms. Refrain, I consider myself a man of honor. I took an oath, to tell the truth. The statement was what I mumbled, so I repeated it. Besides, I felt some relief getting it off my chest.”

  “I see. I have a few more questions. Then I will be all done, Mr. Embers. In your testimony, you stated you heard a second voice besides the perpetrator’s. Who was speaking?”

  “Like I said, I heard a voice. I did not see another person.”

  “Did the perpetrator have a radio with him?”

  "None that I saw.”

  “Well, Mr. Embers, how do you explain this second voice of yours?”

  “Maybe he’s a ventriloquist.” My remark received a couple of chuckles.

  Ms. Refrain had a “we are not amused” look on her face. “What about the accent you claimed the robber had? My client has no such accent. He was born and raised here in San Diego. How would you explain this?”

  “All I can tell you is what I saw, thought, and heard that night.”

  “I see Mr. Embers. Only a few more questions and you can go back to your life, sir. Could you please finish your retelling of the events of the night in question?” Ms. Refrain asked in a matter of fact manner.

  “What else is there? He left. I was freed. End of story."

  “There are your interactions with the police, Mr. Embers. Please, only a few questions more.”

  “Tell me, do attorneys ever get straight to the point? Or do you always have to go around the barn?”

  “Interesting observation, but not a wholly original metaphor, Mr. Embers. What is the name or names of the police officers you talked with after the alleged robbery?” Ms. Refrain asked.

  “I recounted the robbery to Detective Frank Hawkins. Are we done? I’m tired. This entire day has been shot, and I would like to rest a bit before I have to go to work tonight.”

  “No, Mr. Embers, this is another one of those pesky misunderstandings of yours. I need the names of every officer you talked with that night.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Let’s see; there was Officer Meier. He told me to relax, and a detective would be with me soon to take a statement. Another gentleman I talked with was Officer Bender. He offered to bring me a cup of coffee while I was waiting for the detectives. I asked for a Diet Pepsi instead. I hate coffee. Last, there was Detective Ralph Daves.

  Ms. Refrain looked startled. “You answered Detective Daves, Detective Ralph Daves?"

  “Yes, Detective Ralph Daves. I had met him once before years ago.” I looked at my watch. “Can I go now?”

  “Your Honor,
if I could have a moment to confer with my associates?” Ms. Refrain asked in her musical way.

  "Very well, Ms. Refrain.”

  I haven’t any clue as to what she is up to. I only wanted to be done with this tale told by an idiot. At this point, the idiot doesn’t care.

  She leaned over and whispered something to the nearest stooge. He stood up and left the courtroom. “Your Honor, something new has come to light. I ask the court, in the interest of justice, to recess for an hour so we may retrieve a vital document?”

  The judge looked up at the clock “It’s a bit early for lunch, but alright we are in recess until one o’clock.” Bang went the gavel.

  Crap. I thought they would be done with me before lunch. I didn’t pack a lunch, and the mention of it made my stomach growl. I knew I wouldn’t like it, but I headed to the gagateria anyways. I grabbed a tuna on wheat, some salt and vinegar chips, a banana, and a Diet Pepsi. Sometimes I’m glad I can’t remember tastes well. This meal is one such occasion. They put celery in the tuna salad. Tell me please, who in their right mind, puts celery in tuna salad? If you are looking for a little crunch in a sandwich, make a peanut butter sandwich with chunky style peanut butter.

  Eating this meal gave me the urge to make some real tuna salad using my Mom’s recipe. It will be great for my lunches next week. Like it will even last a week. Every time I make it, I end up sneaking a few forks full each time I open the fridge. I opened the pantry and fridge at home in my mind. Yep, we have everything I need to make some kick-ass tuna salad. Assuming, of course, my wife hadn’t used any of the vital ingredients since the last time I took a mental note of everything in the kitchen.

  I went back to court as it is about time to reconvene. We did the “all rise,” and the judge did his gavel banging again. The judge said, “Ms. Refrain, you may continue with the witness, and I’ll remind you Mr. Embers you are still under oath.”

  Both Ms. Refrain and I spoke in unison, I said, “I understand, your Honor,” and Ms. Refrain said, “Thank you, your Honor.” It is both creepy and amusing at the same time.