Memory's Waltz

1

After I visited that restaurant in the woods out in the suburbs with my sister and her husband a while ago, I kept thinking back to a particular time from my long lost youth. It was in the far-off distant past, over thirty, nearly forty, years ago. As I repeatedly turned my mind back to that time, the memories that had at first seemed indistinct and enveloped in fog seemed to slowly sharpen, and the sequence of events that had been broken in places started to loosely come together. There were times, too, that things I'd remembered incorrectly rectified themselves and incidents I'd completely forgotten about came to my mind with a flash.

However, as I ruminated on the past, what shocked me the most was how terrified I was that my past self wasn't me at all, how I considered her a stranger to be pitied. Perhaps that is how everyone thinks of themselves in their memories of long ago. Even so, it's shocking the fact that, in a distant time and space beyond my reach, an oddly fresh-faced, younger version of myself lived in a way that I, as my present self, would never want to live and, in fact, would most deeply fear. To me, it felt like something both undeniable and unbelievable. If this isn't considered shocking, what is? Time had turned me into someone else entirely. A helpless spectator.

That morning when my phone rang I was asleep. I saw my younger sister's name on the screen and pressed the talk button only to hear, Why aren't you downstairs yet? Why aren't you answering your phone—an outpouring of words from her. I came to my senses with a start. I remembered that my sister and her husband were supposed to pick me up from my apartment at 10 a.m. Last night I had set my alarm for 9 a.m., but for some reason I didn't hear it go off and now it was already 10:15.

Don't tell me you just got up? my sister said. Y-yeah, I muttered dejectedly. I'm on my way. You just got up and you're on your way? my sister said, exasperated. I had hung up and was staring at my unkempt reflection in the mirror when I heard knocking on the door and a voice calling out, Ŏnni, Ŏnni. I opened the door to my sister's grim face. Ŏnni. What's your problem? she said and shoved her way inside. Without any other explanation, I apologized, said I was sorry, that I didn't know why I was this way. Obliquely, I asked whether the two of them couldn't just have lunch on their own today. In a moment her face relaxed and she assured me that it's fine, just hurry up and get ready so we can take in the fresh air and get some good food for the first time in ages. As I rushed into the bathroom, weepy with gratitude, I bumped my toe and barely swallowed a yelp. I came back out after washing up and my sister had made my bed and laid out clothes for me to wear. When we went downstairs, my brother-in-law angled the car toward the exit so it would be easy for us to head out, and waved a hand at me from his half-open window. I'm so sorry, I murmured as I got into the back seat and he replied, No worries at all.

My sister and her husband look after me like I am their elderly mother who lives alone. If I need to go to the hospital, they drop me off and pick me up. They try to have lunch with me at least once a month. I try to keep that appointment too because I am retired and after the COVID-19 pandemic, it is practically the only opportunity I have to eat at a restaurant with someone. Usually we eat...