Say You'll Remember Me

by Abby Jimenez

You know how when someone dies, all anyone cares about is how? Somehow the moment that takes them out is more interesting than decades worth of life and accomplishments and living. I hated it.

“You’re not going to ask me why the dog is in witness protection?” “He turned state’s witness, obviously.” I ate the cherry out of my drink and his eyes dropped to my mouth. “You give me John Wick vibes, Xavier. Dexter, but for pets. I have a feeling that whatever you did to put this dog in witness protection, I’d one hundred percent bail you out of jail for.” He smiled.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” “That’s the point. You didn’t have time to clean between getting off work and picking me up so I’m seeing you in your natural habitat.” I thought about it. “Can I have a ten-second start?” “No. You can hide a lot of stuff in ten seconds. Wedding photos, clown costumes, ridiculous amounts of flip phones that you have absolutely no explanation for—”

“I told them the truth,” he said, turning to me. “That you gave me the most unforgettable night of my life, then told me to forget it.” “Come on, Eileen, I’m sure you’ve had much more memorable nights than that one,” I said. “It was my first alien abduction. You always remember your first.”

“That there is nothing more beautiful than being a witness to someone’s life. To know them inside and out and be with them through everything, share the same memories. Memories are everything. I want that.”

“Yeah. I want someone who knows everything there is to know about me, and I want to know everything about them. I want to be able to say one out-of-context comment to someone and they get what it means and they laugh and it’s just some stupid joke from like eleven years ago that means nothing to anyone else.” The corner of my lip twitched up. “Like, ‘Come On Eileen’?” “Yes!” She jabbed a finger at me. “‘Come On Eileen’ is exactly it. I want a lifetime of that.

I want someone who knows all my petty vendettas and they honor them no matter how out of pocket they are.” “So, mustard stuff.” She laughed. Then her smile fell a little. “You can’t fake that kind of thing,” she said, softly. “It’s the result of a parallel life. A shared collection of experiences, like a snowball rolling downhill, getting bigger as it goes.

Somehow, not having me witness their life felt like a fitting consequence for their actions. Because Samantha was right. There was nothing more precious.

The car glug glugged. And then, like some strange cosmic joke, “Come On Eileen” came on the radio. The fiddle intro eked out of the lone speaker and we both looked at each other. I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny, but it was.

A leaf fell out of my hair and landed in my lap. She broke into laughter again and so did I. We sat there on the side of the road, hot. We smelled like oil, covered in leaves and mouse dust and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would never forget this moment. That this was a memory sticking to a very new and very small snowball. And I liked where it was going.

My kitten immediately started purring. Xavier sat with her on my mattress and smiled at her, talking softly to her in that way that hypnotized memory care patients, animals, and social media managers alike.

“It can’t be a date unless both people agree it’s a date. It’s not exactly something that can happen without your consent.”

He hadn’t known I was coming. He just had this in a secret show of loyalty. Honoring all my tiny allegiances and petty vendettas. This was my love language.

The best moments don’t have to be big to be forever.

“The same thing I always want you to do. I want you to look at me the way you look at mustard.”

“Sooo what you’re saying is, I stick with you, and I can have infinity pets.” “Maybe not infinity pets. We have to be able to give them a good quality of life.” She was nodding sagely. “But like, I could definitely show up with an extra dog or cat now and then and you’d just sigh loudly and ask me what its name is?” “That is accurate.”

“Do you know how to garden?” she asked. “Not really,” I said, walking behind her. “But I will do whatever you need me to.” “You’ll till my fields?” “I’ll plow whatever you want, as vigorously and as often as you’d like.” She cackled.