Memories are Strange


Memories are strange aren't they? For they are unique in how we remember our truth in our experiences and of a life lived.

Recently a friend and me were reminiscing about our trip to New York in June. We had packed in so much to do and see in our six days there, we came back to London happy but exhausted, before going our separate ways home. We had been looking at photo's that brought our trip to New York alive! We recalled the places we had visited and people we had met. My friend would remember details that I'd forgotten and vice versa. Like I'd spotted an actor walking along Broadway (where else) and couldn't remember his name. I still can't actually ~ oops! We remembered slightly different versions of what happened, what we experienced, as you do. Together though we made the jigsaw of our holiday whole.

We laughed hysterically over one of our favourite incidents of being 'allowed' into an exclusive restaurant after a days sightseeing. We wanted a typical New York steakhouse type place for our evening meal and thought we had found the spot, admiring the unassuming frontage. 'Dressed down' and all hot and sweaty from a days sight-seeing, we were far from the usual patrons that dined there. All the clientele, regulars perhaps, was suited and booted in their workday finery ~ we stood out like a sore thumb, garnering disapproving looks from the more well groomed, shall we say. Too late, we were seated. Since the reception had let us in we decided to style it out, despite being shown to the darkest corner, we were going to enjoy the snooty ambience and refused to be embarrassed. Our waiter was sympathetic without being condescending, as we ordered what we hoped were the cheapest items on the menu. No prices were shown, a hint that we might be later out of pocket, breaking our daily budget. We giggled like naughty schoolgirls as we considered whether washing the dishes would pay the bill, or whether we should offer, ahem our services? My friend reminded me we had a soup and salad between us and two glasses of wine came to something like $70 ~ we got off lightly we reckoned. Later we laughed ourselves silly, it would be a story to dine out on, if you pardon the pun. Perspective in life is everything. So it is in fiction too. A tenuous link, I know.

A perspective on life is one of the themes of Yesterday Is Not Today ~ the provisional title of my current work in progress (WIP). Does time heal I wonder, or does resentment fester? Does the truth lie? Two sisters meet decades after an incident tore their family apart. Each has their own perspective and believes their truth to be the real version of events. One sister's truth is another's lie and who is to say who is right or wrong? How one sister was left humiliated at her situation, while the other ran away, unable to 'face the music.' We all like to think that, 'time heals,' or 'forgive and forget.' How would you feel if your past with all its memories neatly boxed away deep down inside, is turned upside down when a letter arrives, shattering your illusion of a happy life?

This picture appeared on one of my social media timeline's and sparked the gem of an idea that's become my current WIP. (nb No idea who to credit it to as no name was given. If you know who it is, I'll be more than happy to acknowledge).

By the way, there was no falling out between my friend and me ~ unlike my fictional sisters ~ the fact that we had different, as well as similar memories, didn't spoil our New York experience at all. Can't wait to go back!


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