I Remember It All

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2Darlene

Darlene looked across the table at Joanie. She wanted to laugh and shake her head but didn’t want to insult Joan with something she’d probably wouldn’t understand. For such a brilliant and knowledgeable woman, there were so many lapses in her personal day-to-day education, it was almost incomprehensible. Darlene guessed Joan’s mind was so involved with remembering all that actually had happened in the past and imagining all her extraterrestrial occurrences that would probably never happen in the future, that she never had time to notice interactions between other real people. She focused on things that helped her survive, but interactions with other people just had to come as they may.

Darlene was surprised when Joan said she had a shrink. Of course she would have been sent to a psychiatrist! Regular people would never understand Joan. Darlene imagined Joan’s teachers suspected she was cheating when every question on tests was correct, and everything she read or did was remembered. It was like having a photographic memory for everything you saw, heard, and felt. No one in their right mind could do any of that.

Well, not that Joan isn’t in her right mind, but there’s so much more in there than in other brains. How could anyone hold that much knowledge in just one small human head? It was like her phone holding and doing everything and many times more than what those six-foot tall computer towers used to do. It was a wonder that you could put all that knowledge into something as small as a wristwatch…or something like Joan Howell’s head who didn’t even have a direct link to the internet. Or did she? Most likely Joan had her own personal cloud to send all her thoughts to.

Darlene wondered if Joan even knew there was a difference between reality and science fiction. Of course that would certainly explain how Joan viewed life.

* * * *

Joan had driven away, and Darlene had cleaned up the kitchen, changed the bed, and straightened some other things in the house, when her phone rang. It announced: “Sandra Reese is calling.”

“Hi, Sandy,” Darlene said as she pressed the button to answer her best friend.

“How are you today?” Sandy asked. “Did you go out last night? I tried calling but no one answered.”

“Oh, my gawd, Sandy. You will not believe what happened last night. It went from unbelievable to unimaginable.”

“Is that better than going from unimaginable to unbelievable?”

“I’m not sure which is worse. I went out to dinner with Joan.”

“Joan Howell?” Sandy knew Joan very well.

“Yes.”

“Did she kiss you again?” Darlene could hear the skepticism in Sandy’s voice. Joan had kissed Darlene once after another dinner date and Darlene hadn’t recovered until Joan had driven away. She had remembered it for days!

“Oh, Sandy, you won’t believe it.”

“Oh, no. Your voice sounds strange. Did something happen?”

“Did it ever! She…uh…she spent the night.” Should it be this hard to admit? Should Darlene be embarrassed? People stayed at other people’s houses often. People had s*x all the time.

“Joan? Was it enjoyable for you?”

Darlene must have mumbled something. Sandy didn’t understand it.

“What?” she had to ask, “I didn’t hear you well.”

Darlene took a deep breath before she answered. “Yes. It was incredible.”

“She didn’t bring her owl and buffalo with her, did she?”

“No!” Darlene laughed. “But over breakfast this morning, she opened up to me. Sandy, she told me things about herself that I never imagined. Did you know that Joan has hyperthymesia?”

“No. Is it catchy?”

Darlene chuckled. “No. You don’t have to worry about catching it. I looked it up this afternoon right after she left and there are less than thirty known people in the world who have it. It explains how she got through college with a four-oh average. Hyperthymesia means you remember everything that happens. It’s like a photographic memory of time. It’s referred to as Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. She can tell you what happened any day of her life.”

“You’re kidding. I have problems remembering what happened yesterday.”

“Most people do.”

“She remembers everything?”

“Yes! That woman remembers every minute of her life! I tested her this morning, and she can tell you what she was doing on any date since she was born…well, once she was really aware of herself and her surroundings.”

“No one can do that.” Sandy was sure of it.

“She remembers!” Darlene insisted. “That’s probably why her previous schools have her listed as a genius. She had a perfect score in her math PSATs as a junior. They couldn’t test her. She was off their charts.”

“Oh, my. And are you hooked now?”

“I’m not sure. I do want to see her again, and last night was fantastic. One thing I can say about her is she does know what she’d doing in bed, and none of that is fiction. I woke up this morning with all these strange thoughts of living with her.”

“Then maybe we should really have a long face-to-face. What are you doing for dinner?” It sounded like Sandy thought she might have to do an intervention.

“I hadn’t planned anything,” Darlene answered.

“Then I’m taking you out to eat, so you can spill everything.”

Darlene had to laugh. “Spill everything? Won’t the servers get angry?”

“Now you do sound like Joanie, but don’t worry. It you spill too much, we’ll leave a big tip.” They both chuckled. Had Sandy meant to make that pun, or was it just a silly mistake? “I’ll pick you up at six thirty,” and the phone clicked off.

Darlene would have to think through last night. It had been such a strange evening, in fact, the entire three months since she’d met Joan were strange.

Darlene first met Joan when Joan walked into her office to have her tax return prepared. The entire afternoon had been set aside for her as per a request from Sandy. Sandy had warned her that Joan had never really done her taxes as she should have, but simply paid from the short or EZ form, not taking any deductions for gifts, donations, or anything. Darlene estimated she’d probably paid at least a couple thousand more per year than she needed to.

Sandy was a Literary Agent and Joan was an author, whose books were usually on the New York Times Best Sellers Lists. They were both making a good amount on the book sales, so Sandy thought Joan better get her monetary act together. Joan’s books were all science fiction but were so very detailed and intricate that people immediately believed everything she wrote.

* * * *

Sandy had first told her about Joan at the beginning of the year.

“She may seem strange to you, but she’s completely harmless,” Sandy had warned her. “She writes some of the most outstanding science fiction around, but in her mind, she believes it all.”

“Science fiction? Doesn’t she know the operative word there is fiction?” Darlene was quite amazed. “Fiction, as in make-believe, something you made up?”

“Not to Joanie. Wait ‘til you meet her, then we’ll talk.” Sandy figured they’d get along, even though the two were diametrically opposed.

“All right, but she only gets three hours unless she pays for more of it.”

“Don’t worry. She has money, and seldom spends it on herself. What little she does spend, goes to her farm. Oh! By the way, don’t call her place a farm. She runs a retreat for all the animals.”

“A retreat, not a farm.” Oh, my God, Darlene thought. This one does sound strange.

“You got it. It’s a retreat,” Sandy said. “Or at the least, you can call it a sanctuary.”

“All right.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Sandy. I hope you haven’t gotten me into anything.” Darlene was very conservative and totally non-impulsive. She lived a very quiet life.

“Nope! Nothing you can’t handle. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” and both phones had gone dead. That had been three months ago, and Darlene still couldn’t believe all that had happened.

Joan had walked into Darlene’s office the next morning dressed in jeans, a green polo shirt, and dirty white sneakers.

“Joan Howell?” Darlene started, “I’m Darlene Rogers. Sandy said you’d be in. Let’s see what you have.”

“Rogers? Are you a descendant of Buck’s?” she asked.

It took Darlene a minute to make the connection. “No. Usually, I’m asked if Roy was my grandfather.”

“Was he?”

“No.”

“Oh.” said Joan, a little confused. “I never followed Roy, but Buck was my grandfather’s hero when I was little. I couldn’t wait to grow up and be like him.”

“Like your grandfather?”

“No! Like Buck Rogers! I definitely didn’t want to be like Wilma.”

“Oh.” Darlene laughed. She was pretty sure she didn’t know how this Wilma person fit into that group of people, but she wasn’t going to ask right now. “Bring your stuff into my office, and we can start to go through it.”

Joan followed her into the next room and set her crate on a chair. “Sandy tells me I’m not very organized,” Joan admitted. “This feels like lot of scrap.”

“Yes, Sandy told me the same thing.”

“You look very organized!”

“No, about you, not me.” Darlene had to smile as she chuckled to herself. This woman was certainly more than Sandy had warned her about. “I have all afternoon to try and get you together.”

“What we really need is an Andorean Analoger. The thurbidian crystals can organize anything.”

Darlene gave Joan a what-the-f**k look and drew up another chair next to the one that held Joan’s crate. She sorted through a few of the things on top.

“I tell you what,” she said as she sat back with a sigh, “help me sort through this, and we can get this organized in just a couple hours. It may not be as bad as it looks. Pull a chair up, and we can start.”

Joan dragged a chair over and set it beside Darlene’s.

“Sandy tells me you’re a science fiction novelist,” Darlene said.

“Yes. I have seven books out.”

“I’ll have to read one. Are they a series or stand-alones?”

“They’re all pretty thick. I suppose they could stand up by themselves,” Joan answered. She’d never been asked that before.

“No,” Darlene said with a grin. “I mean is each book different, or do you need to read them in a specific order?”

“They’re all self-contained, but they usually have some reference to one of the others.”

“That’s interesting.” Then Darlene changed the subject. “All right. Let’s put all debts in this pile and all payments on my desk.”

“I’m out of debt. I don’t owe anyone anything,” Joan told her.

“No. A debt is anything you had to pay for. If you’ve already paid, then you have no outstanding debts. We need to see what debts you did have.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

They started, and it took no time at all to go through all the papers.

“Now,” she continued as we both looked down at the pile of receipts on the floor, “we can start with those. Let’s get them into a stack, and we’ll go through them one at a time. But before we start that, would you like something to drink? I have coffee or soda—Coke or root beer.”

“I’d love some root beer,” I said.

What Joan really wanted at that moment was an Ektidorian Mox soda, but she’d left those at home.

“I’ll be right back.” Darlene got up and went into the other part of the house.

Deciding to get a head-start, Joan began piling up the receipts, making them all go the same way.

Darlene returned in a few minutes, carrying a tray that held a blue mug, a small thermos, a can of Barq’s, and a glass of ice. She opened the can, poured some into the glass, and handed it to Joan.

“Thanks.” Joan took a sip. “Wow, this is sweet,” she exclaimed. “I don’t usually drink root beer this sweet.”

“Has it gone bad or something? I just bought the six-pack last week.”

“No. It’s fine…for earth root beer. I’m used to Ektidorian root beer.”

She looked at her strangely. “Do they sell that around here?”

“You can get it at a few specialty places, but I have it shipped to me by the case, from a friend in Maine. The Ektoids farm the mox plants out in the woods and bottle it themselves. They sell a lot of it there. They sell as much as they can brew.”