“The Interpreter of Memories”      

Story by deeasherself

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Once there was a man who thought he’d walked into the wrong store, but he hadn’t. He said he remembered there was a pub right here in this same place many years ago, unless he had the wrong idea and if that was the case he was willing to apologize. No, I said, don’t, and I had to precise: don’t apologize, this was a pub many years ago and it belonged to my grandfather, but now it’s not anymore. I asked him to sit down and he looked around in doubt, so I pointed to the seat in front of me. That wasn’t there a moment ago, he exclaimed, but he sat.

What happened to the pub, he asked, but instead of answering I asked another question: What do you remember of it? His eyes shone bright in the lack of light and he smiled as his mind was flooded with memories of what the pub used to be. He blinked and the pub became alive, just for him. The music, the laughter, the crowd, the drinking, everything was there, just for him, just as long as his smile gave breath to the memory.

But when he blinked again everything was gone, and he found himself many years later again, in the lack of light and the desolation of the wishing memory, sitting on a chair, alone in the empty space.