Former painter

No alarms, no sunshine gliding across my face, no abrupt end to a dream, my eyes just open up. Sleep has left my body. Almost involuntarily, my hands reach out to my phone. 11 A.M. I can’t remember if I was supposed to meet Muna at 11:15 A.M. in front of the dorms. Three seconds and I’m out of bed, hastily brushing my teeth and restoring some order to my bed simultaneously. By 11:10 A.M. I’ve put on the first clothes my hands touch and am ready to leave the room. 

As I run to the elevator, I give a call to Muna.

“Muna, were we supposed to meet today?” 

“Ummm, I don’t think so, no.” 

“Oh, never mind. I can fuzzily remember making plans with you. Must have been in my dreams then.” 

“Mohit, I don’t have time for your tomfoolery okay. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“B-” 

By the end of the call, I’m outside the dorms. I start thinking about Omkar. Ever since I was young, I talked to myself a lot. All of that changed when one day I heard talking to oneself is a sign of craziness. So, I created Omkar, a fictional character inside my head to have conversations with. Sometimes, though, he leaks into the outside world. He is as real as the world around me- I can see, touch, smell and hear him. But strangely, he only appears when I’m alone. 

My chain of thoughts gets interrupted by a group of boys, all in tank tops. 

“Your lazy ass finally decided to show up after we finished huh,” one of them said.

“What are you talking about?” 

“We were supposed to meet at 9:30 A.M. and go to the gym together,” another added.

“Huh? I thought we did that yesterday.” 

“No, we were meant to do it today, on Monday.” 

I check my phone, today is Monday. But I vividly remember living through Monday- going to the gym with these boys, having Bafang dumplings for lunch, doing my office work remotely, and having dinner with Muna at night. 

“Oh, sorry, I thought it was Tuesday today. I already went to the gym with you guys in my dreams.” 

“Why don’t you come up with a more creative excuse next time.” The biggest guy concluded. 

They leave, leaving me alone and confused. For some reason, my memory doesn’t erase my dreams like most people. I remember them just like I remember any other waking day. Because of that, I can’t differentiate between dreams and reality. I don’t know how I can remain a functioning member of society if this goes on. Just when I was about to start to panic, Omkar appears before me with a reassuring look. 

“Omkar, I think something is wrong with my memory. I try to create a timeline inside my head. I try to piece together what happened every hour in the last 5 days. In response, my memory gives me haze- I can’t recall the events in the exact order.” 

“But that’s completely normal, right? If you ask someone what they did in the last 5 days, chances are their memory will reduce eighty hours to five seconds of flashes- the intricate details are forgotten.” 

“How am I supposed to live my life then? If I can’t piece together what has happened and will happen.” 

“Look around. Does anyone look like they have any idea what they’re doing? They’re all walking around with memories painted by their current emotion. Their mood changes and so does the color of their paint.” 

I get distracted by the sight of Muna, who just exited the dorms. I look back at Omkar, he is no longer there. Our eyes meet, a smile forms on her face- I reciprocate. 

“I’m going to my classes. If you’re not busy, do you want to accompany me?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

We start walking together silently. This feels nice, I think to myself. Maybe it’s best for me to not let the paint of my memory leak into the present moment. Maybe I should let things reveal their color to me, instead of trying to be the painter. 

“You remember that one time I accompanied you to the canteen? It feels like you’re returning the favor now.” 

I thought that had happened in my dreams. Or maybe I’ve been dreaming this whole time. But it doesn’t matter because this moment feels real. 

“Even if I had no memory of that, I would still accompany you.” 

We continue to walk and talk.