White Knight
by Ezri Wyman
Hello, stranger. You look lost, maybe I can help. Oh, that was a little joke, everyone’s lost on a night like tonight. Nuit Blanche -- art takes over the city, and suddenly the world turns upside down. Is this art? Is that? Are all the decisions you’ve made to bring you to this point? Is that mountain of inflatable beach balls? Interesting questions? God, I sound like an artist. And, come to think of it, I think everyone’s lost more than just tonight. Are you sure we haven’t met? You do look terribly familiar…You should stay. Talk with me awhile. What am I doing here? I’m glad you asked. Would you like to change your past? Would you like to change your future? It isn’t so very difficult. Memories sold! Finest wares! Let me show you what you have to choose from. Let me show you that you do have a choice. This is one of my favourites. I mean, the one that I think is best for you.
It’s a warm afternoon and you’re in a meadow. You’re lying in the grass, and it’s itchy and soft against your bare arms. You hover on the edge of sleep and wakefulness as pollen-drunk bees buzz past you. The heat makes it hard to remember where your skin ends and the air begins. The sunshine wraps around you like a blanket and makes the grass and your skin and the air shimmer like liquid honey. You are at peace.
It’s that easy to slip into it. Who’s to say if you lived it or not? Who’s to say if it matters either way? Take it, and you can let go. I will take the cold and the dark, the moments you wished you could’ve found some comfort in empty sheets. It’s right there. You can take it, if you wish, for the small price of whatever it is you wish to forget. I know, who would want to forget that? But apparently she was deathly afraid of bees, and a moment so close to perfect was too much for her.
See how easily the concrete and late night crowds of this city disappear? You can travel to the good stuff just by closing your eyes and remembering. It’s almost like you were there. Almost. We don’t need to hurry. You can see as many as you’d like before you make your final choice. It isn’t a choice to make lightly, you know, deciding what you want to become. Here’s another memory, perhaps this one will be more to your liking.
You’re on a mountain and chill air sears your lungs. You’re breathing hard, feeling the thrill of a job well done. The summit is in sight. It’s barely light out and the muscles in your legs ache from the climb, but you push yourself forward. Just ten more steps, and twenty, and suddenly you’re not climbing anymore. You’re stepping out onto an open plateau and you’re breathing. The clear morning air lets you see forever into an endless sky as sunrise paints the horizon a million colours. Victory rushes freshly through your veins with every pulse of your rapidly beating heart, it rushes into your chest with every breath of your heaving lungs. The day is not yet truly begun, and already you have won.
Who would trade away a memory like that? That’s not my place for to say. Do you like it? That one is for strength. In exchange I will take one of weakness. It will only cost one memory. You have so many. All the times that you wished you were stronger. That each night brought new anxieties, and you were too scared, you were too weak to leave. I can take that from you. I can give you the strength that you missed then, even if it is only in a memory. Perhaps you did not live it, but perhaps you did. There is no difference, what is done is done. What is yours is yours. What you remember is what has always been.
And all you have to do is let go, just leave a little piece behind for me. That’s all.
There are other memories for your consideration before you make a final choice. I know there are things that you’d like to change about your past and about yourself. There is also much that can be changed; it’s a fair trade, you know. Another, just in case you reconsider?
You feel the tenderness of hands against your neck, your jaw, the base of your skull as you’re pulled in for a kiss. He’s holding you close. The way you used to like it when he did. He’s whispering in your ear how much he loves you. And you know he means it, you can feel it in his touch, his arms around you, his lips on yours. You know you’re not just deluding yourself so you don’t have to sleep alone. His body is warm.
Don’t you miss that? I know you have your worries, “those who don’t learn from history…” and all that. You worry that those memories meant something, or that losing them is losing something you fought for. But that isn’t a certain outcome. Make a little trade with me… and who knows what might happen. You’d be free, for a while at least. So why not try? Don’t you owe it to yourself to rest? You can always change your mind. The memories will be right here if you decide to come back to them. But no one ever does…
Still not convinced? Try this on for size, see things through his eyes for a change:
You come home and something immediately feels wrong. Her phone charger is gone from the outlet by the door, her books gone from their scattered places around the apartment. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter, wearing her jacket and a backpack, with a cup of coffee cradled in her fingers, undrunk. “You didn’t come home last night,” she says, “I know about her.” She spits the word ‘her’ like a curse. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. She looks heartbroken. You reach out, but she won’t let you touch her. She opens her mouth to say something, but the hard anger cracks, and suddenly she’s crying. You want to hold her, to comfort her, to do something, anything. But she storms out of the kitchen, the front door slams, and she’s gone.
Oh, yes, I’ve met him. Those memories, the ones you’re hanging on to so tightly, they were his, too. He felt terrible, you know. Those memories tore him apart. And he let them go. That’s how I got them. He’s happier now. He’s moved on. Hurts, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I can take the memory of this moment, too. And what did you do after you left that day? Did you sit on a park bench in the rain? Did you stare out a train window and feel sorry for yourself? Too melodramatic? Did you walk for hours until you found yourself at the park where you went on your first date, the one you limped through on a sprained ankle, on a day far too hot to be out?
Ah, it was that, wasn’t it? You’re in charge now. Take the picture from a different angle. We can edit, we can change it, we can take that all away.
All you have to do is make a trade. Did any of that pain help you? Do you feel like you learned something?
Oh, yes, I’m sure you think you’re terribly noble for keeping those memories when he didn’t. I’m sure you take great pride in holding your head high as you carry the weight of your troubles on your shoulders.
You think you’re hanging on to something vital, something that makes you who you are, and that’s worth all the pain, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be the only one to have done it, you’re nothing special for holding on. You’re just another poor soul with a broken heart. You’re just like everybody else. It doesn’t change anything, having the memories. There’s no new insight, nothing profound to be discovered in all the hurting. Your choices don’t matter, not really, you’re just a tiny player in a much bigger game, so why bother with all this? Why not make things easier when you can? Or will you choose to just wander away down your grey concrete path, and fade back into the crowd, your suffering meaningless and heavy in your chest.
Hmm, I see. That’s a bit sad really. Such ugly memories for such a lovely soul. God, I’d admire that sweet stoic face if it weren’t all so pointless. Those tears, so bitter, so lonely, so fixable. Do you want a tissue? Do you just want me to take it away? All you have to do is make a trade…
Well, I’ll be here when you change your mind.