false memory

My days as a massive slob are long gone. Now, my desire for order outweighs my natural, lazy, procrasturbatory tendencies and I wage war against that never-tiring foe, Entropy, on a regular basis. Although with my trusty sidekick Nubia coming to work her ass off every two weeks, it's really not much of a fight. She does all the heavy lifting and I write a check. It wasn't always this way and I was reminded of this by a story Scott told me at the office a few days ago.
Audrey had woken him up with a request for a glass of water, something I thought only happened in sitcoms and movies from the '40s. As they flicked on the light in the kitchen they were surprised by a roach on the floor. Surprised as in they had never seen a roach in their house before. Ever. If this had been my house when I was growing up the sight of a roach would have startled me – ok, terrified me to the brink of loss of bladder control – but I certainly wouldn't have been surprised. The Texas Gulf Coast is home to some giant-ass roaches, two to three inches long and fast as lightning. They normally live in the oak trees but appeared to be equally comfortable living inside our house. One of my earliest memories is of my mother screaming, "BIG ROACH!!" and bolting through whatever room I was in, not bothering to scoop up her infant son to protect him from the lumbering brown beast that was hot on her tail. Thus the fear was transferred from mother to child and I, too, years hence, could be heard screaming BIG ROACH!! from time to time as one of these monsters would pop out when I least expected it, or, worst of all and probably because they could smell the abject fear in me, fly straight at my face from some high perch. Anyway, Scott steps on the roach and Audrey says, "that's gross!" and Scott says, "You think that's gross? Let me tell you a story…"

"I had gone over to Stu's house [this was probably around 1989. –ed.] and was in his kitchen. He lived in an old house with an unusually large, white enamel sink which, at this time, was chock full of dirty dishes piled high. For whatever reason I turned on the water in the kitchen faucet and when I did I heard a tiny stampede of clicking feet and saw hundreds of roaches appear, running up the sides of the sink in a big brown wave."

Audrey's reply to this was, "I could have lived my entire life without hearing that story." which wasn't bad for a 10 year old.

My response was a furrowed brow and some head scratching. I just didn't remember that happening. This normally wouldn't mean anything since my memory is like a tattered spider web with a few old desiccated bits sticking in it, but since this involved roaches I was absolutely sure it hadn't happened. That's the kind of event that carves out its own special roach-filled cavity in your brain. We soon figured out that Scott had melded two of my stories from long ago into this one entertaining but false memory.
Story One
The details of his description were accurate: old house, big white sink, huge pile of disgusting dishes dating back who knows how long. Except he wasn't there – I was there alone preparing to move out. The entire house was empty and the very last thing I had to do was wash all those goddamn dishes. Man, I hated washing dishes. I approached the sink and turned on the water. I stared out the window for a minute, waiting for the water to get hot. When I looked back down I was confused and sort of disoriented – the sides of the sink appeared to be throbbing and slowly moving upward. I think my brainstem was recoiling in horror and trying to keep my higher cognitive functions from realizing what I was seeing. Maggots. Hundreds of them. Seeking refuge from the hot water, pulsing and undulating their way up the sides of the sink…
Story Two
I was in college and had gone home for the weekend. For whatever reason I was struck with a bout of nostalgia regarding an old barbecue pit that my dad used to make his award-winning brisket in. He hadn't used it in years and my idea was to clean it up and relive the brisket glory days. The barbecue pit was way over in a corner of the yard that had become overgrown with vines and was stuck, the vines having had years to establish a stronghold around the base and wheels. I tried pulling vines away for a while, then got frustrated, deciding on brute strength to rip the pit free. I grabbed it by the handle and yanked hard and of course the wheels didn't move but the whole thing started tipping over toward me. I stood in front of it, watching it fall, watching it hit the ground, watching the lid pop open… And then watching as hundreds, thousands, millions of these huge roaches spilled toward me, covering the ground in their clicking shiny browness, looking all the world like a big bag of spilled enormous coffee beans. I screamed like a 4 year old girl and didn't stop running until I was across the street a good 200 feet away.

Scott has promised to set the record straight with Audrey. "It was hundreds of maggots in the sink, not roaches, honey. The roaches were hiding in the barbecue pit." I'm sure she'll appreciate the clarity and a second story that she could have lived her entire life without hearing.



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