My name is Karl Cummings and I remember everything

Fresh from my electro-apple-typewriter, free from proofreading and ready for the masses. Taking a small break from working on my screenplay.



“I remember everything.” 

Karl was not prone to bragging. So this statement came as a surprise, as did his request for a night out. Just me and him like the old days, before Sheryl and Mel become permeant fixtures. His wife of 10 years, my husband of five (Yes, Sheryl and Mel are the membranes through which our two lives pass)

“Listen, Karl, if you’re trying to entertain me I prefer a floor show, dancers, music, etcetera.” 

Karl turned from his drink and grabbed my hand. Another decidedly unlike Karl thing to do. We’ve been friends since college and “brothers” since I was thrown out of a frat at Arizona State for coming out of the closet. He was the only one to quit the frat in protest. I tried to kiss him once, that didn’t go well. 

I put my beer down, I let the upscale trimmings my yuppie life and my yuppie bar fade into the background. I nodded to the side. Karl followed my back to my office.

“Have a seat,”  I said.

He plopped down.

“It’s me, Frank. Your’e my best friend, tell me.” I sat down, as Karl started to weep.

“I’ve been on meds since before we met. As a kid my ma…” 

“Lucille?” 

He held up his hand. “My real mom, she put me on meds before I was adopted. They were anti-psychotics, at least that what I thought. They were really suppressants.”

My turn for hand waving. I waived my hand as to say, “Suppress what?”

“To suppress my memory of everything.”

I leaned back in my chair. “ Why would your birth mom want to suppress an eidetic memory. That’s quit a talent. I mean…”

“No, Karl, you don’t get it. I have an eidetic memory on these meds.” 

He pulled the bottle from his sport coat pocket. Rattled the pills for effect.

“I’ve made a lot of cash, launched Sheryl’s art gallery, gave your honey-bunny, Mel some funds to cater your surprise birthday party last year. My memory is great. These meds were to suppress my memory of everything. “

“You did what for Mel?”

“Frank focus. I’m trying to tell you. I remember everything, that anybody has every done or said. All of it. I know what your bartender did for Christmas. I know what kind of bowel movements FDR had. I know there’s Yanomami tribesmen name Vivik and that he caught the biggest peacock bass he’s ever caught before. I know it. If it’s happened I know it.”

I leapt from my chair and slapped Karl across the face. And then leaned in and said, “Did you know that was going to happen?”

He didn’t break my nose with a head-butt, but he made my eyes water.

“I don’t know future, you jack-off. I know history. All of human history.”

I won’t bore you with the quiz I put Karl through. I just keep pulling random stuff from Wikipedia, until my fingers hurt. Then I asked stuff about my family and workers, stuff that by the grace of God isn’t on the Internet. Then I mixed in various lies with statements about all the people we knew, and he corrected me.

I had the bartender bring a pitcher of Screwdrivers, and thanked him for leading the cleanliness charge at the bar. I’m sure he’s wondering how I knew that.