Forgettable

I was inspired the other day. A few weeks ago, I saw a friend from high school. A, I guess eccentric is as good a word as any, kid, we were still fairly good friends, and when I saw him at FCC, a mere two years since I saw him last, he didn't appear to recognize me. When I called his name and started to talk to him, he seemed really surprised, and immediately excused himself to get to class. This bothered me a little, but who knows, maybe he was just in a real hurry to get to class.

And then, while recounting this story to Ben, who both saw and was recognized by him at FCC, I recalled that this wasn't the first time this kid had forgotten my existence.

Sixth grade was where I made most of my friends I had throughout high school. I really only had two friends from my elementary school, and when all of the elementary schools merged together into New Market Middle School, I was finally able to find a large group of friends. In addition to the Nerds, there were a few other people I acquainted myself with.

Now it's quite forgivable that this kid should forget being friends with me in that sixth grade gym class. I was a pretty terrible friend to him. And I guess, that's really the first time I remember being a real jerk to my friends, a pattern that would get progressively worse through high school. So yeah, I think it all might have started back in sixth grade, trying to make new friends in the sixth grade, with a kid I called "pacifist".

I don't really remember why I called him that. I mean, he was a quiet kid, but really Taylor? Nicknaming is something that I'm usually hit or miss with, and this was a miss. And it was really untrue, because I pushed him to the point where he hit me. I don't remember why, but I can guarantee I deserved it.

Anyways, the next year rolled around, and half the kids transferred to the new school being built, the pacifist among them. Fast forward two years, in high school, when once again the schools are all one again. I see a kid with dyed black hair, a trench coat, and a Nightmare Before Christmas lunchbox. It only took me a second to recognize this as the kid from sixth grade gym that I had pissed off enough to hit me. So what did I do? I stalked him for about a whole semester. He didn't seem to recognize me, and I guess by ninth grade I still retained some guilt about what I was, so I of course didn't say anything. The next semester, I had a class with him, so after a few few weeks it became clear that he did not in fact recognize me, and finally, I recounted sixth grade gym, and not only did he not recognize me, he didn't remember me at all.

To not remember someone, who pissed you off enough to hit them... And then forget them again after being good friends with them in high school!

Anyways, it gave me a good idea for a story. A guy who returns to the small town he's from, only to have no one remember him. And not just not remember him, he's been erased from existence in this small town. He's not in the yearbooks from his school, no record of him or his family having lived there, his old house gone. And, he keeps getting forgotten. People he's had to reintroduce himself will have forgotten him again by the next day. Everyone just forgets him.

Well, not everyone. A retarded kid, an old woman with Alzheimers, anyone with a mind effecting illness, and also people not from that small town.

I try to imagine how awful that must be, to try and leave an impression on people, and just get absolutely nothing. To be so temporary. The dark part of me that is attracted to suffering and feels the need to suffer myself loves it.

Now if only I had a plot.