the timboucher experience

Zachary Avis squinted at the tiny type on the side of the package. He shifted around nervously and glanced up and down the aisle to make sure nobody was looking. So many to pick from, and what was the difference between all these brands? He had no idea. He began another feeble attempt to make some sense of the information on the label. But he couldn’t concentrate, and anyway he just wanted to get out of the store. So he decided this one would have to do. He’d seen a commercial for it, after all, so it must at least be halfway decent.

Avis handed the box to the cashier, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Mnemonic aid, huh?” The cashier immediately blurted out.

Avis scratched the back of his head, and looked towards the door. “Uh… yeah…” he said, trailing off in order to indicate he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Never tried one myself,” the cashier continued, not picking up on the obvious social cue. “My mind’s sharp as a tack. Always has been. I can recall everything that’s ever happened to me, since I was born. And the stuff I can’t remember, then who cares, right? Must not be important.”

Avis said nothing and stuck out his hand for the change. “Right, thanks,” he muttered and promptly fled the store.

It’s not so black and white as that, Avis reflected as he walked to his car. It’s not that I’ve forgotten anything. It’s just that I, well I want to remember. Which is entirely different.

He unlocked the car, got in, and started the engine. He let it idle, and pulled the box out of the plastic pharmacy bag. But what is it that I want to remember? he thought. On the box was a little hologram of a man and a woman, holding each other and smiling. Avis had heard that most of the market for these drugs consisted of people who wanted to relive old romances. That was a subject he’d rather keep forgotten, himself. There wasn’t a single old girlfriend he still thought of with any kind of fondness. Avis placed the package on the passenger seat and slipped the car into reverse.

The trip home had yielded no further ideas. Avis flicked the lights on in his apartment and set the box down on the kitchen counter. He poured himself a cup of bourbon, and sipped at it absently while he opened the packaging. Inside was an ultra-thin folded up sheet of paper with instructions on it. The only formal directions indicated that the pills should not be taken on an empty stomach or combined with alcohol. He looked at his glass of bourbon. “Too late,” he said, taking another sip.

The rest of the sheet of paper consisted of rather abstract ideas about how to choose an appropriate memory to “enhance.” A bulleted list gave him vague pointers like, “Think of a happy time in your life,” and “Some of our most important memories involve loved ones.” These sound like fucking fortune cookies, Avis thought, and decided he’d have better luck without instructions. Especially since he was already ignoring the part about not taking the pills with alcohol… He took another sip.

Alcohol, he thought. That’s it right there. Not only did that cover most of the happy times in his life, but it also included people he loved very much. The fortune cookie direction sheet would be proud. He popped two of the capsules out of their protective foil, placed them in his mouth, and washed the whole thing down with the remaining bourbon. “Cheers!” he said, flicked off the lights, and went to go lay down.

Minutes later, he opened his eyes to find himself seated in a booth at a small pub he hadn’t been to in ten or more years. It worked, he thought. This feels really fucking realistic. He looked around at his friends seated there with him, and felt an enormous smile break across his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Craig asked. Craig. I haven’t seen that guy in so damn long.

“I … I feel like I’m really here.” Avis said.

“Of course you do, lad. Don’t we all!” Craig laughed, thumped his glass on the table, and then drained it.

Avis looked at the table in front of him, and observed that he had a drink of his own. He grabbed it. This was back when he still drank his whiskey with coke, before he decided it was more efficient just to cut out the middle man and get down to business. This is so incredible, he thought. I can see why people get hooked on this. It’s so goddamned real. He looked at Craig, and Mike and Jeff, who were also in the booth with him.

“Hey, what’s everybody else doing tonight?” Avis asked. There were so many people he wanted to see. People he couldn’t remember the last time he saw or heard from them. Shit, some of them he couldn’t even remember their names.

“Holly and Phil are on their way here right now, I think.” Mike responded.

Jeff added, “And everyone else will be here later on. They’re at that concert downtown, or whatever.”

“Oh right. I forgot about that.” Mike agreed, and wandered off to the bathroom, leaving an empty seat at the booth next to Avis.

Craig got up to order another round. “You want anything?” he asked loudly. Jeff shook his head no. He had never been too big a drinker. Usually only had a couple before he called it a night. Avis, on the other hand, had no such problem. He ordered another whiskey & coke for himself plus a round of shots for the troops. “You decide what kind. It’s on me,” he said grinning, and fished some bills out of his pocket, handing them to Craig.

Jeff and Avis made small talk for a few minutes. Historically, the two hadn’t had much to say to each other. Avis used to always find himself losing track of what Jeff was talking about as soon as he got started. Tonight was no different. But it didn’t matter, because Avis was just so damned happy to be back here at all. He could have been talking to anybody about any goddamned thing and it would have been absolutely fantastic.

Just then, Craig came back, depositing four straight vodka shots on the table. He went back for the rest. “You’re gonna have one, right?” Avis asked Jeff, knowing full well he wasn’t going to have one. “Nah, I hate shots.” was his response. It was, in fact, always his response. He should have had it trademarked. Avis had never seen Jeff drink anything besides bottled domestic beer.

Jeff’s eyes darted towards the door. Somebody must be coming in. A girl. Avis recognized that look, and turned around just as the door swung shut behind Elizabeth Newberry, and a couple of her forgettable friends. He realized it was probably the pills and the whiskey talking, but Avis swore that Elizabeth was somehow illuminated. It was as though all the dim lights scattered throughout the bar had immediately flown over and attached themselves to her, like jewels arrayed upon their queen.

Avis sank back down in his seat, intoxicated. Craig returned, sat down next to Jeff, and slid Avis his whiskey across the table. Mike was nowhere to be seen. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Craig said to him.

Avis swallowed hard. “I have.”

Craig looked toward the door. “Ha, that old bird? Hardly. She’s as fleshly as they come, that one.” He smiled. Everyone in his circle of friends was well aware the kind of relationship Avis and Elizabeth had. Or rather the kind of effect Elizabeth had on him. They didn’t so much have a relationship, unless you consider unrequited love a relationship.

Lord knows Avis had tried though. And come close. But something, or someone, always stood in the way of them getting together. At the time, Avis could have counted any number of guys who gladly fit this role. Where were they now though? Avis asked. Certainly not here in his chemically enhanced memory. Or at least he hoped not. He realized he was sweating.

All at once, Elizabeth and her two associates were standing at the edge of their booth. “Hey guys! Mind if we join you?” She said as she slid in next to Avis. She nudged him with her elbow and winked. “What’s up Zack?” Avis turned red. Everybody slid down to make room for her friends.

“Oh hey, Elizabeth,” Avis said, trying to regroup. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. You look really good.” And he meant it. She looked, and smelled so good, it was all he could think about. It filled him up. He thought he was going to pass out.

She squeezed his arm. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too.” She smiled, and the whole room warmed perceptibly.

* * *

- Read part 2 -

• Serial Fiction
• Notes on “This bird has flown”
• This bird has flown - (part 3)
• Bird Mojo Bag
• Synchronicity Search Engine