Fiction

Empty Faces

An old, decrepit man stirred, awaking from his stained mattress to the sound of rain tap, tap, tapping on his window. Without a thought he made his way across the room to a dusty grand piano in the corner. Its black and white keys hidden by cobwebs and dirt, the old man sat with his shaky fingers poised over the monochrome blur before him. A single finger was held over the C sharp key but did not embrace the note. Somewhere in the old man’s mind he was searching; scrambling away for a piece to play, but could not conjure up a single one. Why did he own a piano if he could not play it? His dejected hands returned to his lap as he sat listening to the silence, his mind filled with nothing but empty space and lost thoughts that had long since blown away with the autumn breeze.
A picture stood on top of the piano, kept safe within a faded wooden frame. The old, tired man carefully removed the image and held it steadily between his hands. The image was clearly a happy one. It revealed a couple stood in a park, towering trees and daisies creeping into the image from a distance. Their arms were around one another’s waists, clutching each other tightly and grinning into the old man’s eyes as he grinned into theirs. Their faces; who were they? That woman who could smile with her eyes. Had he known her when he was just a boy? He could not recall her and yet he found himself smiling back at the gleaming face before him.
‘Jane!’ He exclaimed to himself as though he had won a prize for his recollection.
He turned the photograph over in his hands to find a small message written on paper and cello taped to the frame- ‘George and Millie – May 12th 1992’. His smile swiftly disappeared, leaving a sombre look of grief. He had not won a prize for his recollection, in fact, he had not recollected at all. Scrawling through his memories like a filing cabinet, he searched for a George or a Millie. No George, no Millie. Had he chosen to forget two people who at one time appeared dear to him? The old man involuntarily put his hand to his chin and stared at the image. He stared so intently that he hoped the photograph would stir his brain and inhabit the memories resting there, but he had no such luck. He could feel the memory at the back of his mind, just out of reach. All he had to do was dig to find it. But he was a tired man and digging was far beyond his capabilities, and so he allowed the memory to glide out of his mind, landing on a bed of golden leaves to be lost forever, like so many memories before.
The old man found that most memories were not worth the trouble of remembering, and so dismissed them to allow space for the valuable memories that had changed his life for the better. But he had no need for memories any longer, significant or otherwise, and was now beginning to lose the ability to distinguish between the two. He had no need to remember, with no one to share his memories with, and after all, that is the best part of a good memory; reliving it again and again.
Pacing slowly across the room; back and forth, back and forth, his legs become boneless, and he collapsed into a near by chair. In front of the chair was an old, oak dressing table covered in coffee stains. Various bottles and creams had been carefully placed on top of the table, now covered with a thin layer of dust that had gathered over the years. The man had never seen these beauty products before. They certainly weren’t his. He picked the closest one up and examined it as though he were a detective solving a crime, turning it loosely over and over. The bottle was nearly empty and had long since passed its use by date, which was 1996. He placed the bottle back in exactly the same position, attempting not to disturb the scene before him.
He looked up from the stillness of the bottles to find himself staring into a mirror. His own façade shocked him. Behind all of the wrinkles there was a man that once lived. The eyes could still be seen, screaming to be set free and see the world as he had when he was barely a man. Those bright blue eyes had seen everything: love, hope, joy; but now they saw very little but the blurred images of a dark room. However, this old, wary man had lost the memories of love, joy and hope, leaving him with a life of ignorance. He no longer recognised his own aged face. The memory of himself had flown away with the rest. He had allowed these recollections to be lost forever, probably now circling the world as a light breeze.
But his face seemed so familiar to him, only not as his own. A face he remembered from somewhere. Aha! His face scrunched up at his own blankness. He was George, the George in the photograph that looked so full of joy; a George that had lived but for some reason had forgotten. How could George possibly forget who he was?
His eyes glanced over to the photograph again. He could not remember ever being that happy. He cursed himself that he could not remember. Why would he toss out happy memories as though they were broken toys? He wanted to remember. He wanted to smile. He should have fought harder.
George tried so hard to retain his thoughts and knowledge, but the harder he tried to hold on to them, the further they slipped away. His memories seemed as light as a balloon, floating free from a head as dense as a rock.
Now he remembered. The memories had been pushed so far out, but they were still hanging on in the corner of his mind, all George needed to do was dig to get to them. He and Millie were so happy together in the photograph, so care free. Times always have to change. George bowed his head; he could not look at his own face anymore. A memory that evoked both pain and joy. He wanted to remember everything, every moment that Millie laughed and every kiss that they shared. He craved having her back, he wanted her and needed her, and she was his drug. But without her he had to linger alone. George emitted a single tear that rolled slowly down his cheek, landing cautiously on his wrinkled lap. He sat in silence for a few moments before raising his head again.
A picture on top of a dusty piano caught his eye. Who were the happy couple within the frame? He wondered.

Megan Relph