Was it the Xanax? Or the Effexor? Or am I just old?

Happened again…

“You don’t remember me?” The waiter practically shouted at me, “I lived on your street, just a few doors away from you! The last time I saw you, you were in your house watching that movie where those guys were peeping through holes in the girls locker room?”

I didn’t have a clue who he was, or what he was talking about.

“It’s Sean,” my brother attempted to fill me in, “He used to play hockey with me all the time in front of the house!”

“Mom,” after he left I asked, “Is he the kid you paid to spy on me in class?” He wasn’t much of a spy really. I can’t remember his name but I do remember he had a huge crush on me, and told me every thing my mother attempted to out of him. He’d take her money and lie for me. He won it both ways and it worked just fine for me. If only I could remember his face…

We ate our dinner without mentioning it again. But as I walked out the door he caught me by the arm, “You used to yell at me all the time.” He had a bashful smile on his face, “I was just a bratty little kid then, you know?”

This happens every time I come home, and more than once too. I haven’t a fucking clue who these people are. Many of them, remember me like it was yesterday, or so it would seem. I’m really not joking when I say my memory is shot. What you should be asking yourself is, how long until I forget you too?