Sand castles

That day I didn't build a sand castle. I went to the beach, walked around, watching my foot prints fill with water. Then I went back to a bench and sat down. I could see the low tide sparkle in the distance.

"You know why people stop building sand castles when they grow up?" I turned around as I realized a man was talking to me. "They stop because they cannot make them different anymore."

That's how I met Stan. He said he had been watching me for weeks.

"I have this theory", I told him, "that most of us do things only once. That people stick to what they have achieved, scared they might never be able to walk the same path again. And they never do. Fools, holding onto thin air, feeding on memories. My sand castles are my revolt. I let each one die in high waters, so that I could build another on the next day."

"No", Stan said, "You've been doing exactly what you tried to avoid. You stuck to what you knew. It was the same castle that you built each day, it was this one habit you were scared to release. Each movement was the same, each tower looked like all the previous ones. You felt it, that's why you stopped. Memories are hard to fight. Once you've learned how to do something, you cannot do it differently. Think of hand writing. Your personal unique style - it sticks forever. Sounds fine until you realize that your every reaction is predetermined by the memory of similar situations in the past. That's why adults are not as joyful as children - they have way too many memories that block any new experience. The feel of wet sand between your palms - it triggers the same automotive impulses, bringing back the memories of you building your sand castles rather than causing you to build a new one. You got bored, didn't you?"

Stan told me he was a researcher. He was testing a prototype for affecting memory through EEG-like techniques to detect brain activity and direct artificial electric impulses in the corresponding area in a highly precise way. "I can make you forget how sand castles are built."

The first thing I let him delete from my memories was the taste of chocolate ice-cream. He attached the wires and then asked questions and made me talk, think of, and imagine my favorite dessert while he was observing his monitors. Then he pushed a button. Later that day, I bought a box of chocolate ice-cream and laughed and cried like a baby as I ate it at home. I could not fall asleep that night, thinking about all those possibilities I saw appear again in my life. I could have a second helping of life itself.

Lisa. Why did I break up with her? I still loved her. Why? If I could only forget all those small things that made me leave her. She still loved me too. What if we could start anew, build up our relationship again from scratch. Maybe it could work this time. If only...

Some days later I told Stan all about Lisa. I had those wires on my head and I was crying. Every now and then he pressed a button and I felt something change.

I ran home that day and rushed up to my bedroom. The photo albums were not hard to find. A woman smiled at me from between the pages, and no, I was not mad at her. Neither was I sad. There was nothing there that could make me feel bad. I stared at her, all in white and green, holding out a birthday cake. Then it struck me. There was no happiness fluttering in my heart either. I did not feel anything for Lisa. I looked at that face and searched frantically within me. No, nothing. I tried to feel love, but I did not know her. I tried to cry but I couldn't.

"Yes, I have them, I have your memories on tape. How much are you willing to pay to get your Lisa back?"

I must have seen the tape hundreds of times now, thousands, maybe. A man, sitting on a chair, wires attached to his head. He talks slowly. When he laughs, he looks at the camera with his face lit up. At times one can hear anger in his voice, his skin gets pale. Whenever silence breaks in, tears roll down his cheeks. Later a smile brightens up his eyes again. At the end he seems distracted. I fast-forward. Then rewind. Play it back. Then rewind and stop. A man looks at me from the monitor. He has tears in his eyes, but he is smiling. I can see it there. He is in love. Love that I cannot feel. He smiles at me. Yes, I have lost her. And I have lost you too, pal.