The Twist and Turns of Recalling, Essay Example

I remember hearing a psychologist on television talking about how we remember experiences. What he said was not revolutionary, or even original, but it struck me as something I had not really considered. He said, very simply, that people never recall experiences in a truly honest way, because time gives us many opportunities to “edit” our memories. We do not consciously do this; it just happens, as years pass and the memory becomes a part of us. We alter little things, change the lighting or the setting, and even rewrite what was exactly said.

This is on my mind now, as I remember first meeting my husband. For some time now, I have been confident that I recall all of that time exactly as it happened. Like many women, I think I even take pride in this; meeting the man you will marry may be the biggest milestone in your life as a woman, and you want badly to believe that every detail of the experience has been perfectly preserved. You want to think that, somehow, you knew something vastly important was going on, and your instincts made you record it down to the last detail.

I still feel that what I recall happened as I remember it, despite the possibility that I have softened or romanticized the day over time. Right or wrong, I trust my memory. It was at the house of my aunt, in Colombia. I was visiting for a while, and it was an ordinary day. I would like to say that I had a sense that morning that something special was in the air, but that would be dishonest, and obviously a case of the “editing” that psychologist spoke of. The truth is, I had no reason at all to believe that this day was not going to pass like all the others there.

Then, it would be wonderful to recall that, when I was first introduced to my husband, there was an unmistakeable feeling of destiny in the room with us. There was not. There was the late morning sun coming through the parlor windows, as always. There were flowers in a vase on a side table, and I vividly remember thinking that I needed to change them out, and bring in a fresh bunch. There were, too, the muffled sounds of children playing in the street coming through, in alternating howls of laughter and childish yells of impatience. It was, honestly speaking, as lacking in a sense of fate as any day could be.

When the man I would eventually marry came into the house, I do not even think I noticed him at all. He entered with a cousin and another friend or two, and there was an energy to the small group that blocked seeing them as individuals. This happens whenever several young men burst into a space, I believe. A little time is needed for them to be seen as who they are.

Everyone relaxed in the parlor, after introductions were made. As I recall, and I remember this very distinctly, I had a sense of knowing that I would not be paying attention to the third boy of the group. It was as though something informed me that I had a more important job ahead. I am not claiming that my heart immediately flew to my husband, or that I knew we would one day fall in love; it was really just a practical, instinctive decision made in the back of my mind.

We all sat and talked about little things. Then – as this is where I must be careful to not add to the actual experience – I quickly became aware of an odd feeling. I was not strongly attracted to my husband, sitting there by my cousin on a sofa to my left. I found myself, however, turning to connect with him specifically as we all talked. The truth of the memory is, as the truth of that moment was, that I had a strange sense of familiarity with him. I was aware that I was speaking with this stranger as though he were not a stranger at all. I knew that we had never met, but there was, if not destiny in the air, a strong sense of what I must call recognition.

Nobody stayed very long. Young men are always on the go, anyway, and there was no particular reason for them to remain in this little parlor. The short time that we were there, however, was filled with other sensations I can never forget. He said something to me once, a light joke, and I was conscious of tucking my legs under me in my chair. That was not something I would normally do, and I remember thinking, even then, if I was doing it to flirt.

As I am seeking the reality of the experience, I must be fully honest and confess that, as the conversation involved everyone, I was quickly and acutely aware of how often, and for how long, he was looking at me. In that brief time, I remember doing many mental calculations. How likely is it that he wants to look at me, but would be embarrassed to do so? Since he is not really paying attention to the talk, is he already making a plan to see me again? Then, under all of this, while sitting in that chair, I made a note to actually ask myself why on earth I was even considering such things.

I stood, of course, when the boys got up to go on their way. My husband put his hand out to me and, as I say here with absolute faith in the reality of it, that gesture was more than a polite goodbye. The sun was now hitting the side of his face, and I thought he looked like a movie actor. I took his hand, and I realized that, in taking it, I was acknowledging the connection he was trying to make. Another boy in that situation would not have held out his hand; my husband was asking me to confirm what he believed, that something had just been set in motion in that little parlor with the dying flowers on the table. As I say, I took his hand.

In looking back, I wonder: do we actually edit our memories, or is it that, once we know what the memory will lead to, we go back to uncover what was actually going on? I tend to think the latter is true. Maybe destiny does not reveal itself blatantly at the moment. Maybe it waits, to be discovered after the fact.