Back in the days when I was tending sheep every morning, he would stay in the apartment at the side of the barn on his yearly trip to the States. While I watched the sheep to make sure they were OK, he would come out and we would chat. I cherished those mornings and missed them when things changed and I no longer fed the sheep and he no longer stayed in the barn apartment.
I've been writing mystery stories for years now and I have never dealt with the fragility of memory. I have never really believed in it, though my rational self knows it to be a fact. I know my own memory has a few holes in it, but nothing significant. Events I remember from my childhood happened exactly the way I remember them.
So this man came to speak to me while I was putting out fishing poles. Yes, times change and it is now fishing poles instead of sheep. I said "the best part of feeding sheep in the morning was when you came out to talk with me and smoke outside the barn apartment."
His reply? "I've never smoked."
But I remember it so clearly. Why else would he come outside if not to keep the smoke out of the apartment? Surely not just to chat with me.
I've been trying to recover some childhood memories. Everyone who participated with me is dead, and the only proof of any of it is a handful of photographs. How old was I when I stood by the car in my blue coat and someone (my father?) took a black and white photo? I'm sure it was blue.
How would Emily or Iccarus or Faith deal with this shift in memory? Emily, being the being the professional detective, would be most aware of this problem, Faith and Iccarus as members of a community would simply think it odd. I feel a new story coming on.
I can still quote some of our morning sheep conversations verbatim. Or can I?