They Can't Take That Away From Me
2004-12-10 - 12:02 a.m.

Sometimes, the skritchy sound of the record was all he needed. He'd put on Louis and Ella, close his eyes, and forget about the day.

Some days were easier to forget about than others. Today, for example, would be easy. He'd almost forgotten about it by the time he put on the record. Awake, prepare, eat, watch TV, lie down, and forget. Today would blend in with all of the other uneventful days. It would not stick in him mind. It would not sear itself into his memory, not at all. Not at all like August fourteenth.

It had been sunny, as he recalled, or maybe it had been raining. He'd been wearing his tweed jacket, or maybe his brown sports coat. He'd been driving the company car, a fine machine, or maybe his old, beat-up Chevy. Really, that part of the day hadn't stuck with him at all.

He'd gone to work, and it had been busy. He did remember that, because if he hadn't been busy, he wouldn't have been in a hurry to finish his lunch. He'd been with Helen, and she'd been smiling at him from across the table until it became clear that he wasn't going to smile back. She'd asked what was wrong, but he'd insisted that there was nothing, and he'd been telling the truth. There was nothing wrong except that he was too busy and Mr. Younce would give him hell if he got back late from lunch. Nothing but the average, everyday problems.

He rememebered leaving quickly. He couldn't rememebr what he'd eaten, or what Helen had said to him as he left. As soon as he walked out the door, his memory became crystal clear.

He was certain he could sketch out the exact pattern on the oddly-colored flower-spangled shirt worn by the short, fat man who wouldn't excuse him as he tried to exit the restaurant. He could almost identify the vintage of the cheap booze on the breath of the hobo who asked him for a dime. He could recreate the movement of his body as he looked down and put one foot into the intersection. He could hear the screaming woman standing on the curb. He could feel the drunk stumble into him, and, as he fell in front of the truck, he could remember hearing the bum asking someone else for a dime.

He couldn't remember the surgery, and he couldn't remember the name of the doctor who gave him the news. Both legs, one arm, mostly paralyzed, it's not going to get better. He could remember his false optimism the first month, and he could pinpoint the exact second that his spirit broke. It was right after the exact moment that Helen had said they should see other people. He remembered laughing.

He flicked the lighter with his plastic hand, and lit another cigarette. He took a drag, and leaned over to turn up the record player. It was playing his favorite song.

"The way your smile just beams
The way you sing off key
The way you haunt my dreams
No, no they can't take that away from me."

^{"They Can't Take That Away From Me" by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald}