obliviate.

edjo has always been good at matching names with faces. whenever he plays those get-to-know-you games at the beginning of every school year, he is always the first to be able to point at every single person in the room and rattle off the names correctly. people like him because he always remembers them, even if they've only met him once before. faces simply come naturally to him, the way numbers make sense to some people and the way words flow easily to others.

this explains his perplexion when, after turning the TV off one afternoon, he notices an old family photo in the living room and realizes that he cannot recall the name of the boy standing next to him. the ghost of a familiar ache tugs slightly at his gut. it tells him he should know this. two years ago, he would have known this face by heart, as if they had known each other forever. as if their connection had been as deep as blood, perhaps deeper in an indescribable way. as if the two had shared thoughts and instincts implicitly, without needing to say them aloud.

was he a brother? but his face, so similar to his own, registers nothing but grey fuzz in edjo's memory. the muted pain blankets over the old recollections so that the once-vivid images of the years past are lost in the muffling static of the white noise. the longer he looks, the more this stranger seems like nothing but a boy who looks almost exactly like himself, only that the eyes and nose are not quite right.

who was he? how did his voice sound like? how did he know him? why doesn't he remember him anymore?

what was his name? what was his name? what was his name?

when he cannot bear to gaze at the photograph any longer, he sets it back down to its place on the coffee table and goes the bathroom. as he washes his hands, he stares at the mirror, trying to remember the face of the boy he once knew better than himself. a faint, nameless frustration pounds at the white walls in his subconsciousness, but they are unyielding, silently crushing the pain and the memories until nothing remains but his own face in the reflection. by now, he has forgotten. he has completely forgotten.

he dries his hands and walks out, closing the bathroom door behind him.