A short story by M.M. Kaufman

Welcome, welcome, come in. Coat rack there. No, no, don’t keep your coat on. It won’t keep you warm. Got to shed the cold whenever you can. Listen to me. Old men know how to keep warm. I promise you’ll feel good soon. We’ll talk in the workshop. It’s warmer back there and you should get to know the place if it’s gonna be yours. Come, come.

Tea? No, no coffee. Makes you too jittery. Interferes with the work. Try the tea.

You’d be surprised how many people don’t want to keep their family’s memories. Even the good ones—memories I mean, not people. But those too. Good people not wanting to keep good memories? I’ll never understand it.

But this isn’t what you came to hear. You can’t make money convincing people to keep their ancestors’ memories. You can, however, make money removing them from the objects that you made money sewing them into in the first place. Then they can sell the objects to an antique store or on the internet or on the street corner. I take it that’s why you’re here to train with me—not to preserve, and not to erase, but to earn. It’s not my preference for who I pass on my life’s work to, but I can respect it.

That’s if the object is worth anything to start. I can put any memory into any object so that any person can hold it and relive the memory like they lived it once. That is what you came here to learn how to do. We will get there. But first, let me ask the question I know you are thinking, do people sew memories into worthless objects like matchboxes and old tubes of ChapStick so their loved ones won’t be tempted to strip and sell them once they’ve passed? The danger there of course is they’ll just be tossed in the trash. I know you were thinking this because I can see you’re always thinking about money. I do not say it with judgement. I listen to the news. I know of the economy. I know what my generation has left you with.

But if you want to be good at this job, you need to leave that kind of thinking outside the workshop door. Take it off right now like your hat and coat, hang them all there on that rack. Ok now you may sit down. Clear those things off that stool. No, no, you’re fine, those aren’t loaded. All stripped. Awaiting pick up.

You’d think folks would want to put their memories in objects associated with the memory itself, and some do, but a lot of them just want their memories kept so they go with a gold watch or Tiffany glass lamp. Family heirlooms, you know? They figure they got a better chance of the object and memory being kept that way, but most are wrong. Stripped and sold within a month of the funeral.

My favorite projects are the ones where I’m tying a memory to the actual object involved. Can you imagine what it’s like to catch a ball in the outfield at the bottom of the ninth to clinch the win? In a championship game? And all your friends and family and especially that girl you’ve been crushing on all summer are watching? And on your hand is the literal mitt that first caught it? Nothing like it.

Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on you. Your aunt told me to go easy. It would be too much to ask that someone love this work like I have. Always been told I had too high expectations for just about everything in life. They said that’s why I never settled down, but I say I settled pretty damn hard in this workshop. Look at that chair! You’re gonna need a new one, that’s for sure. But no other up-front costs and walking into an established business, you can get yourself a new chair. I tell myself it’s enough that you’re taking over the business at all. I can’t ask that you love it like me.

There was a time when this was magic, when people couldn’t get enough, when the sky was the limit on sewing memories to objects and the only thing stopping you from making all the money you could dream of was how much time you had in the day. Nowadays, with their phones and their videos and virtual reality gizmos and all the things you do on the internet—no, no, I’m not judging—times change and change is good, but folks just don’t have the time or interest in holding a first-place medal and knowing the sensation in their bones of running across the finish line in the hundred-meter dash. They’d rather watch the reel. Scroll, tap-tap, scroll, tap-tap, scroll, tap-tap. I know the dance has changed. I’m just one old dancer.

Maybe if I’d ever opened up that museum, like I dreamed of, things would have been different for me. Talk about a hands-on education experience. See the art, feel it, and experience what it was like to paint it yourself. And imagine what I could have done in the history wing. To be honest, I try not to think about all of those possibilities anymore. When you’re young, possibilities are like a drug, you can get high off them, and when you’re old, they’re just like poison.

Don’t make the same mistakes I did. I thought business would never slow. I could always make more money. There would always be more clients. I put off that museum dream because it seemed like next year was always gonna be bigger and I wanted to start big or never. But when you live like that, waiting for the lottery and not working for the paycheck, you’re robbing yourself of the everyday joy. Trading in what you can hold in your hands for the chance of something that will hold you forever. I cheated myself.

When it was clear the memory maker business would stay small, possibly dwindle, I held on tight to what I had and what made me happy. Maybe that’s the only smart thing I ever did. Sure, I started stripping objects of their sewn-in memories, undoing my own work to pay the bills, but I fed my soul on—well, I don’t know if I want to tell you about that now. We’ll see when your training is over.

I hear you, I hear you, we’re getting to your first lesson. Have a cookie. Cabinet above the fridge. This ain’t a punch-in, punch-out kind of job. Sewing memories to physical objects is not simply a skill. This is a craft. This is an art. A little stale? Dip it in the tea.

When they bring you the object, when they tell you the memory, you do not simply accept the two and mash them together like peanut butter and jelly. You must sit with the person. This is the hardest part—getting anyone to sit down these days. I can make someone sit quietly in the waiting room for at least thirty minutes without complaint if they have their phone, longer if I give them the Wi-Fi and a charger. But ask them to sit and talk with me for five minutes? Good grief. But you do it, trust me, because you have to ask them why. Why this memory? Why this object? Their answers are the glue to the whole process. My weakest attachments have always come from the weakest answers. The solution to any problem lies in the desire to solve it.

Let’s say you’ve gotten that far. The client sits with you. They hold the object out and you both take it in your hands together as they, not just remember the story, but tell it to you out loud. Some memory makers say remembering the memory silently in their heads is enough, but I don’t agree. Have them narrate the whole thing. Make them squeeze their eyes tight and you squeeze their hands.

Yes, you have to touch them. So squeamish your generation. Sorry. Sorry. I said I wouldn’t do that. You have to touch them, but you also have to wear these gloves or it won’t work. These aren’t just any gloves now, so don’t go tossing them around. It’s not impossible to get a new pair, but it’s gonna feel like it. Plus it will cost you an arm and a leg. This is a dying art form, I told you, and you can’t pick up another pair at Ace Hardware. These are the most important objects in this den of important objects. These are a relic. Like me.

Usually the memory sticks with that one telling but don’t let the client rush and you don’t do the rushing either. Sometimes the memory doesn’t completely attach or, rarely, doesn’t stick at all. Don’t panic. There are ways to trouble shoot. I’ve written them all down here in this binder. Maybe the client was holding back on the emotional resonance, if so flip to this page and start asking these questions, or maybe the client needs to focus more on concrete sensory details, if so flip to this page and start asking these questions, or maybe the client isn’t feeling forthcoming for a reason you can’t quite place, if so flip to this page and start asking these questions. You see what I’m getting at. It’s all in the binder. First the gloves. Then the binder. These are the objects you must take care of the most.

And the last important objects are these—Jesus, calm down! I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was only going to touch your ears. I’m not trying to judge you, but you must understand that you have to be comfortable touching people in this job. It’s not just the hands—I mean it is physically just the hands you have to touch—but you have to be open to a certain kind of intimacy. You have to really listen, you have to really live their memories with them. That’s a whole section of the binder.

Sometimes the attachment doesn’t stick because of the memory maker and not the client. If that happens, turn to this page and ask yourself these questions. May I make a suggestion? Get a good massage. A real deep pressure one. Get a lot of them, all different massage therapists. You need to get comfortable being touched by strangers. And take care of those ears, metaphorically.

I hear you, I hear you. We’ll get to stripping. That comes later. You have to wax on before you wax off. Come back tomorrow and we’ll work on sewing your first memory to an object.

Good morning, good morning. You’ll never believe it—I got fresh cookies! Come on back. And coat off right away, good memory. Now come back and sit. Big day, big day.

You’d assume that all the memories you’re working with are happy ones. But they ain’t. The majority, yes. But I’ve had my share of sad, heartbreaking, and downright devastating ones. Don’t ask me why someone would want to preserve that kind of memory. Everyone has their reasons and you’ll go crazy if you try to discern them all, let alone the fact that it’s really not your business why they’re doing what they’re doing. You’re just here to help them do it. But I warn you because the devastating ones can be a lot harder to manage. Your mind will naturally be resistant to such trauma. It will push it away. There isn’t some big tip here. There’s nothing in the binder. There isn’t a specialized pair of gloves. Like anything you set your mind to do a good job at, just try your hardest. Remember, however hard it is for you, the client is the one who had to live it. For me, it helped to focus on the fact that what I was doing was helping the person who lived through this pain. It’s about practicing sympathy while you’re literally enacting empathy.

Now’s the time for a bathroom break. You sure? What I would give to have a young bladder again. Appreciate it, son. Okay, first hands-on lesson, here we go. I’m your client so I’ve brought in my object here and you’ve got your gloves there. Alright, they fit okay? Good cause you would have been shit out of luck otherwise. The client, me, puts their hands on the object first. And you put your hands on mine. Seriously? I ain’t got kooties. You gotta wrap your hands, really press, think of a big tight bear hug but with your hands. More. Tighter. Okay, there you go. Didn’t kill you, right? Okay this is your basic set up and then it’s story time. You can read the whole prompt in the binder, but I’ll walk you through this one.

This is the doorknob from the original door to the shop. Did an expensive remodel some years back that frankly I regret. You always want them to start by describing the object itself. You gotta start grounded in the physical world. It’s a real antique. Brass and with the best patina I ever saw from all the years’ worth of clients’ hands touching it before they came to mine.

Let’s see, the first time I woulda’ touched it was fifty-three years ago when I came to look at the space. It was a hardware shop before I moved in. That’s why it’s such a good knob, the store was showing off its wares before the customers got inside. It was often the first thing I noticed about my shop as I turned the corner—the sun gleaming off its surface like a little sun rising at the start of my workday. That made me really hate the gray days when it stayed dull. I felt less motivated on those days.

It’s silly but I think it’s important we make up lore for our own lives. Our own mythologies, folk tales, origin stories, what have you. If you don’t romanticize your own life, who the hell will?

Now you see here I’m talking in a lot of generalities which is a great place to start, but don’t let your client stay there. Generalities are a necessary foundation, but they won’t stick on their own. You need one exact moment in time to sew to the object. Maybe they weren’t prepared for that, so there’s a section in the binder to lead them to a specific moment emblematic of the general feeling they’re after.

One day I was heading back from lunch and I stopped across the street, just looking at my shop. It had been a good week, in a good month, in a good year. My halcyon days, though I couldn’t have known that then. What I thought was my start was the pinnacle, but that doesn’t matter now because it didn’t matter then. What matters is that I felt hope. My client from that morning was inside chatting with the receptionist. He was back to pick up the object he’d had a memory sewn into.

Before he proposed, he wanted to sew, into an engagement ring, the memory of when he first knew he loved his partner. Before that session, I had—well I’d never been against the gays but I can’t say I’d been for them. Certainly didn’t vote in their favor. In my defense, I hadn’t known any.

No, now I know better than that. I wasn’t aware that I had known any. I didn’t have open, or open to me, gay friends or family. But this young man, when I held his hands around that ring and I felt—lived—the love he had for this other young man. Well, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever felt in my life. Their love was a big part of it, but my own illumination was the other big part. That young couple’s love made me a better person. I’ll always be grateful for it.

They’re still together too. They send me a Christmas card every year. That’s what this doorknob makes me think of: everything I learned from this job and how it bettered me. Seeing this doorknob every day reminded me I always had something new to learn, that I always had room to grow. It made me feel infinite.

Okay, let’s see how you did, kid. You’d think the client, me in this case, wouldn’t be able to test the object, but they can. I mean, when I could afford a receptionist, Shelly was always game. It was really helpful to have a third party. When you can afford it, that’s what you should invest in. But the client can “re-live” the memory well enough to know if it worked. First we give the object maybe sixty seconds with no touch and then—BINGO!

Holy cow. Please forgive me, but I truly didn’t think that was gonna work. Kid, you’re a natural. Hand me those tissues. Yeah, yeah, you laugh now, but give it a few years and you’ll start getting emotional too. It’s just part of the job. Wow, that—that was something. Let’s quit while we’re ahead. It’s good to rest after a session anyway. Let the memory soak in. Give your nerves some breathing room. Let this be the only thing on your mind. See you tomorrow morning. We’ll strip an object. Whoa, doggie, I am excited.

How’d ya sleep? I know. I can still remember my first sleep after sewing a memory. It hits different. I can’t tell you why. Let’s get to work. I’ve got the tea on in the back.

Here’s the thing to understand about stripping an object of its memory: it is the solitary act of taking the memory wholly into yourself. Even though you are taking something in, completely, no sharing with anyone else, it will leave you feeling hollowed out. The act of sewing a memory to an object is the opposite—it is communal and the sharing leaves you feeling full.

How’d you feel the rest of yesterday after our session? Good, right? Energized? Gave up your seat on the subway for someone? Yep, you have the gift all right. Where sewing gives you a glow, stripping is going to put a dark cloud over your head. That’s why I charge more for it. It’s easier and it’s quicker, but it takes a toll.

We’re going to do this one a little differently. You might think we’d need to strip an object you’ve sewn yourself, but I think a better way to learn is to strip one that’s brand new to you. Sometimes when you’re familiar with the memory, you don’t get quite the hold you need. With something new, it’s easier to make sure you’ve got it all.

The nuts and bolts are the same. Glove up. And take—oh let’s get you an object from the lonely hearts club shelf. These guys come from all sorts of places. People get the memory sewn, leave it here to rest like I recommend and, for reasons I’ll never understand, never come back to pick it up. That’s why you want them to pay up front. I do have others here. Some, people bring to me, others, I find in thrift stores, discarded objects with sewn-in memories that nobody wants. So let’s see, why don’t you pick one?

Smart choice. It’s good to start with objects that fit in the palm of your hand. Now gloves, then cup the shoe with both hands, try to touch as much of it as you can, close your eyes, and listen. Really listen. Listen not just with your ears but with your eyes, your hands, your nose and forgive me—your heart. Let all of your senses focus completely on the shoe. I’m gonna stop talking now because that surely ain’t helping you focus. You got this, kid.

Woah, woah, there. I got you. You’re okay. Sit up. Breathe. Yeah, it can throw off your balance. That’s why you need a really good chair. Stools are a death trap. Take a beat. Yeah, go ahead and de-glove. No question you got all you could—you look ashen. Here, take a banana. Allergic? You can be allergic to bananas? How about a KitKat? Good. Eat that. You, uhh, you wanna talk about it? That can help. When I could still afford to pay her, I would tell Shelly all about memories I had to strip. It helped to share it with someone—the old fashioned way, with words. Well, yeah, I already know the memory, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me about it.

That was nice. You’re a good storyteller. The “firsts” are amazing things. First steps are some of the best. No, I have no idea why anyone would leave a memory object like that behind. And I advise you to never ask that question again or it will drive you crazy. Maybe it fell off a moving truck. Maybe they got the memory put in both shoes and the kid, all grown up, didn’t feel the need to keep a duplicate. Maybe something happened to the—See? Best not ask these questions.

Don’t look like that KitKat is doing enough for you. Why don’t you head home early today? Eat, rest, do whatever feels restorative for you. And I ain’t one to tell you what to do with your life, especially your off-time, but I advise to stay off the bottle and the green stuff. Those things not only muddle your feelings but your memories. Those you gotta keep raw right now.

Good work, see you tomorrow. We’re ready for the next step. It’s gonna be a great day.

Oh, it’s you. Good morning, good morning. Step inside.

I wasn’t expecting you. I appreciate you coming to uhh—to say goodbye—in person. It was a good e-mail. You’re a good writer. Too bad you’re going to work at an AI firm. Won’t be needing that skill. Sorry that was rude. It does sound like a good opportunity. The pay, the benefits, this place can’t compete with that. I’d say come back and visit but I won’t be here.

No, no, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m the sorry one—wasn’t trying to guilt you. Just trying to be honest, with myself most of all. This will be the end of this place and that’s just a fact.

You’re sweet but I didn’t have any other applicants. Your aunt doesn’t have any other nephews she can strong arm, right? Times change. People change. It’s the fool that fights that basic truth. I ain’t a religious man, but I am a reader. I always liked what Octavia Butler wrote, “God is change.” And I’m a faithful believer in that if nothing else.

Well of course your training is over, what do you mean? I can’t believe you remember I said that. I mean, yes, please come on back. I’ll show you what has fed my soul when the days got lean. I never got enough for that museum, so I call this collection my own memory menagerie. Some are ones left behind that I particularly enjoyed, but most of them are all mine.

This movie stub is a memory from my first kiss. That dirty menu is the best burger I ever had in my entire life. That book—well, that’s just a great read. I felt a little high when I was done, it was so good. That torn up teddy bear is a memory of my dog Bee. Those fake flowers there, they’re cemetery flowers from the first time I visited Shelly’s grave. Yeah, I’m one of those people that got a sad memory sewn in. The only explanation I can give you is that I wanted my collection to really represent my life, not just the highlights. It makes me feel good to look back on my life like this. I feel full.

Now get out of here so I can cry in peace, all right? I’m kidding. No hard feelings. Don’t look back. The doorknob? You’re welcome to take it with you but you don’t want anything like that hanging out in your new life. Yeah, just leave it on the counter there. Good luck with everything, kid. I mean it.

You’re back already? I told you not to—oh, I’m sorry. I was hoping it’d be someone else but . . . I know you. The engagement ring. Hi? It’s been years, no decades. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting—sorry, sorry come in. It’s too cold for doorway chatter. They say it might snow. I wouldn’t have recognized you if it wasn’t for the Christmas cards. Though I think I got left off the list this year. Please sit. Let me make some tea. No, sorry, no coffee.

What a silly old man I am. Met you once—what, twenty-five years ago? And now I’m getting choked up seeing you again. I’d blame my line of work for making me so emotional but being so emotional is what got me into this line of work. Plus, I got a great memory. Comes with the territory. I remember you coming in here to get that memory sewn in that ring like it was yesterday. In fact I was talking about it just yesterday with—oh never mind that. I’m happy to see you. I needed a little pick-me-up. Been feeling pretty low, if I’m honest.

What brings you in? You’ll probably be my last customer. Don’t start. I’m not looking for pity. It is what it is. I had a good run. Maybe I made some people happy for a bit. There’s no way to be certain. Wish I knew if it was worth it all.

I wonder sometimes what else I could have—maybe should have—done instead. A different path could have brought out a new talent I didn’t know I had, taken me to a new city I’d never been to, introduced me to new people. I might have met someone special. Settled down. I could have had a family and not been an old man alone in a shop full of forgotten memories as unwanted as him. I probably got more dust on me than all this junk.

Listen to me rattling on about myself. That’s not why you came in today. Please, please, let me be of service to you. That’s just what I need. Send me and this old place out on a high note. What are we doing today? A belated Christmas present? Oh, maybe something romantic for an anniversary gift? There goes the kettle. Tell me all about it while I pour.

You’re what?! Jiminy Cricket, just got tea everywhere. Let me clean this up. No, no, don’t help. I got it.

I—I don’t understand. I mean I know I didn’t know y’all but I just felt invested and I’m—are you sure? It’s really over? Paperwork and all, huh? Hand me that napkin there if you don’t mind. I bet you weren’t expecting to make an old man blubber like a baby today. No, this wouldn’t at all have been what you expected. You—wait, what were you expecting to do here today? Oh please don’t make me sew any sad memories into something.

No, no, no, don’t say it. You want me to strip the ring? Please don’t tell me you want to sell it. Well, yeah I know how high rent is these days on a single income. Why do you think my business is folding?

I don’t want you to pay extra. Stop that. Look, if this will help you in any way, I’ll do it, I just—can you tell me why? I know it’s none of my business but it would help me if I knew why.

Thank you for sharing. I know it wasn’t easy. Nothing about a breakup is ever easy. I’ve had a few in my long lifetime. But I never had anything that lasted as long as you guys. Or felt the way that memory did, that I sewed into your ring.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it was a long time ago. You don’t need to remind me. And you don’t need to convince me. I don’t even want you to pay me. I’ll strip the ring so you can sell it. Let me take it to my workshop in the back. Stripping memories is a solitary act. Gimme a few minutes.

Here you go. No, I’m fine. Truly. Just let me gather myself. I wouldn’t stop you from pouring me a fresh cup. Thank you, friend. Can I call you that? You certainly can call me that. You’re not in a hurry anywhere, are you? It’s snowing.

It’s funny you came in today; just yesterday, I was talking about when I met you. I had, very briefly, an apprentice. He was gonna take over the shop, my life’s work. It didn’t work out that way. Like a lot of things, I guess. I would have kept doing this work until the day I died if I could have. It broke me up to retire but everything has to come to an end.

When the kid showed talent, it revived me. I didn’t feel like things were ending. It was nice, real nice. Now this place, this craft, ends with me. Lord, look at me. Holding you emotionally hostage. I left that damn ring in the workshop. Let me get it and you can get on with your life.

When I was in the back, I saw this uhh, well it’s a doorknob. I wanted to give it to you. You can chuck it when you leave, if you don’t want it. Ain’t worth nothing. Just don’t toss it in my dumpster, so I see it again, is all I ask. It’s uhh, I used it to train my short-lived apprentice. It’s what you think—a memory is sewn into it. It’s my memory of the day you first came to my shop.

I can’t imagine how you’re feeling trying to make a new life for yourself after decades of being with someone. Maybe, like me, you’re wondering what different paths life could have taken you down that it never can now. It’s tempting when something ends, and ends bitterly, to think that it wasn’t worth it, that it was the wrong choice, that it didn’t hold meaning. But your marriage, it had meaning, even to this old stranger you met once. It made me a different person, a better one. That’s umm, that’s what the doorknob will show you.

No, I’m not trying to get you to do some grand gesture, some end-of-the-movie-run-to-the-airport kind of thing. I only want you to know that your love was meaningful, anytime you share something that beautiful with someone, it will always be meaningful. Even after it ends.

It’s getting late and the snow is sticking. I’ve kept you too long. Take your ring and the doorknob. Do with them whatever will make you happy. You all bundled up? No truly, don’t think twice about me. I’ll be just fine. Anyone with as many memories as me can never get cold.

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M.M. Kaufman is a writer based in Georgia. Her fiction is published with Okay Donkey, Pool Party Magazine, Hobart, HAD, Maudlin House, jmww, Rejection Letters, JAKE, Identity Theory, trampset, X-R-A-Y Mag, Farewell Transmission, and elsewhere. Find her at mmkaufman.com, or the carwash.

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