Eye Bleach

by Paul E. Creasy

  “That is the point of margaritas, is it not?” Steve said as he glanced over his shoulder. He snapped his fingers at the waitress and indicated it was time for another round of drinks.

  After the fresh round of drinks were delivered, including tea for Sylvia, Steve turned to Sylvia and said, “I am curious about something, something about your technique.”

  “Oh?” Sylvia said.

  “Are there any side effects to your technique? I mean, it just doesn’t seem natural. Memories don’t ever really go away, they just get suppressed. What are the long-term effects of consciously suppressing your memories?”

  “I take issue with your statement that my technique is not natural,” Sylvia said. “Frankly, it is the most natural thing in the world.”

  “Oh?” Steve said. “How so?”

  “Well…, do you remember being born?”

  “No, of course not,” Steve said. “Nobody does.”

  “Which is my point,” Sylvia said. “Or, consider the fact that so many women forget how painful childbirth is; that is perfectly natural and happens all the time. Our minds evolved over millions of years specifically to selectively forget things, and the thing we forget first is the horror of birth, both mother and child.”

  “Yes, but, those memories are still in your mind, right?” Steve said. “They don’t disappear.”

  “No,” Sylvia said. “They don’t disappear. Memories don’t really fade, they just get…, misfiled, either intentionally or automatically…, like memories of your own birth. My technique is nothing but purposefully controlling this natural process for our own benefit.”

  “Yes, but, such repressed memories do resurface, don’t they?” Steve said.

  “Not if you lock them down properly,” Sylvia said.

  “I don’t know, Sylvia,” Steve said. “Although I am impressed with what you can do, I cannot help but think there is a potential downside to your treatment. Human beings are not machines. Are we not the total sum of our experiences, both good and bad? If there were no sour, how would we know something is sweet?”

  “It is an interesting philosophical question you pose there, Steve,” Sylvia said. “But, there are some things, and some experiences, that need to be eradicated root and branch. Some things need to be forgotten forever.”

  “But how do you know what needs to be forgotten and what needs to be remembered?” Steve asked. “I am no Psychologist, like you, but I do know the human mind is incredibly complicated. As much as Artificial Intelligence is all the rave now, and scientists keep saying we are on the verge of creating the singularity, I have my doubts. That which makes us human is far more than just algorithms.”

  “Well now,” Heather said. “This is a side I have never seen of you, Steve. I would never have guessed you at being the soft and feely type.”

  “I’m not, really,” Steve said. “Perhaps it is because I have worked with computers all my career that I recognize the fallacy here. Computers aren’t any smarter than your kitchen toaster, really.”

  “I don’t understand, Steve,” Sylvia said. “What does my technique have to do with computers?”

  “Oh, it is reminiscent of the great debate raging through the tech community right now. Many computer scientists believe eventually, the computer will achieve the same level of intelligence and even consciousness people have. They have a similar theory of the human brain that you have.”

  “Well, on a practical level, isn’t the mind essentially a giant database of memories and feelings?” Sylvia asked. “And if we can reprogram those memories, we can—”

  “—Maybe,” Steve interrupted. “But, I have my doubts about whether machines can truly be perfected into something as wondrously complex as the human mind. And that which separates us from our iPads or iPhones, or even the kitchen toaster, is not just the sophistication of our programming. It is something else…, something intangible. Call me a skeptic but, I always think we should worry when people try to monkey around with a system they truly don’t understand. And who, really, can fully understand the human mind?”

  “You are correct, Steve,” Sylvia said. “The human brain is incredibly complex, and we cannot, and probably will not, ever actually understand all of it. But…, we still have the power to take control of our own minds, especially when it comes to destructive memories, and to remake our past into what we wish. Maybe you have just been fortunate and have not had any trauma occur to you that has sucked away your life into a cycle of endless darkness, but many have, and those people need to be helped. You seriously underestimate the benefits obtained by jettisoning old, useless, and painful memories. Trust me…, there are some things that are best left dead and buried.”

  “Perhaps,” Steve said. “But, be careful about playing God, Sylvia. Every action we take creates consequences we can scarcely imagine.”

  “God?” Sylvia said with a dismissive shrug. “That mythological concept has nothing to do with my work. We are our own Gods, and it is in our power to create the life we wish to live.”

  *****

  Several hours later, and after a few more rounds of Margaritas, Steve, Heather, and Sylvia ended their pleasant evening. Sylvia wisely decided to take an Uber back to her apartment. There is no sense getting a DUI the first month she lived in California.

  As she inserted her key into the lock of her apartment, she smiled when she heard the click click click of Snowy’s nails on the tile floor in the foyer. The clicks were soon drowned out by a storm of yips and barks.

  “Hey there, Baby Girl,” Sylvia said as she stepped inside the apartment. After placing one foot in the door her leg was assaulted by her Pomeranian. She reached down and scooped the little dog up into her arms, her face immediately covered in tiny canine kisses.

  “Well, I am glad to see you, too,” Sylvia said. “Were you a good girl today? Were you a good girl?”

  Excited yaps and the flicking of her tail indicated Snowy’s good behavior that day.

  “Now, let’s let you out,” Sylvia said.

  The apartment was huge — much bigger than her tiny apartment back in New York. Sylvia decided it was much cheaper, and far quicker, to store her old things back East and take a furnished apartment out here and she was glad she had. Although the décor was a bit bland, all beige on taupe colors, tan wall-to-wall carpeting and unremarkable art on the walls, she did not regret it. Everything was fresh, new and clean. Brand new furniture, in a brand-new apartment, for a brand-new life on a brand-new coast. She breathed in deeply and sniffed that oddly sweet, fresh-paint smell. It was wonderful. It had been at least ten years since her old apartment had been renovated and nothing ever seems as immaculate as a freshly-painted home.

  The living room was spacious with a widescreen TV on the right and a beige wrap around couch along the wall. To the right of the entrance was the kitchen, which was almost the size of her New York apartment. Adjacent to the kitchen was the dining room, and beyond the living room was a glass sliding door leading out to a patio that emptied into a large common backyard. She glanced down at Snowy and grinned. “Now Girl, let’s keep these carpets nice.”

  Snowy wagged her tail and continued her loving assault on Sylvia’s face all the way down to the floor as Sylvia lowered her. They both walked to the sliding door and when Sylvia placed her hand on the door handle, Snowy began to bark excitedly.

  “Settle down! Isn’t this nice?” Sylvia said. “See…, we don’t have to take the elevator down to the street here.”

  For about twenty minutes Sylvia and Snowy walked together outside. The common area was a large oblong lawn, decorated with numerous flowering bushes and small trees, and on this warm April evening, it was simply beautiful. It was late, though, coming on 11 PM and Sylvia watched the lights of the other apartments start winking out one by one. She yawned as she glanced down at Snowy, wildly sniffing at everything in sight, and said, “OK, Girl, let’s wrap this up so we can go to bed.”

  Snowy finally squatted and her business for th
e night was done. Sylvia reached down and scooped up the dog in her arms and walked back inside. “I think we are going to like it here,” Sylvia said. Snowy barked her agreement.

  Around midnight, Sylvia fell asleep, her latest Lady Catherfield romance novel laying open beside her, Snowy curled up into a little powder puff ball at the end of the bed.

  At 3:00 AM, Snowy’s ears perked up, and a tiny growl rumbled in her throat. She sensed something. She stood up at the end of the bed, sniffing the air. Something was not right. Something… Her growl turned into a whimper as she watched the bathroom door slowly open. She scooted back up the bed towards Sylvia, her fur bristling and body shaking.

  “Go to sleep, Snowy,” Sylvia said as she reflexively reached out and petted her dog. She wasn’t fully awake, but, her sleeping mind still knew how to calm her pooch.

  Snowy was not comforted. She leapt to her feet and began to quiver as she saw something in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t see it clearly, and her nose told her there were no strangers in the house, but it was definitely something. A reflection in the mirror, or…, no, it was something else. It wasn’t right. It was a form, a blue mass slowly congealing into a human figure. The stranger was tiny and was just peeking out of the corner of the mirror. A child perhaps, but a child watching…, waiting…. The dog could stand no more, an explosion of barks erupting from her mouth at once.

  “Jesus, Snowy!” Sylvia cried as she sat up straight in the bed. “It is the middle of the…” Sylvia paused as she felt the hairs on her arm stand straight on end. A chill crawled up her spine, and her hearing suddenly became highly tuned, like when one’s ears clear after descending a steep mountain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden movement, and her head jerked to see. In front of her, the bathroom door was open, and in the darkness, in the bathroom mirror she saw…., what? What is that? Her heart fluttered, and she scrambled to flip on the side table light. She exhaled out a long sigh. Her bathrobe was hanging on the back of the bathroom door and a blue sleeve could be seen reflected in the mirror.

  “Bad dream, Girl?” Sylvia cooed as she ran her fingers across Snowy’s head. Snowy did not respond, her eyes remained glued to the mirror in the bathroom as she shivered and growled.

  Sylvia got up, closed the door, and returned to bed. Pulling her dog up onto the pillow, she playfully scratched Snowy’s stomach. The growls disappeared, replaced by yips of joy. Within a few minutes, both were fast asleep.

  Chapter 8

  April 30th, 1976 - Pikeville, Kentucky - 6:00 PM

  Traffic was light out on route 119. The occasional coal truck, monstrous in size and weighted down with its two-ton cargo of black gold, would barrel around a bend, scaring any wayward driver half to death; but otherwise, the road was empty. Rhododendrons, clinging to the side of Black Mountain, were just starting to bloom. A scattering of freshly fallen cherry blossoms continuously blew across the dark pavement like a pink snowdrift. Spring had definitely sprung.

  A lone car burst through the swirling floral shower dancing over the road that late afternoon. It was a pea green, 1972 Lincoln Continental. From the blinding shine on its freshly polished hood, to the glinting sunlight reflected off its gleaming chrome bumpers, it was apparent the car was well tended. And equally well tended was the driver — Father Ted.

  He was a painfully handsome young man, his longish black hair slicked back with a good quart of Vitalis, his body was bathed in copious amounts of Hai-Karate. From the grey snakeskin boots on his feet to the black, silk short-sleeved shirt wrapping his muscular chest, Father Ted had spent all afternoon getting ready. He was looking good. It was a big night. The biggest of the year and he knew he needed to put on his best.

  He squinted as he peered down the country road, searching for the turnoff. These backroads were always murder to navigate, and with the trees all fully in bloom, it was easy to miss the road sign. He opened his eyes wide when he finally spied the road marker, almost entirely camouflaged by a thick blanket of Kudzu slowly devouring it. It was not what he expected to see. Perhaps he made a wrong turn? He pulled his car over to the side of the road and parked. After popping open the glove compartment, he pulled out his Exxon gas station map.

  The map unfurled out like an accordion and he studied the crisscrossing blue lines on the grid for a few minutes. In all of Kentucky there were, at best, twenty miles of good road. Sadly, he was not on one of them. A quick glance back up to the road sign, and then back to the map confirmed the good news. He had not missed his turn, after all. This was it. After refolding the map and depositing it back into his glove compartment he adjusted the rear-view mirror down and stared at his reflection. The right side of his mouth was curled up into a half sneer. His facial expression, coupled with the thick, black and oh so shiny hair-tonic-soaked sideburns hugging the side of his face, completed his youthful Elvis-like appearance. He dug out his Roman collar from his shirt pocket and put it around his neck, straightening it as he glanced back at his reflection in the mirror. Once it was on just right, he grinned at the handsome, chiseled face staring back at him. Father Ted was ready for service.

  He started the car up and turned right onto the unpaved road. It would be just a few miles more. He was used to navigating rough roads over the years on the circuit, and he had gotten quite good at finding his way through the endless mire of backwoods roads. Circle was always turning, though, always rolling; forever roll roll rolling along, but it always found a home. This was a new location for Circle this month, and although it was a bit tricky to find, it seemed to be just right — blissfully remote and perfect for the high holiday.

  He rolled down the window fully open and breathed the fresh country air deeply into his lungs. He was far off the beaten path now, and the smell of the moist dark earth bursting into life flooded into the car. A low rustle came from his right and his eyes darted over to a wooden crate sitting on the passenger seat. He smiled and gently patted the top of the box.

  “Almost there, girl,” Father Ted said. “Almost there. Save your charms for later.”

  He reached down to the floorboard and pulled out an 8-Track tape from a small black leather case. “Some nice tunes will set the mood for us all,” he said. He shoved the tape through the retractable door on the dashboard player and before pressing play, he pushed his screwdriver into the drive with his free hand. Damn thing always skips. He turned the volume up and began to sing along.

  “I…, am a man, of constant sorrow. I’ve seen trouble, all my days…”

  *****

  “Momma, did you remember to bring the ambrosia salad?” Darlene asked as she brought out a fresh tray of deviled eggs and placed them down on the picnic table. “You know how everyone always raves about it.”

  “You are too kind,” Maw Maw said as she deposited an aluminum foil pan filled with freshly fried chicken right beside it. “But, I didn’t. I asked Helen to make it this month.”

  “Helen? Are you sure?” Darlene said. She pointed across the lawn at a group of young women giggling and gossiping together. “I hope she remembered to bring it. Cooking for Circle is a big responsibility, you know.”

  “It is,” Maw Maw said. “But so is obtaining her second-degree athame, and Helen is receiving hers next month.”

  “What?” Darlene said. “She is a bit young for that, don’t you think?”

  Maw Maw said, “Nonsense, she is almost eighteen now. She can handle it.”

  “Yeah, but, this is my first-time hosting Circle, and I want everything to be perfect. I can’t have Helen…, well…, messing up the night by screwing up the ambrosia salad.”

  “You need to calm down, Darlene,” Maw Maw said. “You are more nervous than a cat sleeping on a porch full of rocking chairs. Everything is going to go off fine tonight, without a hitch, so relax.”

  “I know, I know,” Darlene said. “But it is just—”

  Maw Maw gently touched Darlene’s arm and said, “—Tonight, will be perfect, trust me. And plus…, you know your sister
is no fool. She certainly should be able to handle mixing up a can of sliced coconut and mandarin oranges into a bowl. How hard is that?” She grinned and added, “I even had your Dad make it for me a couple of times when I hosted Circle, and that man could burn Jell-O!”

  Darlene laughed, and said, “You are right. I know you are right.” She pointed over to the group of young women at the end of the lawn, and added, “But it is just…, well, she doesn’t seem to take things very seriously, you know? She still seems very young to me.”

  Maw Maw glanced over at Helen, standing with several of her cousins chatting away on the lawn. They were laughing and giggling, and all looking so lovely in their thin cotton sundresses — pure perfection and the living embodiment of spring.

  “You have such a short memory, Darlene,” Maw Maw said. “You know, when you were her age, you were already engaged to be married.”

  “Yeah, but, that was different,” Darlene said. “And, you forget. I was older when I got engaged. I was nineteen, and that extra year makes a difference.”

  “Well…, you were not that much older,” Maw Maw said. “And…, if I remember correctly,” she added. “You weren’t taking things too seriously at Helen’s age, yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about?” Darlene said. “I was a lot more responsible than Helen is. I mean, just look at her carrying on with her friends. I know I might have been a bit rambunctious, but, I know I wasn’t out carrying on with every boy who looked my way.”

  “You have a very selective memory,” Maw Maw said. “In fact, when you were Helen’s age, I know Joe had already been plowing up your garden like a greedy hog for quite a while, and that little Sylvia was already on her way. I haven’t had that problem with Helen.”

  “Momma!” Darlene said.

  “You think I didn’t know?” Maw Maw said. “Honestly, Darlene. You must think I was born yesterday.”

  “Well…, I don’t believe that, Momma,” Darlene said.