Something, something.

 Something, something.

He was all too familiar with that unwelcome sensation of forgetfulness that arrives exactly when you need it not to. That nasty little tingle in your brain occurs just as you’re about to contribute something meaningful to the world that completely erases your latest bout of profundity.

“Err… no. Sorry, I’ve completely forgotten what I was about to say. It’ll come to me.” was a sentence he said at least twice a week. On occasion, he would remember, but that was not the preferred outcome. When at last you recall what it was you were about to say you’re often forced to come to terms with the fact it wasn’t all that profound after all. The audience of your peers will become flooded with a sea of disappointment. Your closest friends in the group will distance themselves, glaring at you with eyes drowned in avarice. You can only assume they were all thinking something along the lines of:

“We thought you were better than that. Really? That big thing you forgot to tell us was that earlier today you saw a video of a man fighting a swan. We’ve all seen that video. Please don’t bother speaking for the rest of the evening, you absolute moron.”

At the very least, that was his experience with the issue. Very rarely - maybe twice a year - the stars would align and his brain would decide to function precisely as it was meant to. He’d interject and let everyone know what it was he forgot to say. They would all erupt in an infectious burst of laughter, roaring in delight and envy at his comedic prowess. Their eyes would beam with pride as if to let him know they couldn’t be more pleased that they were friends with him. Better yet, that they couldn’t be more honoured that he chose to be friends with them. Those were the moments he lived for.

This didn’t seem to be one of those moments, though. He was out to dinner with his wife and eight of their friends to celebrate his wife’s promotion. She had recently been named partner at one of the most accomplished law firms in London, Lawson and Son. It was quite the achievement. She and all their friends had just stopped talking to hear what he had to say, eagerly awaiting his latest witticism.

“Err, no. Sorry, I’ve completely forgotten what I was about to say. It’ll come to me.” he muttered disparagingly. 

Ah, there it was again. That pesky little sentence. It always seemed to stalk Francis, waiting behind every corner- ready to pounce the second he opened his mouth. No other string of words had ever proven to be such an unwelcome presence in his life. Oh, the man’s name is Francis. I must have forgotten to mention that.

“Oh, we’re sure it will. Never change old friend.” one of his friends responded dryly.

Fortunately, Francis had found himself a group of friends to stick with early on in life, for he fears no new acquaintance would have the patience to put up with his recollectionary inconsistency. He would definitely grow weary of someone who can never seem to remember what they’re saying. He has certainly exhausted himself with his own antics. It’s not as if it’s a health issue, his memory has been this way his entire life. As a boy, his father often found his son’s inability to recall parts of his day when asked rather irksome.

“Francis, my boy,” he would often say, “tell me about your school day. What did you get up to during your lunch break?”

“Err, no. Sorry, I’ve completely forgotten what I was about to say. It’ll come to me.” he would always respond.

“There it is again, that damned sentence!” his father would always respond in turn. Although, it’s really more like there it always was. It’s always been with him really, like a rather confusing birthmark. If those were his first words it would be of no surprise to anybody. Thirty years on and he still carries them with him, as if they were the boulder and he is Sisyphus. 

The night wore on and he remained in a state of quiet forgetfulness. He chortled with the rest as they recalled adventures from their university days and silently assented to any requests of ‘one more round’ from the waiters. Before any of them knew it they were all delightfully inebriated. The whisky had helped Francis find his confidence, though, and he stood to make a speech.

“Hello again, everyone,” he began, “I’m Francis. Although I am sure you all know this, given we’ve been the best of friends for the better part of two decades now.” The group chuckled heartily, pleased to see their quiet, forgetful friend have something to say.

“Anywho, this isn’t about me. This is about my wonderful better half, who you will find… oh, sat right next to me. Hello, love. After almost 10 years of dutiful service at Lawson and Son, she has been rightfully named a junior partner. It pleases me immensely to see Sir Phillip Lawson pull his head out of his arse and acknowledge her worth. I think we can all agree it’s about damn time. Now, if you will all join me in raising a glass to my beloved,” after they all finished laughing at Francis’ rather out-of-character remarks, they raised their glasses as instructed, “to Sarah. May your career continue to be prosperous. I’d quite like a new pool. I love you, darling.”

“To Sarah!” The group shouted, startling the restaurant's remaining guests enough for them to subsequently motion to the waiter for their bills. 

Francis and his wife shared a small, tender kiss whilst their company was still chattering on about his ‘hilarious’ speech. He remained his same forgetful self from that night on, but he was forever comforted by the fact that those he loved found his less-than-reliable memory endlessly endearing. 

As they were all getting ready to leave, he abruptly chimed in once last time, “Oh, that thing I was going to say. I saw a video of a man fighting a swan earlier. It was hilarious.”