Guaranteed Or Your Memory Back: A Short Story

  Guaranteed Or Your Memory Back

  A Short Story

  Scott Marmorstein

  Copyright

  2016 Scott Marmorstein

  ISBN-10: 1520170599

  ISBN-13: 978-1520170596

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Preface

  On Controversial Themes in Writing

  Earlier this summer (2016) I had announced on social media that I was writing a neat short story. It had mostly come to me fully baked, but I had to take a break from it for over a month and now it’s almost October and I’m just about to publish it online as an ebook. The ending came to me right as I was meditating before falling asleep. I knew two things. 1, it was a much better ending than the original and I would change it in the morning when I woke up. 2, it was absolutely controversial.

  This got me to thinking about the fact that we live in a world where the new taboo is sharing too much of oneself, unless you’re famous in which case you’re often rebuked for not sharing enough. This short story is as far away from political as I could get it, which isn’t difficult to do with the kind of imagination I have. And because it's me, this short story has a definite supernatural element in it.

  I’m willing to bet that many of you who read this, if you participate in social media at all, want to share your views as publicly and vocally as you can, and then refrain. Because to be open about your views leaves you just that; vulnerably open. Open to whatever it is that may come your way, in the form of praise or blame, rebuke or shaming. And so we’ve learned to take pictures of food and give witty updates. And if you’re not a social-media maven or near-denizen like many of us, congratulations; you probably aren’t sure how to communicate in that condensed and flattened format. You might prefer the human touch, and I’m with you. You may scream at your television or tell your closest confidant what you really think. At least you have an outlet, which is great.

  For the writer, his or her prose (or non-fictional letters and books) serve as his or her voice. That’s me, in a nutshell. The written word often suffices. Teaching as I do in the healing arts also suffices for the voice that I think is buried in each of us. I’ve learned to let my inner voice do some talking through the medium of art. Art has the magic to embellish (highly) and create distortions that don’t get to occur in our shared waking reality. That’s why I love writing it.

  This is all to say that the new short story is not to be taken literally. Usually you see some kind of Copyright notice with words similar to this: “All incidents, characters, locales, and businesses are either coincidental or products of the author’s imagination.” That is a neat way to say, “This stuff didn’t happen, but it could. It didn’t happen to me, and it certainly didn’t happen to anyone I know. It’s written for your entertainment.” And while said entertainment is assuredly dark, let me remind you that the dark is a process of uncovering the light beyond it. That’s partly why I write what I do. This short story doesn’t give any answers, leaves you with a sour taste, but that’s the point. And the point of this, I guess you’d call it preamble, is to forewarn you as such, and give you plenty of room to decide whether you want to read it or not. If it’s not your thing, believe me I won’t be offended—just don’t read it and accuse me of saying nothing first.

  Guaranteed Or Your Memory Back is one of those fictional stories that is meant for mature audiences.

  Enjoy, and let me know if I did my job properly or not with your review.

  1

  The baldy behind the wooden counter had his hands stretched out, palms face down, fingers splayed. Books were strewn all around the counter. The man appeared to be in his late forties, or early fifties. It was difficult to gauge the age of a man like this, his puffy features seemed to subtract years, while the look of his skin added them back on. Starting from his collar bone and wending its way cleverly up his neck and around his ear was an ornate snake tattoo. No hair stood on the man’s scalp anywhere, his bald head gleaming. Hence Dan had come to think of him as ‘baldy’. Inappropriate, but at least he didn’t mention it out loud. That man now stared at Dan while he read the back cover of this book. A genuine leather bound book by some guy he’d never heard of, Dean Roth. A cool sounding author’s name if ever there was one. Dan Strauss wasn’t bad either, but that was certainly biased of him.

  Initially he would have just downloaded any novel he wanted to his Kindle and that would have been it, but his girlfriend, Elise, had unwittingly talked him into a different route. She told him it was summer time, and all the hipsters in town were reading actual books, with paper and glue binding, and heck, maybe even signed copies by authors who weren’t just trying to make a quick buck on Amazon (not that there was anything wrong with that either). She said she saw them in the parks, at cafes, their Kindle readers abandoned for real paper, for heft and she thought it was damn sexy.

  If she saw him with a book she’d think he was extra sexy, and that was plenty appeal right there. Right after she’d waxed poetic about real books she’d placed her hand atop his and said in a sultry voice how sexy he was and how grateful she was that he read books, not just for academia, but for pleasure. That was certainly true. But like anyone else in college he’d favored the Kindle for the sake of the trees, and more importantly for space on his side of the dorm room. A real book was not just a hint from his girlfriend but the ticket to a different dimension of reading for him. One he hadn’t done since he was a much younger lad in grade school. He’d have to get a real physical book. Maybe a signed copy. It was summer, and there was lots of reading he could be doing, but he actually wanted something that entertained him, and he was a sucker for Asimov, Jules Verne, and H.G. Wells, hell he even enjoyed a Stephen King book now and then, but that was his little dark secret. Sometimes for an extra delicious ‘dessert’ he’d read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s tales of Sherlock, and then he remembered his beloved Mark Twain. God he hadn’t read any of Twain’s books in what felt like eons. Maybe a good little used book shop would have a copy of his works, ooh maybe even a signed copy! Dan was all excited by the various prospects.

  And while he had a library card he wanted something he could own and have next to him at all times, to remind him of the reader he could be.The truth was, he wanted to branch out a little more, read outside his comfort zone. Recently he’d been playing around with some words on the screen, his own, and wanted to see if it would become something of a story, a short story, and maybe…maybe one day a novel, even if that felt like a stretch.

  Standing there perusing this book by Roth he came around to the man behind the counter, watching after him patiently, now and then looking down and tapping something on his phone’s screen.

  “So this author’s nothing like Asimov or Twain?” This was meant to be a touch of humor, Dan could tell this author wasn’t even close by the description on the back.

  Either he didn’t get the joke, or didn’t care, and said, “Roth’s no slouch, but he’s certainly no Twain” baldy said. He had a thick New York accent and his voice was gravelly, as if he smoke and drank—often, and at the same time.

  “Nobody is, are they? But you think I’ll like his work anyway?”

  Smiling again, baring teeth that looked almost fake, he nodded.

  “Hey, it’s only ten bucks because it’s a signed copy, but…”

  There was always a ‘but’ or a catch in these little one-man-operated stores, Dan thought.

  “But?”

  “Listen, you seem like a nice guy, a good guy. I have a special deal. Normally I never take return sales, but I have something better than a return program.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  The baldy seemed to be sizing him up, and Dan shifted uncomfortably where he stood. He could feel his undershorts suddenly sticking to his low back, and little rivulets of sweat trickling down his tailbone, sliding and tickling his skin. Hadn’t this guy ever heard of air conditioning? Why was it so hot in here? Wasn’t it bad for the books, and one’s health? Must be a hundred and twenty degrees in here, with no air moving—feels like I’ll stroke out if I stay in here any longer!

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know why I said anything. Never mind,” the baldy said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Oh, sorry, Jeff, Jeff Beelz at your service. Everyone just calls me Bub, or BB.”

  Jeff Beelze or BB, that was really strange, it rang faint bells way down in the back of Dan’s mind but he couldn’t exactly put his mental fingers on it. Something about his last name freaked Dan out.

  “Jeff,” Dan said, he refused to call him Bub. He trailed a moment, struggling with something that wouldn’t quite float to the surface of his mind.

  “Yeah?” Not smiling now, just looking at him curiously. The way he moved his head a little to the side gave the illusion that the snake on his neck and over his ear had also moved—neat party trick—which was a little disturbing. In this heat, with Dan’s overactive imagination, he could see that snake jump right off Jeff’s skin and strike out at him with stringy venomous poison. Something in the man’s eyes made Dan feel a little more uncomfortable suddenly, then he noticed that his own hand was slick with sweat from holding the novel.

  “What were you going to tell me about some deal or return?”

  “Oh, it’s no
thing,” Jeff said, he waved his hand in the air, squinted his eyes shut and pursed his lips as if holding in a little laughter. Really, it’s nothing, that gesture said.

  “No, seriously,” Dan said, “I’m intrigued.”

  Jeff straightened up and leaned forward a little. Dan really looked at him now. His cheeks were puffy but hard, heavily pock marked, a little dark mustache over his lips and down to his chin gave him a certain characteristic look Dan couldn’t quite place right now, and his physique reminded Dan of those laughing buddha’s you sometimes saw in Chinese restaurants. Only he didn’t have jug handle ears, he had small ones plastered uncomfortably close to his head, as if they were more gills than ears. He also didn’t strike Dan as the kind of guy who would laugh all that easily.

  “Well, I have this special return program for certain customers I take a liking to, that’s all.”

  “You’re saying I’m not one of those customers?” Dan could play the game. He grinned at Jeff to intimate that he was joking.

  “Nah, course I like ya. You’re still in here aintcha? It’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  “You’ll think I’m a couple slices of bologna short of a sandwich, if I tell ya, that’s all.”

  Dan furrowed his eyebrows. If the guy was about to sell him Scientology he’d skedaddle and not bother with the novel, signed or not. Jeff smiled again, and now Dan was a little disarmed, it wasn’t a bad smile, really.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Humor me at least.”

  “Right well,” but just as he opened his mouth to speak the front door opened, small bells above the door jingled.

  “Excuse me,” he disappeared from the counter and talked with an older lady that came in. They seemed to be whispering, and then she left. He closed the door behind her, flipped the ‘SORRY, WE’RE OPEN’ to ‘YES, WE’RE CLOSED sign. It was one of the reasons Dan had thought to come in here. Any place with a good sense of humor was always inviting.

  The rotund man came gliding back to the counter. Dan didn’t really think much about the fact that he had closed the door and flipped the sign. Whatever he wanted to tell Dan was to be held in confidence, and it was broad daylight, lots of foot traffic passing just beyond the glassed in door to his left. It was really just a hole in the wall after all, lined floor to ceiling with books of all kinds. Now it made sense, the sign outside the store said, BUB’S BARGAIN USED AND NEW BOOKS.

  Now he knew why people called him Bub.

  “You look like you just had a lightbulb moment, my friend,” Jeff said.

  Smiling a little, Dan let his guard down and nodded his head, the guy was so down to earth, and kind of charming in his own odd way.

  “Realized why people call you Bub,” Dan said, he smiled to show how foolish he felt, not that Jeff would have noticed.

  “Okay, so…the deal. As I was saying. Right…”

  “Take your time,” Dan said, still smiling, feeling unsure of the whole production and theatrics of the guy’s demeanor.

  “Well, for customers like you, I got a deal you will hardly believe, as I said, but those that have tried it on for size, well, they knew I wasn’t fibbing.”

  “Ok, I get it, I get it, you’re selling me something, right? What is it?”

  “No, it’s no sale. It’s an anti-sale.”

  “So what is it?”

  “If you don’t like that book, I’ll give you your memories back, guaranteed.”

  Dan barked laughter and put the novel down on the counter, he was beginning to feel like he’d burst into flames, but the idea of this not only confused him, but cooled him down somewhat.

  “I know, I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!” That smile again, and was it his imagination or did that snake just move in the opposite direction from the slight twist of his neck?

  “Well, even if I don’t believe you, tell me how it works.” Curiosity may have killed the proverbial cat, but it was positively Dan’s Achille’s Heel.

  Jeff stood back from the counter a little, crossing his big meaty arms over his bosom of a chest and looked Dan up and down as if he were affronted.

  “What?”

  “It’s not a trick. You don’t like that novel, you bring it back to me and I’ll give you your memories back, or replace the ones you have of that novel with something better, something you have always wanted to read, or whatever you want.”

  “You’re a wizard?”

  “No,” Jeff said, he nearly spat this back at Dan as if he’d really offended him.

  “A warlock? Some kind of magician?”

  “What the fuck are you talking? NO! None of those stupid ideas, man. I may sell fictions for a living, many of them convincing ones, but I don’t work that kind of ridiculous magic! I got the real magic. I just will it and it happens.”

  “Wow! Bold claim! Any testimonials I can read online?”

  “Are you saying I’m full of shit?”

  “Like a sewer,” Dan said, then clasped his hands to his mouth, eyes wide as saucers, “OhmgofdI’msorry!”

  “What?”

  “Oh…my God…so sorry! I can’t believe I just said that to you, I’m really sorry,” Dan said. And he was. Whatever possessed him to say something like that to a perfect stranger?

  “I knew you were no good, get outta my store!”

  “I really am so sorry!” Dan turned to leave but he heard something that sounded a bit like laughter, so he turned around again to see the man just on the brink, his dark eyes glittering in this light.

  “I’m just busting your balls, pal, this is New York City, settle down. I can take a hit,” he was all charm and smiles again.

  “What?”

  Jeff started laughing raucously now.

  What was so goddamn funny?

  Jeff slapped the counter and bent forward laughing hard.

  “Sewerl! Ahhhh! That’s rich! That’s a good one! Ha-ha-ha! Gotta use that one sometime!”

  “You’re not offended?”

  “Hell no, I provoked you!” Still laughing.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at man, but I think I should leave now.”

  Finally the man seemed to regain his composure and straightened his dark eyes seemed to bore into Dan’s like drills, “Listen, take the book, on me, for fucking with you. I just get so bored cooped up in this place all day every day, gotta find some way to have a little fun. Really, honest Injun, I was just testing you.” Honest Injun? Isn’t that so fucked up and racist? Who says shit like that anymore? Yet he knew he couldn’t say anything to the guy, it would be detrimental to his health, let alone whatever this bonding thing was, if that’s what it was.

  “So wait a minute,” Dan said, he was so confused, and a lot relieved, but also a little pissed for being toyed with so easily like that, “you’re saying I can take the book and bring it back?”

  “Guaranteed or your memories back,” Jeff said.

  At first Dan thought he said money back, but then realized he didn’t say that.

  “You’re really serious?”

  “Well…yeah, I got the magic. I don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

  “Right, it’ll only take me a couple days to read the book and I’ll bring it back and pay you, how’s that? I really would never offend someone like that, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re a good egg, huh? Straight shooter? That sorta guy?”

  “I was raised to have manners. I really don’t know whatever it was that came over me.”

  “A sense of humor,” Jeff mumbled.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing to apologize for. Go read your book, bring it back or don’t, it’s all the same to me,” Jeff said. Something about the guy now made Dan feel sorry for him.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days, I promise.”

  “See ya,” Jeff said.

  Dan walked out into the summer, heat, and despite it being so hot out, he felt instantly better.

  The book was still clutched in his hand, and now his palm was finally drying. It must have been twenty degrees cooler out here than inside the store. Twenty degrees cooler at least.