It's always her they want to buy. I have had many girlfriends and I include them in the brochure and website. But she's most of my income. I refer to my most famous ex-girlfriend: Aubrey Chang. We dated for maybe seven years. Fifteen to twenty-three. That's when she got her big break. And I guess I loved her and hoped we would marry, and an ugly part of me thinks we would have had she not achieved her dreams.

Because she left me after her big break and for this guy who I hate who's also maybe kinda perfect for her. And they got married. And they haven't divorced yet. I guess I am kinda over it, over her. There is no pain, at least there was none this morning. But I don't like to think about her in my off-hours for the same reason a Burger King employee doesn't eat Burger King when not at work.

And it hardly felt real before this afternoon. They say memories get rerecorded on each recollection. I must have changed things subtly to please her fans - who are kinda weirdos and all pathetic. Most of them are guys. Some of them are women. I don't get the psychology of that. Like they are lesbians but they don't mind the memories of a man, I guess.

I used to wish for some way to record thought-forms and then just sell the rights, but we don't have anything dense enough to store them except for human brains. We have the bandwidth but not the medium. I am sure they are working on it in China.

So people come to my shop. My little memory store. And it is always the same: some guy or girl who is in love with her and wants to feel what it was like to have her reciprocate. And of course I give them everything if they pay enough, as shameful as it is. It's legal. There was a lawsuit. I checked with a lawyer. People own their memories. They can do what they want with them. Being legal doesn't make it right, though.

She came into my shop today. She turned the sign around on its strings so it read "Closed" to the people walking by.

"Andrew," she said. "You didn't reply to my messages."

"No," I said.

"Please stop. It isn't good for either of us."

"Just a few more years. I am saving up. I will quit. Just a few more years."

"Is this the future you imagined? You had such big dreams, too. I suppose you're still dreaming," she said. And she looked sad. You would think she would look disgusted, but no - just sad.

She is still very beautiful. But I don't think I could ever be attracted to her again. She was almost unreal to me, even standing there. She was almost not human to me anymore.

And then she told me - told me if I wouldn't stop, I should at least let her share something with me. Her side of the story. And so I sat in the chair my clients usually sit in. And she sat in the one I usually do. And we put on my memory-sharing helmets, clunky and a few generations old. And I learned what it is like to be in love with me.

I will not reopen my shop tomorrow.

Written for Alexander Wales' microfiction workshop {{ previous_post }} {{ next_post }}