We caught a taxi in the horseshoe in front of Babylon. Security escorted us out but were nice enough not to toss us so we bounced. Branka sat in the front seat beside the driver, and Stewart let me rest my head on his shoulder while the palm trees lining the driveway scrolled past on both sides like a green-screen effect. We stopped at the light at the bottom of the driveway while a flock of tourists stampeded across, and Stewart said, “You forgot about him.”
“Stewart? Forgot about who?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I think I’d rather you didn’t remember.” He bent down and kissed the top of my head.
I wondered if I was drunk. I didn’t like the way I felt. The taxicab was spinning.
Stewart, at least, was warm and solid, even if he was raving. “I wish you were making sense.”
“I know,” he said. “I was just wondering, what do you think happens to the stuff we forget? You and me. The bits of Las Vegas even we don’t remember.”
“I’ve been forgetting things lately,” I said.
“That’s over with.”
“Does it not exist anymore, if I’ve forgotten it? Or is it still there, just nobody notices?”
He shrugged. “I bet it’s still there.”
Some guy lurched up the sidewalk outside, looking roughed up. His suit had been expensive; his tie was silk. They were both ripped now. I wondered if he’d gotten mugged, or bounced by casino security.
Nobody but me seemed to notice him.
I turned away. Not my job. Not my job to notice him or rescue him. You cannot save everyone; you’ll go mad trying. And anyway, it’s not what cities do.
I said, “Why is it that we get so invested in our history, anyway? Why do we fight to preserve those old photographs and ancient keepsakes, just so our children can throw them away when they clear the house? We could just let go, blow wide. Be clean.”
“Jackie—”
I turned my face into Stewart’s shoulder and said, “I killed myself.”
He nodded. “I know.”
I closed my eyes. “It was nice not to remember it for a little while.”
He rearranged us to put an arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into the embrace. “Memory is all we are,” Stewart said softly, and reached up to stroke my hair.
About Ellen Datlow
Ellen Datlow has been editing science fiction, fantasy, and horror short fiction for more than thirty years. She was fiction editor of
She lives in New York. More information can be found at www.datlow.com or at her blog: ellen-datlow. livejournal.com.
WITH TERRI WINDLING
THE ADULT FAIRY TALE SERIES
WITH KELLY LINK AND GAVIN J. GRANT
WITH NICK MAMATAS
