Caramel Memory

   I can't stand that moment when as you're about to step outside, you can't shake the feeling that you've forgotten something. Something important.
   This happens to me all the time, I'm a very forgetful person. One time my buddies rented out a huge arena out in Bracebridge so we could play shinny for the day. We were driving in the car, halfway there when I realized I'd forgot my skates. Another time it was my mom's birthday, the big six-zero. My gift was this incredibly high quality caramel fudge I ordered shipped in from Belgium. At least, it would've been my gift if I hadn't left it on the kitchen counter. Snarky, my German Sheppard, sure enjoyed it instead.
   In each of those instances and many others, I've experienced the moment I mentioned earlier. Standing at the door, eying the room slowly and carefully in hope that this "thing" will leap out and save my memory from humiliation. It never happens, of course, and sure enough I arrive at my big final exam in time to realize I didn't bring anything to write with. Have you ever written an exam with a broken yellow crayon you found in a men's public bathroom? I don't recommend it.
   Those closest to me express mostly ridicule and frustration at my condition. I've heard: 'Jack, just keep everything in one place.' or 'I'm not your mom, Jack. Look after your things!' and 'Old Man Jack does it again! Senile at the age of twenty-nine!' None of this helps or motivates me to improve, none of it can. I make lists, put everything I need in a bag the night before, every precaution. Yet every time I'm in the moment again: standing at the door, looking around, knowing I'm forgetting one thing that insists on hiding in a shroud of mystery. It's a level of hell I live over and over, for if you do not remember a thing in a moment, does it truly exist there? Forgotten things that reappear are like raindrops in a sudden storm: what was not here before is now here and was always here.
   Out the door I go, quickly drenched because despite the rain through the window I forget my umbrella. My mind has never been the same since my head bounced off the boards that day.