FRUIT TART

At diner. Eating tarts.

ONE: It doesn't taste anything like I remember.

TWO: It’s not bad-- certainly not the scrumptious, succulent, mind altering fruit tart you led me to believe it would be.

ONE: Sorry. (sigh) That's so bizzare. For as much as we rely on our memories it's amazing to discover just how screwed up some of those memories really are. That good fruit tart somehow becomes a great fruit tart-- and a bad coffee becomes the worst coffee you ever had. It seems to just get more and more polarized in whatever direction every time you think back on it. Then one day you end up in a moment like this-- making a fool of yourself, realizing that your brain is not really keeping an accurate log of things. It's almost frieghtening.

TWO: One of my earliest memories is playing dominos in Central Park with my grandpa. It is so vivid in my mind, the smells and sounds, more so than most. Turns out it's not even real. My grandfather passed away when I was less than eighteen months old. I don’t know when or why, but I must have made it up, and just continued replaying it in my mind until it was fact, and now a permanent part of my memories. I'll bet even now I could take a polygraph test based on that memory and I'd pass. Crazy, huh?!

ONE: We obviously have this random ability to add and subtract within our memories, if only we could do it to the memories we'd want to change.

TWO: Yeah, I can think of a number of memories I'd like to forget altogether.

ONE: What about embellish? Any fruit tarts you'd like to make better? Other than this one.

TWO: Yeah if I could I probably would. I just can't think of one off the top of my head. You?

ONE: Yeah-- too many. (takes another bite) It's like waxy.

TWO: The aftertaste is making me feel sick.

ONE: I refuse to believe this is the same tart. They must have changed the recipe. I'll go get us some drinks.