Embedded Memory

It was a dream.

Everything about their wedding day was a dream.

The sun's rays were shining so brightly, Julia's eyes appeared as diamonds as she walked towards him down the aisle. The tears that graced Owen's cheeks met the lapel of his suit jacket courtesy of such a sight. Their families watched, almost leaning forward in their seats with excitement that this day was finally here.

They had talked about this day, this moment, for three years. It was more than they imagined it would be. They collected enough memories to fill an ocean.

But they never talked about the moments that would come after... The work days that kept them running in different directions only to meet again on the sheets at night, too tired to connect; the weekends that were filled with everything they did not have time for during the week, excluding time with each other; the mornings Julia awoke too late to kiss him goodbye because her anxiety had her up throughout the night; the arguments they could have avoided had they listened for a moment longer than they spoke; the challenge of learning how to live with the other in mind rather than themselves, first and only.

They talked about how sweet he was as they fell in love. They talked about what they were going to hang on the walls one day. He painted pictures of his goals, and she got lost in the daydream of slow Saturday mornings his goals could earn them. It was a rosy picture in their minds; one many may proudly display on the living room wall.

It wasn't until the day Owen left that they realized their picture had always been missing a layer of reality; a reality they could have been prepared for had they let their walls come down in front of the truth before their relationship crumbled beneath it.

Their whole world was wrapped up in the anticipation of a marriage they silently thought would fill in the gaps they felt in their relationship, so they went through all the motions of building a life together. They got their own place, opened up shared bank accounts, shared expenses, attended family functions together (they even hosted a few), and planned a wedding couples probably dream of.

Yet, if you asked her, Julia couldn't articulate the last time she was able to share difficult emotions with Owen. He was interested in building a beautiful life, not sharing the burden. And if you asked Owen, it's unlikely he could tell you the last time Julia expressed any appreciation for how hard he worked for them and their life. She didn't feel loved and heard. He didn't feel appreciated or respected. Together, they were missing the anchor that grounds two lovers in the stormy seas.

When the rain comes, as it always does, they drifted so far they couldn't see the shoreline any longer. The rain sounded like arguments over meaningless things because they couldn't stomach discussing things of actual consequence. It looked like sleeping in separate rooms on nights she needed nothing more than to be held as she gradually decompressed from the day. It felt like being far from home with no map, no phone, and no idea which direction you were supposed to be going. They had a really beautiful picture of the life they were after, thinking it was the life they had built, yet they gazed at it while standing in a home that was falling apart around them.

When Owen left, Julia felt a complex sadness in depths she didn't know she had. Deep, because she watched seven years of her life walk out the door. Seven years of life together meant seven years of every single moment, trivial and significant, being intertwined. Shared birthday celebrations, holiday memories, children, family dreams, career goals, and even bank accounts and account passwords. A shared home. A shared life.

Complex because... did they share a home and a life, or had they simply shared the roof over their head and a bank account? Complex because as sad as she was, she was also relieved. Their marriage was a ball of yarn that, once unraveled, revealed emptiness at the center.

Four years later, Julia had managed to unravel herself from the aftermath of their failed marriage. They sorted out the broken pieces and loose ends amicably, and without legality. She'd spent the last year and a half creating new memories with Robert; memories that were built on more than a picture he'd painted in his mind. She was standing in the middle of a new beginning...a new version of life.

One Saturday morning while Julia was out for brunch with a few friends from college, Robert gave her a quick call to see if she had a certain streaming account already. He was at home preparing for her return by getting a movie ready for them to watch together. In fact, he was searching for one of her favorites - Notting Hill. In her words, it was a "brilliant, slow-paced romance that did not get enough credit." Robert could only find the movie available on a streaming service he thought she may already subscribe to.

In that instant, she took a journey-in-reverse of all 11 years of memories she spent the last four years trying to replace.

She remembered the day she and Owen created this account. It was the middle of January. There were six inches of snow on the ground with more on the way and both of their offices closed due to the weather conditions. After they spent their morning doing what newlyweds do, Owen suggested they queue up a couple of their favorite movies and start indulging in the baked goods in the pantry. The only problem was they had been in their new apartment for such a short amount of time Owen had not even set the TV up yet. As he took care of that, she cooked them a late breakfast, and they met on the couch.

Of course, Notting Hill was the favorite Julia chose. Naturally, they found it was only available on one streaming platform they did not yet subscribe to. Without hesitation, Owen encouraged her to create the account so he could "get lost in this 'brilliant romance'" with her. So she did and, being a typical newlywed, the password she chose was their wedding anniversary. Setting the password may have been the last time she looked at the screen that day because they spent every moment they could intertwined with each other lost in embraces they were hesitant to let go once the snow melted away.

This memory...it was the only fond one with Owen left in the archives of her mind.

She wondered if Robert could hear her silently recalling this memory as she found the words to answer his question. Julia fast-forwarded through the last 11 years and hesitated for a moment before she told him she couldn't quite remember the password for the account. Of course, she did, but using it to log in felt like letting the memory of her and Owen's first snow day live on within a life she was building with someone else.

After they hung up, she pulled up the website. For some reason, she was not exactly in a rush to do this. This was the last memory that connected her to Owen. The moment she clicked "Reset Your Password," she felt as though she'd be erasing the only fond memory she had left from her seven years with him.

It's interesting, isn't it? How such a trivial thing can evoke such deep, powerful emotions.

As her friends laughed about the humorous things their toddlers had recently done, Julia created a new streaming account and text the information to Robert, also expressing her excitement for their time together later that evening.

While genuine, perhaps she expressed that to undo the guilt she felt over the fact that she wasn't ready to let go of the memory embedded in the characters of her old password.