The Price Of A Sincere Apology.

Well, the first memory happened to disappear on a Monday. You know, I was just so sure it had worked considering the fact that I couldn't remember my mother's expression anymore.

I could very well recall what her face looked like; I could tell how she dresses, her scents, where she often keeps her money, and a lot more, but her expression when she's happy, it was very obvious it was carefully erased.

It will interest you to know that that was the price of a sincere apology.

Where I come from, it is a rule that everyone knows. To every sincere apology comes a price. The most interesting part is it goes for both the offender and the offended; you both get to lose one shared memory. And the deeper the hurt, the deeper the apology, meaning the deeper the memory it takes with it.

So, everyone kept on living and trying so hard to not offend each other or do anything that would require a sincere apology. But as humans, we can't be that perfect, so issues still arise. Now guess what we did: we stopped apologizing because we never knew what memory apologizing would take away from us... What if it takes away that memory that's still keeping us happy and alive? So, everyone stopped apologizing, and we all began to live with a heavy heart.

In as much as we tried so hard to not do anything that would require us to apologize, I did something, and even though it was so heavy, I did my best to carry it for years. It happened between me and my younger brother. We were on our way to an outing that day, so he did something; you know how all these young ones can be annoying at times. I got so furious that day that I shouted at him, and he turned back from following me. I continued on my way, still angry. Not only that, but I never knew the bridge I'm about to pass through isn't that strong anymore. Furthermore, I stepped on a part of it, and it gave way. I was lucky enough to survive with a broken leg.

My brother, who heard my scream on his way back home, quickly retraced his steps and ran back to see what's wrong and how he can help me. Well, he didn't survive it.

I can't even describe that feeling. Everyone kept telling me it wasn't my fault; they said I didn't have control over what happened and all of that.

But I never stopped wishing I hadn't shouted at him. Maybe if I didn't, we would have passed the other route since it's his favorite route, and it still leads to where we are going.

Now, I felt bad, terrible. But I didn't apologize, not because I wasn't sorry, not because I'm not hurt, but because he's gone, and apologizing means I would have to lose one memory of him. And you never can tell what that memory will be.

I was just too scared.

So, one day I was taking care of things in the room when I stumbled on one of his toys. I held it tight to my chest as if I was holding him.

I felt the need to do what is required immediately. Likewise, I took along that toy with me and stepped out to meet the keeper of apologies. He's a very old man who stays alone at the edge of the town; no one knows how old he is.

"I'm ready." I told him immediately after we exchanged greetings. I didn't want to have a rethink about it anymore.

"You've tried." He responded and sighed.

"Are you sure." He asked.

"Yes." I said, almost shouting.

Then I added, "If I lose a memory of him, the pieces of myself I lose every day will stop."

"Go ahead then." The old man said.

Immediately, everywhere became dead silent. I closed my eyes and began to speak.

"Fola, I'm sorry. I should have protected you; I should have never gotten angry at you. I should have..." I was lost for words as tears trickled down my face.

In that instant, a gentle breeze blew past my face.

It was done. That was all.

"What it takes." I asked quickly.

"Huh, you will know when you try reaching for it." The old man replied, looking sad.

I made my way back home. I kept thinking about various things about me and him, and I was glad I could still recall; I didn't know what the apology took yet.

A week later, I was going through the family album. I came across a picture we took hastily while trying to make our way out the day he died.

And I can't help but smile, and almost immediately a frown came to my face.

I can very well remember when we took that picture. I remember that day very well. Not only that, I also remember we were going out together. Guess what? I couldn't remember what led to his death.

Just that one memory, and it was gone forever. I sat down there and wept. What could have led to the loss of my brother's life.

Apologizing sometimes doesn't make us feel better; there are times it costs us something we cannot replace.

I still go out once in a while to the bridge, hoping to remember what led to his death. Were we attacked? What exactly happened?

I can't deny that I still miss him.

Well, I couldn't remember. It seems that's how he wanted it, I mean the memory I lost, maybe so I could live with peace inside of me.

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Images are AI generated.

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