“It’s easy,” Rayn says as she pulls off her coat, breathless and glowing with excitement. “I can show you!”

I sigh and sink into the sofa. I don’t have time for this. It’s already hard enough to get by, selling memories just to provide today’s dinner. Rayn’s fleeting moments of whimsy don’t make it easier, as I watch her get let down each time.

Each time, she has to sell it. She doesn’t learn from her mistakes. We don’t have that kind of luxury.

“Rayn… We’ve been through this before. I know you don’t remember very well.. but it never works.”

“No, you don’t understand! This time is different! I actually remember!” She sits next to me and grabs my hand. In a quiet tone, she says: “I remember when you got down on one knee, Amell. I remember it in detail.”

Now this grabs my attention. Even I don’t remember this, we’ve both had to sell it. We agreed to each keep a small part of our wedding memory; us dancing to a crazy song, laughing our heads off.

“Describe it to me.”

“Oh Amell! It was so romantic! We went to the movies and then to our favorite diner, and after that we walked and frolicked in a meadow full of flowers. I was picking the flowers and when I turned around, you were on your knee, and the second we made eye contact you started bawling your eyes out. It was so funny!”

I don’t have anything to say. How will I know it’s true? I don’t have a recollection of this.

“What if.. What if it’s just your imagination? How am I supposed to believe you?”

“Amell, you have to! Don’t you trust me? It’s so easy, let me show you, just come outside!”

She bursts through the door without a coat, and I have no choice but to follow her.

It’s freezing outside, but I don’t mind. Suddenly, I’m gaining hope. And this hope is warming me up, making me feel less cold then I should.

I have Rayn to thank for this hope. I can feel it coursing through her hand to mine. And though I don’t remember a lot from our time together, I know I made the right choice in marrying her.

She leads us through a low doorway, into an abandoned shack.

I’m a practical guy; I don’t get scared when it doesn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense now, but for some reason this shack had an eerie feeling to it.

“To remember something you first have to know what memories _are_. Remember when we went to that booksale yesterday and there was a pile of free books?” She says in a rush, and I sit us down before she gets too excited that she’ll fall down on me or something.

“Yes,” I say, not seeing where she was getting at. We had only taken a few; a cookbook, a beat up copy of Jane Eyre, a picture book. I couldn’t see how any of those had helped her figure anything out.

“And why do you remember that? Because you didn’t sell the memory yet, right?”

“Yes..”

“But if you were to try and sell it, it wouldn’t work. Because it’s too fresh.”

“How do you know? Have you tried?”

“Yes, after I read the letter.”

“_What letter?_ Rayn, just tell me what’s going on already!”

She takes the small volume of Jane Eyre out of her pocket, and opens the book halfway, right to the crack in the spine. She pulls a thickly folded piece of paper out of the book, and begins to unfold it.

I can’t see it completely, but I can tell the handwriting is incredibly small.

"Memories are fragile things," She begins to read, "so, Jonathan, you may ask, how must one retrieve a memory that has been sold through mutual agreement? If the selling of the memory was consensual by the seller, then how would it be possible to get it back? Everybody knows that if a memory was taken without agreement, then one would simply have to call it back, and would at once remember everything. Taking back sold ones, however, is not so easy."

She looks up, widens her eyes, and grins like a lunatic, signaling that next is coming the part where we find out.

"Read carefully, Jonathan, because I have cracked the code. It is not as hard as it may seem. Before you can call back a memory, however, you must first understand what memories are. Consider a memory like an orange; if you grew it on a tree, it belongs to you. You have the rights to it, and you can decide to keep and cherish it, or to sell it.

"As you know, Jonathan, I despise the selling of memories. It is a cruel tool, created only to benefit the rich. But that is beside the point! As a memory grows old, it becomes stale, like an orange. For fruit, you must sell it while it is fresh. But for memories it is the exact opposite! If a memory is too fresh or vivid, it refuses to separate from its original owner. Once it becomes older, it becomes easier to sell.

"So what must you do to retrieve a sold memory? Make it fresh! In truth, you can never truly rid of a memory. It is always there, lingering. To remember something you sold, simply find an object, or sound or smell, to jog your memory. If you think 'but how will I know what was in that memory if I don't remember it?' It will come instinctually! Your heart yearns to remember. Just be near that object, and concentrate, and it will come back."

Ryan pulls off her engagement ring, and places it in my palm.

"Concentrate. Call it back."

So I close my eyes and I call. I pull with my soul. And nothing happens.

"It didn't work," I tell her quietly.

"No Amell! Describe to me the night you proposed."

I think for a minute, and then..

"I remember... I was down on one knee.. And when your beautiful eyes met mine, I couldn't help but cry."

And now, I am crying.