You ever see that jar? The one with the mismatched buttons in the kitchen? I’m just wondering if you actually sorted through those or if you just shoved them in there to make it look like you did something. Because last time I checked, the seal was broken and half of them were missing. I remember you saying you were going to fix the coat, but the coat’s still hanging by the door looking like a disaster. So I’m just curious. Did you sort them? Or did you just put the lid on and walk away?
I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no jar of buttons in my kitchen. I live alone in a flat in Leeds, and the only things I keep there are mugs and a dying fern. I don’t have a coat by the door that needs fixing, and I certainly don’t collect mismatched buttons.
You’re mixing up my place with someone else’s, or you’re just making things up. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t sorting anything. I was at work until six, then I ate cold pasta and went to bed. I don’t have a broken seal to fix.
Leeds? Huh. I didn’t know you moved. I thought you were still in that shared house near the canal.
Anyway, doesn’t matter. I just saw the jar. It’s sitting right there on the counter next to the toaster. Glass lid, slightly cracked. And there’s a pile of brass ones spilling out onto the tile.
If you don’t have it, then fine. Maybe I’m crazy. But I distinctly remember you complaining about the thread snapping last week. You said the button on your work jacket was loose. Now you’re telling me you were eating cold pasta.
Whatever. Just looking at it makes me feel like I’m missing something obvious.
I never said I moved. I’ve been in the same flat for three years. The canal house was that guy with the dog, not me.
I don’t own a work jacket. I wear scrubs at the clinic. And I definitely don’t collect brass buttons. If you’re seeing a jar on a counter next to a toaster, you’re not in my kitchen.
Maybe check your own apartment. Or maybe you’re confusing me with the neighbor. I’m not sure why you’re being so aggressive about something that doesn’t exist.
Aggressive? I’m just asking.
But you’re right, I’ve got it twisted. The canal house. Yeah, that was Dave. The one with the golden retriever that smelled like wet dog. I remember you complaining about the damp.
So, Leeds. Scrubs. Clinic. That tracks. I guess I was projecting. I’m just… I keep seeing this jar. It’s really bugging me. Like, why would I be so sure about the brass buttons?
Did you ever have a thing for buttons? Or is that just me making it up because I’m bored? I feel like I’m losing the thread on things lately.
I don’t have a "thing" for buttons. I have a thing for not getting home before nine and staring at the ceiling until my eyes burn.
If you’re seeing a jar of brass buttons, maybe it’s in your head. Or maybe you’re just bored, like you said. I don’t know why you’d fixate on that specific detail. It’s weirdly specific for a hallucination.
I’m going to make some tea. If you’re still standing in my kitchen, you can help yourself to a mug, but I’m not cleaning up your imaginary buttons.
You’re not cleaning up my imaginary buttons. That’s a weird thing to say.
I’m not in your kitchen. I’m sitting at my desk, staring at a spreadsheet that’s been open for three hours. I haven’t moved. I’m just… thinking about the jar.
It’s weird because I remember the weight of it. The way the glass felt cold. And I remember you laughing. You said, “Marc, if you lose another button, I’m buying you a new jacket.”
Did I say that? Or did you? Because I don’t remember the conversation. I just remember the jar. And the feeling that you were hiding something in it.
I didn’t say that. I don’t make jokes about jackets. I’m too tired to be witty.
If you’re sitting at a desk staring at a spreadsheet, you’re not in my kitchen. You’re not holding a cold glass jar. You’re not remembering my laugh.
Maybe the spreadsheet is giving you ideas. Or maybe you’re just trying to get a reaction out of me by making up details. It’s not working. I’m going to bed.
Fine. Bed. Good.
I’m not trying to get a reaction. I’m just trying to figure out why my memory is so blurry. It’s like the details are shifting. One minute it’s buttons, the next it’s a spreadsheet I can’t even remember the contents of.
I used to be sharper. Now I just… drift. I forget things. Like whether I locked the door. Or what I had for lunch.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m making it up. But it feels real to me. And that’s the annoying part.
I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I’m a nurse, not a doctor. If you’re forgetting things like that, maybe see someone. Not me.
I’m not going to play along with your jar. I’m not going to pretend I remember a conversation that didn’t happen. I’m going to sleep.
See someone? Right. Like that’s going to fix it.
I was at the optician’s last week. They said my eyes were fine. So it’s not the eyes. It’s just… the mind. Getting slippery.
You think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But you’re the one who keeps correcting me. You’re very specific about what you don’t have. No coat. No buttons. No jar.
Why are you so sure?
I’m sure because I’m not crazy. I have a life. I go to work, I come home, I eat. I don’t collect buttons. I don’t have a jar.
If your memory is slipping, that’s your problem. I’m not going to keep denying things that aren’t there just to make you feel better.
Goodnight.