Friends

“When you travel, do you ever wake up and not know where you are or, for that matter, who you are? It happens to me sometimes, and I panic. Just for a few seconds.”

The table had no reaction to what I said. People just stared at me blankly.

“Yeah,” I continued, embarrassed, “I think it’s normal, though, don’t you?”

Absolutely no reaction. I figured asking more questions would activate at least one person.

“What do you think is the cause? How do you think memory works? How does being a person even work? Is it a process, like in a computer, you know, a piece of software running, getting data from a database? Or is it completely different?”

They remained still.

“You know, I have suicidal depression. I was raped as a child. I sometimes think about killing other people and it calms me down.”

No reaction.

“Oh, wait,” I looked through the buttons on the console. There was one that said “Paused”. I touched it and they all started moving, clinking the cutlery, clunking the glasses, chowing down food. My friends, or whoever they were.

“When you travel, do you ever wake up and not know where you are or, for that matter, who you are? It happens to me sometimes, and I panic. Just for a few seconds,” I said.

“Yeah, I get that feeling too.”

“Me too, though I don’t think I forget who I am. But I often forget where I am. That’s common I think. I wonder how memory works.”

“Hey, do you guys remember your dreams?”

The evening went on merrily.