My whole family has amnesia. My dad always forgets to send me my living expenses every month. My mom forgets to pay me back every time I cover something for her. Whenever I remind them, my parents act like they’ve just had an epiphany. “Look at my memory—getting old makes me forgetful.” I always thought they were genuinely getting forgetful with age. Until I accidentally discovered the study abroad fund account my parents set up for my brother. Every single deposit was accurate to two decimal places, and never once delayed. That’s when I realized my parents’ so-called amnesia only applied to me. My parents both have severe amnesia. Every week at the end of the month is my fixed call time with my dad. More accurately, it’s the time when I remind my dad to send my living expenses. “Dad, next month’s living expenses…” This time was no exception. A week had already passed, and my dad still forgot to send my living expenses. The call connected, and I heard the sound of my dad slapping his forehead. “Look at my memory—I forgot again! Dad will definitely transfer it tomorrow, won’t forget this time for sure.” I didn’t say anything. After all, this scene had been playing out in our family for three whole years. Since my freshman year, my dad forgets to send my living expenses every single month. My mom has amnesia too. Every time I advance payment for her purchases, she forgets to transfer the money back to me. Once she had me buy a cashmere sweater for her—the price was $239.90. Another time it was several health supplements as gifts, $63 per box. Recently she had me buy the latest sneakers for my brother—$139.90. … “I don’t have much money on hand right now. You buy it first, I’ll pay you back later, okay?” I paid. But she never transferred the money. The day the cashmere sweater arrived, my mom posted photos in the family chat and @my brother, saying: “What my son picked out is so warm!” When I really had no money left to eat, I tactfully messaged her: “Mom, does the cashmere sweater fit?” She replied instantly: “Perfect fit! I want to buy one for your grandma too. Help me buy another one.” I told her I had no money left. Only then did Mom have her epiphany and say she’d definitely transfer the money next time. But I never knew when “next time” actually was. Right up until three months ago, when I needed appendicitis surgery. Late at night, I curled up on a plastic chair in the hallway clutching my abdomen, cold sweat soaking my shirt. The nurse was urging me to pay the fees. I called my mom. “Mom, I need money right now. I’m at…” Before I could finish, she cut me off.
After leaving the hospital, I kept recalling how many times my parents’ so-called “amnesia” had made them forget over the years. Every time Dad sent living expenses, I had to chase him for it. I never received it until the last moment. My parents weren’t forgetful at all—they just randomly found an excuse to brush me off. Thinking of this, I dialed my dad’s number again. “Dad, you shouldn’t be busy at this time. Please send my living expenses.” The other end was silent for a few seconds, then my dad’s awkward laughter rang out. “Yes, yes, I forgot again. I’ll transfer it to you right now.” “Dad, remember to transfer two thousand. Don’t click wrong like you always do.” I reminded him. My dad hadn’t hung up yet, and hearing this made him cough guiltily. “How could that happen? When you started college, we agreed on two thousand a month.” Yes, that’s what we agreed on, but every month he finds some reason to forget part of it. Dad’s transfer came through, and the call disconnected. I immediately paid back the money my roommate had lent me when I was sick. “Your dad finally remembered to send you living expenses?” My roommate Megan knew about my family situation. I nodded. Before I could figure out how to allocate the remaining money, my brother’s call came through. “I heard Dad sent you living expenses? See, Dad still favors you. When I asked him for money, he didn’t give me any!” I made up an excuse and hung up on him. Usually it went like this—every time Dad sent me living expenses, my brother would call soon after to play the victim, saying he had no money to spend, and I would soften and lend him my living expenses. But my brother has amnesia too. Every time he gets living expenses, he forgets to pay me back. So this time I didn’t want to be a fool anymore. I thought the matter would end there, but who knew that night I’d receive another call from my mom. She rarely calls me. Even when asking me to buy things, she just sends me a link. As soon as the call connected, my mom’s anxious voice came through the receiver: “Willow, why are you so stingy? Did your brother ask to borrow money from you this afternoon?” So that’s what this was about. Before I could answer, the other end continued: “Your dad was good to you and sent you living expenses first. Your brother has no money—why won’t you lend it to him?” Even Dad chimed in: “Fine, next time we’ll take turns sending you siblings living expenses. Don’t you dare ask your brother to borrow money then!” I acknowledged and hung up, having no interest in watching their family of three put on a show. At midnight, my mom sent another link.
“Willow, help Mom buy this. I’ll transfer you the money tomorrow.” I clicked the link. It was Bluetooth earphones, priced at $98.80. I laughed coldly. So because I wouldn’t lend my brother money, Mom would come asking me for money to buy what my brother wanted. I didn’t buy it and didn’t reply. I set my chat with my mom to “do not disturb.” The next evening, Mom actually called again. I answered. Mom’s gentle voice was completely different from when she questioned me yesterday. “Willow, were you busy today?” “What is it?” She seemed not to expect me to become so cold. She laughed dryly, then asked: “By the way, did you buy the Bluetooth earphones for me?” I pretended to suddenly realize: “Oh, I forgot. My memory hasn’t been good lately!” “Then buy it for me quickly. After you buy it, I won’t bother you anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll transfer the money to you later.” I knew very well there would be no transfer. I simply turned off my phone and ignored it. Three days passed. My phone received no messages from them. It was quite peaceful. The holiday was approaching. My roommate Megan curiously came over and asked: “What are you planning to do during the break?” “What else? Go home.” After saying that, Mom’s call came through again. Megan saw the caller ID and kindly reminded me: “Don’t forget to ask your mom for the transfer, or you won’t even have money to buy a ticket home.” I smiled. What she didn’t know was that this time I hadn’t paid for anything for them at all. “Willow, where’s the thing I asked you to buy last time?” I pretended not to understand: “Mom, what thing?” The air froze for a moment before Mom spoke: “The earphones I asked you to buy for me. You didn’t forget, did you?” I hadn’t forgotten, but I also hadn’t bought them. “Oh, I was waiting for you to transfer the money so I could buy them, then I forgot. Mom, is my forgetfulness hereditary?” Even through the phone I could feel her struggling to contain her anger: “Child, what nonsense are you talking about!” Mom quickly changed the subject: “The holiday’s coming soon, right? Don’t forget to buy those earphones when you come back.” I agreed. “Don’t worry, Mom. Leave it to me.” Since that’s how it is, I’ll take advantage of the New Year to give her a big gift.
I saved all the records of my family’s “amnesia” over the years, not just chat screenshots but also link screenshots and my parents’ social media posts. After finishing all this, I couldn’t help but marvel. So over these three years, I’d already bought so many things for the family. Besides the monthly living expenses, I’d even put in quite a bit of money I earned from part-time jobs. Overall, these three years of college I not only self-funded my education but also had to earn money to subsidize the family. Looking at the continuously accumulating numbers on the calculator, I received another text from Dad. “Coming back tomorrow, right? Willow.” I raised the corners of my mouth, looked at the document I’d been preparing on my computer, and replied with one sentence. “All prepared.” The next day after getting off the bus, I received a restaurant address from Dad. They happened to be having a gathering with relatives at the restaurant. I didn’t need to think to know what they were planning—nothing more than wanting me to cover the bill again. What a fine plan. I walked in empty-handed. The conversation at the table stopped abruptly. “Willow’s back! Come sit!” I smiled and took a seat, greeting everyone naturally. Mom kept glancing toward the door. “Willow, the thing I asked you to buy…” Halfway through the meal, my mom suddenly spoke. Now everyone’s eyes turned to me. Dad, his face flushed from drinking, laughed heartily: “Right, right! Last time we asked this child to buy something for the family—she keeps forgetting!” I exclaimed: “Oh my! Look at my memory!” This display instantly changed their expressions. Dad frowned at me, anger barely concealed in his tone: “Child, your mom just reminded you the other day! How could you turn around and forget!” My brother chimed in: “Exactly, Willow. Are you getting dementia at your age?” I didn’t take it seriously: “Probably family heredity. After all, Mom and Dad always forget things too.” One sentence shut them up. Mom could only wave at me: “Willow, go pay the bill. Mom will transfer it to you when we get home.” After speaking, Mom pulled my arm toward the server. I shook off her hand in front of everyone: “I have no money.” Mom froze in place, looking at me incredulously: “What are you saying?” “I said I have no money. I can’t pay the bill.” The atmosphere became awkward. My brother jumped out at this moment: “Willow, can you not be so petty? Mom’s just asking you to cover it temporarily, giving you a chance to show off in front of everyone. It’s not like she won’t reimburse you. Is it really necessary?” After his words fell, relatives also started pointing fingers at me. “That’s right, Willow. You’re in college now. Your tuition and living expenses are all from your parents. Don’t be so stingy.” “It’s just paying a bill. It’s not like they won’t pay you back. Besides, we’re all family—don’t be so calculating.” My dad pointed at my nose and scolded: “Your money all comes from me anyway, doesn’t it? Now asking you to pay a bill—isn’t it still spending my own money?” Mom looked at me with teary eyes: “Willow, I never thought you were this kind of person. I’m just forgetful. How could I not give you money…” For a moment, all the blame pointed at me. I didn’t offer any explanation. I just opened my phone and sent a document to the group chat. “Is it really just forgetfulness?”
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