Why the Outfit?

It was the height of spring, and the grass was more pink than green. Sakura trees were hardy enough that they grew as far north as Moss Bay, and a whole bunch of them had been planted recently. Some person or another read about the practice of “flower viewing” that was popular in Japan, before the end of the world. Maybe the owner of the Woodmark, who was offering discounts to anyone who came in for takeout with a picnic basket.

C wasn’t sure who’d done it, just that it was happening, and he was doing it himself. Well, not entirely himself -- Vivian and Eleanor had asked him to come. Mem was busy performing a deep clean of her hardware, a long and awkward process that used a set of hand-programmed robotic arms and a tiny drone with a brush, so she couldn’t make it. Instead, she asked C to take a video camera with him when he went with the others, and he was all too happy to agree -- for himself, too, not just for Mem.

“So,” Vivian said, “I have a question, C. If it’s not too personal.”

“Well,” C began, “not much is too personal. I leave bits and pieces of me with everyone I meet.”

Eleanor scoffed a little as she gouged a soft chocolate cookie. After swallowing, she interjected. “Wow, you’re sounding sentimental.”

“...maybe a little,” C admitted, as he held his camera up towards the trees, slowly panning from left to right to get good footage of the cherry blossoms falling.

“I could tell.” Vivian shrugged her shoulders from side to side, then got comfortable where she sat on the picnic mat. “Which is why I figured this is a good time to ask. C, why do you wear that? I’ve never seen you in a T-shirt, not even in the middle of summer.”

C chuckled.

“I guess it just left a strong impression on me.”

“You mean the coat?”

“I mean the whole look. Dusters like this, the faded pants… you see down-on-their-luck detectives wearing these things in movies and TV all the time,” C explained. “More than one of those characters resonated with me, so I remodeled my wardrobe after them.”

Vivian nodded. “But why?”

“Because they left an impression on me,” C said, “and even when I lose my memories, I don’t lose my feelings. Those get burned into the brain a different way, I guess?”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you roleplaying as Columbo has a purpose?”

“Yeah. If I had a wardrobe full of different clothes, normal clothes, it wouldn’t mean anything to me. I wouldn’t remember where I got any of it once my memories reset. But I know what this outfit means: whenever I see someone wearing it, even if I lost my memories seconds ago, I know it’s what guys like me wear.”

“Give yourself a little credit,” Vivian said. “You’re cooler than Columbo.”

C chuckled. “I don’t remember all the stuff that’d make you think that, but nothing stops me from relating to someone less cool than me, does it?”

“No.” Vivian smiled with a dim, reserved sort of radiance. “I guess it doesn’t.”

Then C paused, the gentle breeze tickling his gelled-up hair. He set the camera down on the blanket and pulled out a wire-bound notebook, thin and tall with lined paper.

“But now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever been called that. Do you mind listing off what makes me cool? I’ll write it down and stick it on the fridge at home.”

Eleanor pretended to gag.

Vivian smirked. That was Eleanor for you, she thought, but she wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. She was used to pulling people out of their own shadows, but here C was, asking to be lifted up further.

She rarely heaped praise on anyone -- not because she didn’t like or believe in them, but because pride often came before the longest falls. C, though, clung to his private eye dusters, his “brand” in a sense, and to his sticky notes and calendar scrawlings, not to some dangerously vague sense of self-importance.

“Well, first…”