My Second Memory

Sometimes all this life I have lived feels like too much. Writing feels like letting out, and never forgetting it. The past few days I have been sick in bed, sitting heavy like a rock in my big white comforter. I have been challanging my writing in a way that seems to be spooking me a bit. Remembering my memories in a new light. Letting the odd things come out and look awkward and silent in front of who I am now. The peculiar little lies I may have made up, or the things that seemed right back then, and wrong now. My innocence is what kills me. How could I have not understood those itty details? And how can I get back there, to feel that ounce of innocence towards life? 

I decided to conjure up, and write my first memory. Okay, I lied it is my second memory. 

We had just moved into our new house. At the time I didn't realize the discomfort that would follow living there. The childlike innocence that kept your eyes clear of any impurities of the situation that has befallen you. (What I was to find out later on in my life was that this home was meant to be temporary. We ended up here for almost 17 years.) As a kid you were just grateful and happy to be somewhere that sheltered your head. Never did I realize the doom and gloom.  I must have been four just turning five. It was October 25th 1995. There is a side window on our two story duplex home that looks over the sidewalk which winds up to the doorway (This doorway in my teenage years was painted the most wonderful deep red, which I hated back then).  There wasn't any furniture obstructing my view. I stood maybe a head and a half above the window seal. I remember the trees hadn't grown tall, and you could capture the neighbors house in plain sight only feet from ours. The land around us looked so different back then. The garden full of wild flowers, and trees just starting to sprout. I stood there looking and waiting. In this moment I am not sure if I was actually waiting for what was coming or just looking. My hair was cut just to the bottom of my jawbone. Dusty blonde, with a colorful plastic clip holding some straggling strands away from my eyes. I wore a pink cotton dress with colorful patterns. My twin sister right next to me wearing the same thing with slight variation. All of the sudden I see my Grandma Clark waltzing up the sidewalk. He hair short in a fluff of curls, her glasses pressed right up to the bridge of her nose. She walked unaware of my gaze. She was carrying gift boxes covered in bright birthday wrapping paper. From this memory I hadn't realized that just by looking at the box I knew what it was. A box in the perfect shape of a Barbie Doll. This didn't seem weird to me that I already knew. It may have been just a lucky guess or a premature premonition of the contents. Or even I just wanted a Barbie Doll so badly that I used my five year old mind powers to bring me one. I also don't remember feeling bad that I already knew. Just excited to get a birthday gift. Grandma walked inside, hollering a "Yoo-hoo!" To make all known that she had arrived. My sister and I left the window and ran to greet her with little hugs. We opened the gifts with gratitude and played to our hearts content. 

It is amazing what we choose to remember from our lives, and what we seem to forget. What we remember is so powerful and can contain may unearthed metaphors for what we may or may not realize in this existence  Metephors that I don't dare spill here, for they are all transitory and fragile to those who simply don't understand your life and the details that surpass it. Although I will say...that in this 5 year old memory I had so much hope. And even so much instinct that I want to maintain in my daily life now. 

As we grow, it is amazing to find all the things that still are carried with you. Refelcting on these things can either dampen your spirit or let it move forward.

After all when I start writing about my life and the things in it, it doesn't seem quite real. Some things feel very intriquing because I don't understand. Other things feel more like an elaborate hoax.


MLC