I remember a little girl in kindergarten with blonde hair in a page boy haircut and warts on
her fingers. Gail, her name was. I had this funny, squishy, protective feeling whenever I was near her, and always wanted to sit beside her and help with her reading.
I remember the first girl I kissed – Cheryl Maurer, who lived next door. We were 6.
I remember the first girl who kissed me – my high school sweetheart, on our first date.
I remember the first time I made love – how clumsy and inept I was, how I had trouble
getting started, and how I came too soon.
I don’t remember 1st or 2nd grade.
I don’t remember much about a certain frat party.
I don’t remember the last time I smoked a joint.
I don’t remember when I first realized the marriage was over.
I don’t remember the last time I cried. Or vomited.
I remember Dallas, November 22, 1963, and where I was.
I remember Christmas Eve, 1968 – getting home from midnight Mass, turning on the TV, and beholding the moon from 70 miles away while the crew of Apollo 8 read from Genesis. I remember the magic to this day.
I remember Apollo 11, and my goosebumps when I heard the phrase “Picking up some dust…”
I remember February 1, 2003, when the space shuttle Columbia was declared “overdue” at its landing site, and how I knew that could only mean one thing.
I don’t remember ever kissing my mom.
I don’t remember saying good-bye to my dad.
I don’t remember what it feels like to belong.
I don’t remember my dreams.
I remember my 1st car.
I remember my 1st job.
I remember my 1st broken bone.
I remember when Death first became real.
I remember the 1st time I was truly afraid.
I don’t remember my 1st scuba dive. But I sure remember my last one.
I don’t remember much of my college German.
I don’t remember Elizabeth’s last name. But I do remember the tenderness with which she touched my arm, and the longing in her eyes, and how I froze, wanting it to be real but not daring believe that it was.
I remember having appendicitis.
I remember my dad’s laugh.
I remember my favorite daydreaming spot when I was 15.
I don’t remember my 7th grade teacher’s name.
I remember depression, but not its awful, tangible blackness.
I remember humiliation, but not its tearful hurt.
I remember rejection, but not its personal affront.
I remember grief, but not how suffocatingly permanent it can seem.
I remember when life was difficult. I remember how I nearly lost the house to the divorce and how close I came to insolvency. I remember how I was financially gutted, emotionally drained, and fancied the wolf was baying just outside my door.
But just barely.
In the end, the credits seem to balance the debits. Nothing is owed. So I close the ledger and set it aside. Time for more important pursuits. Like life itself.
Balancing the Books
Prose, including snippets (mini-memoirs).
Balancing the Books
Post by sasha » July 12th, 2016, 1:33 pm
Last edited by sasha on January 31st, 2018, 10:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
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"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
- judih
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Re: Balancing the Books
Post by judih » July 12th, 2016, 5:35 pm
fascinating overview of your life
may you have much more to add to the scales
may you have much more to add to the scales
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