This is a tough one….
What do y’all think?
I have so many memories of good times and bad that they kind of blur together, like memories do.
I don’t remember much before I was 21, honestly.
I don’t think it has anything to do with the years of drugs, alcoholism, high school football, boxing, etc.,
I wish I knew then what I know now.
I never would have touched anything that could have affected my memory, or brain for that matter.
Losing memories is like dumping all the photos on your hard drive.
If you don’t have someone that can spark a memory for you, a copy so to say, it’s gone.
I should have licked everyone that I have ever met, or smelled them….I remember a lot more that way.
“Hi, my name is Trey [Big sloppy lick across their face, huge whiff of their hair] Glad to meet you”
……Punch in the face, or pepper spray….
I’d remember that shit for sure, there’s something about pain that stimulates my memory too I guess…
“Yeah, I remember Trey, that crazy bastard, first time we met he licked me on my face and smelled me, I’ll never forget that asshole!”
The good ones:
“Who…Mindy, Yeah, she always tasted like strawberries.”
“Who…Tim Poague, He always smelled like pine trees and diesel fuel.”
“Who…Carol, she smelled like….lust”
I remember the trees outside of the big windows…
That’s where my dreams were, outside the windows and in the trees
But get this….
I remember every teacher I had from the 2nd grade until the 5th grade.
That’s when I was a sponge.
I kissed Sherry Parrott under a desk in the 2nd grade….
Ahhh…I wonder if Sherry knows that she is still remembered fondly after almost 42 years?
Thank God I still have that one memory.
I am glad that I can still recall memories, at least that are good, even when someone or something has to trigger it for me, sort of like drawing them out of a well.
If I ever get to a point, God spare me, that I ask someone “Mmm, what’s that smell?” ….they look at me, give a sad smile and then putting a tender hand on my shoulder and say “That’s bacon, Trey”
I can’t even imagine…I don’t want to imagine.
Isn’t life about compiling memories?
Doesn’t life, or the experience of it, become more profound and meaningful when we can compare it to something ….anything we have seen,smelled, tasted….?
The spices of life….
I think, to be remembered with good feelings, is probably what I wish the most.
My Tombstone epitaph; “Here lies Trey, he was a good guy”
Instead of “Here lies Trey, we don’t remember much about him except he was here once”
I could probably look back thru the years and try to recall who may not remember me well and why, but it is hard to see thru the smoke of all those burning bridges….
I have memories that I recall quite frequently, kinda like “fallbacks”.
A memory to fit almost any current situation….
Usually it’s a memory that proves that;
I have done that before…
I have done it many times…
I have done it better than you…
I have done it cheaper and had stuff left over…
You see what I’m saying?
I am sitting here in a quiet rest area in Pennsylvania, using their free Wi-Fi, and watching the sun come up.
I just saw a mommy walk by with a toddler in her arms…the kiddo perched precariously on moms hip like a half bag of taters.
They were just talking away to each other as they walked by.
The kid is probably about 14 months old and he was chattering away like a big person when mom would ask him a question that he had no way of understanding.
His mom appeared to be Chinese so you can’t blame the kid, I’m 49 and still haven’t learned Chinese.
I don’t think he was speaking anything she could actually understand, because children, ages 2 and under, still speak the language of the angels.
No….Moms understand us just fine when we are babies….They know EXACTLY what we’re saying, and they find it damn interesting the majority of the time.
I wonder if he will remember his mom smiling at him one day?
Yeah, some things are holy…He’ll remember and pass it on to his kids.
That’s a profound thing I just came up with.
Pass on a smile to your kids instead of a frown, a grimace or a shout….
They remember them, and pass it on to their kids, and them, their own, infinitum.
I don’t remember my mom that well, all I remember is that she seemed mad all the time.
I remember angry voices and words…
I have thought about it and I decided that I would want to start over at 8 years old.
I remember my 8th birthday.
I don’t remember if we had a party or if I got any presents, but I remember believing that I was a big boy now and didn’t have to sit at the little kids table anymore….
Plus, I had learned enough to stay out of trouble, I had soaked up enough at school to expound on subjects that adults found intriguing and insightful.
I hadn’t discovered girls yet or how they smelled.
I had more important things to think about, things to do, people to see, memorie’s to be made.
My whole life ahead of me…
A canvas awaiting every imaginable stroke of the brush, every unimaginable mix of color and texture…
Then came Ricky Moore….
….The evil that moved into the house next door.
He ended my innocence.
He gave me bad memories….Bad dreams.
Is it his fault I turned out the way I did, or made the mistakes I made?
No…I don’t blame him anymore, not completely, to be honest…
I still blame him for saying he was my friend…
Friends don’t hurt friends.
Now that I am older, I realize that someone probably stole him first, maybe worse.
He died in Prison,( the son of a bitch….[addendum])
[During edit] I guess there’s still a little hate left after-all, i added this right before hitting the publish button
I am still here….Flawed, but here nonetheless.
Sometimes not remembering can be a good thing I suppose.
I would start at 8 again, because I think I could have fought him harder, smarter.
I wouldn’t have been afraid to tell my parents because I knew they would blame me anyways.
I would have believed that I could trust my parents instead of fear them.
It would have made the difference.
I’m glad I don’t remember it all now that I’m writing this….
What little I recall is making me sad, I can only guess how sad it was then for me…
Scared to tell, scared to run…scared to death with nowhere to hide.
I tried to kill Ricky Moore.
I took my dad’s .22 rifle during the night after everyone was asleep and walked thru a recently plowed field to the Moore’s house.
Even then I knew not to leave evidence….weird.
My dog Toby was right next to me:
“What are you doing with the gun, Trey?” Toby asked.
Toby stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop.
“What are you doing?” He asked again.
I pointed the gun at my dog, Toby’s eyes grew large, his lips curling back, baring his teeth at me.
“Move Toby” I said quietly….
You see, I wasn’t there right then….Just a desperate boy that was afraid to walk into the woods or out of my yard, or down the dirt road….
Toby moved out of my way….
My bestest friend; he should have killed Ricky for me.
I don’t remember walking across the Moore’s yard or how I got to Ricky’s window, but I remember looking thru it and seeing them all sitting at thekitchen table.
I didn’t think.
I aimed at Ricky’s head and shot thru the window screen
I even saw his hair stir when the bullet passed by his ear.
He just brushed at his ear as if it had been a mosquito.
No one at the table even looked up or moved a muscle
“That was your one chance” said God in my ear.
Toby barked “Run!”
Yes, I do have that memory….
Yes, I would be 8 again if I had a chance.
I would do it all again, except I wouldn’t miss next time.
It stinks like fear…
How about another smooch Sherry Parrott?
That always makes me smile….
Thanks Sherry, for sharing the rest of my life with me.
You made a boy….and a man smile.
Oh….You smelled great by the way.
Like buttered-rolls and crayons….