Friday, October 14, 2005

I was taking a survey stolen off of Emily's Livejournal (friends only, so I won't link) when I ran into the following question, and it stopped me:

(what is) Your most missed memory?

Oh man. No way I can fit that into a tiny little answer field.

My most missed memory? If I take even a second to reflect on what the number one might possibly be, I am pelted with them, in no particular order.

Jill's house after school. Band with Mr. Judd. Mr. Ladd's little corner office at the high school. Joe Boss sitting behind me. Bus trips to isleborro and truth or dare.

(I pause before this all becomes about that particular set of people-- early high school, bandy people. I re-open my eyes, and close them again.)

Falling in love with Jeff-- How I'd never felt about anyone the way I felt about him, genuinely, unstoppably wanting to be with him. EL proms: Chad and I dancing and him telling me that there wasn't anyone in the world he enjoyed spending time with than me. Casey and I in line for photos (it took forever) and I turned towards him and he wrapped his arms around my waist and there was no reason for any onlooker to know that that one night was our only one night in that context, that it would be the only night of our lives we ever allowed ourselves to pretend we could care that way about each other, and the way it felt that he still felt the same way about me that I'll spend the rest of my life feeling about him, except I have to pretend it isn't true, because I've made my choices, and I've grown up, and I'm a big girl now and I know what's realistic.

(Close. Open.)


The hours preceding our first kiss, the way it felt to lie next to him, the exact position we were in (it's a missed memory because it's a gone memory, all except the memory of knowing the next day how perfect that one moment felt.) How we were before the vaginismus-- before the drama. If we'd stayed that way forever, I would have escaped myself and the way I cling to anyone even vaguely worth clinging to. (an earlier question in the survey was your weakness? To which I replied "falling in love with people." I do it too much, and undo very rarely, though I've recently learned, finally, that I do, in fact, do it.)

The first time he made me cry out of joy. The day I text messaged Jenn that I thought I might want to marry him. The night I (He?) proposed. The night I confessed to him every transgression I'd been storing up to confess...and found out he still loved me, really loved me, and, oh, god, how much he must love me.

(Close. Open.)

Mr. Leighton in the library. Various lunch tables. Drama! Crying in front of Max in the school library.


Tying Brent's hair in knots. My family, when it was the basic four. Campground convenience stores and the way they always smelled, the things they always carried. Playing badmitton with my sister in one of the Carolina's. Kissing a seal.

California. The first words Rachel said to me, whispering seductively into my ear: Wanna be Reiki'd? Midnight talks with Sherry in the hotel room. L.A. with Heather, and the weird devil-costumed street performer who gave us "dream stones". That guy on the plane who recognized Zack's Beal's Lobster Pier shirt, so we had pizza together during the short Chicago layover (because we were both scared out of our minds to be away from home for the first time.) Roxane, happily wearing the red prayer blanket I bought her like a cape-- the smile on her face.

Standing in the Balisque de Notre Dame in Montreal. Laying in the grass with Greg in Vermont.

Playing the Bee Puppet game with Jeremey. Bringing Mrs. Deraspe a Birthday card every year. Driving to Land's End with Emily. Her mix tapes.

Sex and whatever facilitates sex.

All the music that was special to Jenn and I-- singing out loud to the Newsies or Robbie Williams in her car and feeling like her and I really belonged together. Being associated as part of a pair with her-- Jenn and Linda. Linda and Jenn.

The sad part is that I know there's more I'm missing, and it's bound to be that this was my last chance to remember some of it.

This is why I write.

On with it.