I Remember…

This post is inspired by a similar post by Sabina over at Victim to Charm.

I was unbelievably struck by the poignancy of her words as she recounted memories of her own in short but beautiful snippets. I fell in love with the idea and wanted to try a hand at it myself. I soon realized that the seemingly simple action of writing down memories (which is, of course, not as simple as it sounds) is an excellent writing exercise.

I was amazed at the memories that came back to me when I really put my mind to it. I soon had pages and pages of notebook pages filled. I’m currently traveling right now, so this was not only an excellent writing exercise, but a pretty good way to pass the time in the car, too.

A memory is so much more than a moment in time. Some memories define a person and others are simply snippets of color on this canvas that is life…they combine to tell a unique and personal story. Here are some of mine, snippets from my story…

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I remember the the last time I saw him. The look of dejection, sadness on his face…

…I remember knowing I would see him again.

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I remember busy, winding streets monopolized by wild cab drivers.

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I remember helping him make dinner… I say helping, but really it was mostly watching, taking in his attention to detail, his concentration…

…I remember being infatuated.

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I remember the tourist family all dressed in orange.

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I remember the restaurant that had one meal on the menu–steak and a big wedge of lettuce.

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I remember the first time we spoke in the locker bay, how she mistook me for someone else.

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I remember the weight in my chest, the blurred vision, the clammy hands…how I was convinced it was the end, I was going to die right there in the middle of Lowe’s–as my heart raced.

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I remember meeting them and being so uncertain. 

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I remember looking at the sloppy joe on my plate in disgust on the night I quit eating meat.

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I remember reading those text messages and crying…how much they stung.

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I remember clutching his side as I asked him to fast forward–even though I knew Adrien Brody’s character lived, even though I knew he had to live because he was The Pianist.

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I remember sleeping in the car and watching the Montana sun rise.

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I remember the staleness of our broken relationship.

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I remember the Washington Metro during rush hour.

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I remember a $100.00 gift card that bought dinner for two.

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I remember flirting on the first floor of the library…yeah, it was flirting…

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I remember discovering how much she annoyed me…and how I worried I was just like her.

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I remember marching band practices on hot summer days.

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I remember trying to mediate a falling out between them–and wondering how two of my best friends ended up like this.

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I remember the best sour cream cheesecake of my life.

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I remember finally sneaking into the tunnels below campus and reveling in the the making of those last memories of college.

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I remember begging him to stay.

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I remember the rejection letter the publisher sent me, how nice it was–I was twelve.

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I remember pushing myself, no force myself to write…

…I remember the beginning of blogging after years of rejecting the writer inside of me.