Tag: memories

Salt.

It’s the salt,

in the air,

your memory,

everywhere.

It’s on my tongue,

in my hair,

your memory,

everywhere.

It’s in my cells,

a part of every smell,

your memory,

everywhere.

It runs in my blood,

coats my lungs,

your memory,

everywhere.

–S.

Warm Whiskey.

The wind makes the trees dance,

and my hair frizzy.

I wonder if you ever miss me.

The wind makes the trees dance,

and my hair frizzy,

why didn’t you ever kiss me?

The wind makes the trees dance,

and my hair frizzy,

you still burn like warm whiskey.

The wind makes the trees dance,

and my hair frizzy,

it’s all starting to hit me.

–S.

Laughing on an old brown leather couch.

From August 2014.

One of my dad’s favorite comedians has always been Robin Williams. For as long as I can remember – I have been obsessed with my dad’s laughter.

I think it soothes me. It lets me know that in that moment everything is good. We are all safe. Whenever I have the chance to snag my dad away so we can watch a comedy or a stand-up special – I do just that. When he laughs really hard he makes a lot of movements and eventually it just all becomes one big wheezy sound. Sometimes he laughs so hard that he cries. And we spend the next few days repeating our favorite lines to each other and laughing all over again.

That smile. That laugh. Two of my favorite images in my short lifetime.

Today, we watched a Robin Williams stand-up, followed by an interview. My mother and I on one couch, my dad on the other, and my younger brother passed out on their bed. I watched beyond the images moving on the screen. I looked for small remarks made by Robin, that today, mean a hell of a lot more than they did years ago. Words showing the darkness that lived within him as much as he worked at making others happy and full of laughter.

I realize that he has left us with all of these gems to assist in our laughter for years to come. He is still here. The man that he let us know. All of the different masks that we were privy to.

I also look to the man to my right, my father, and feel the warmth of comfort deep in my belly.

Things are okay.

They could be better.

They could be worse.

But we are here together. Alive. Breathing. Laughing. Smiling. Eating. Drinking.

I make a promise to myself today to pay more attention. To the underlying message in the words spoken by those I love the most in this bittersweet moment. I will not just listen, but hear. I will not just watch, but see. I will not just say, but do. I make a promise to look beyond what they think their eyes are telling them. To see the pain. The dark. The hurt.

I also know that it has never been more clear that when my mother and father no longer inhabit this earth physically with one another but with me – that their words, their laughter, their faces, and their movements will live in

my heart,

my soul,

my mind,

my bones,

my cells.

I will always remember all of the times we laughed so hard that we cried on the scratched up, with years, brown leather couches in the living room.

–S.

A Perfect Day – Eleven Years Ago.

I took my little brother out for hot dogs, ice cream, and some hardcore dance sessions during the car ride to retail therapy outlet mall.

Every time I think I know everything there is to know about that nine year-old boy, he surprises me.

He no longer eats his hot dogs plain. They are topped with ketchup and mayonnaise now.

His favorite song range from Lana Del Rey to Daft Punk (which he calls Drift Punk, and he tells me that EVEN our dad knows that’s their band name).

As I shift through the three radio stations I generally listen to, he directs me to stop at the ones that play the first song that catches his attention.

I lower the music to point out the airplane in the air, or the dog on the sidewalk with its owner, and he nods and smiles quickly, and turns the music back up.

He still misses our cats and dogs that have passed, and doesn’t quite understand where they go.

He closes his eyes and gets lost in the music.

He moves his head to the beats and pretends to know the lyrics as he lip sings.

Sometimes he actually knows the lyrics, and I look over in surprise, and he gets shy, lowers his eyelids, and stares away with a secret smile.

He gets the cone with vanilla ice cream, dipped in chocolate, with some crushed nuts.

He has an ice cream mustache the entire time, and while I am driving – I am frantically looking for something to wipe his mustache away. I forget in moments like this that he is nine. He can wipe his own mustache – if he really wants it gone. He is almost growing out of all these things.

He will eventually stop asking me to open his coke, or rip open the ketchup packet, or help him pass a level on a game. He will start doing these things independently.

Along with this – our dance sessions while riding in the car will become rarer.

It’ll start becoming embarrassing for him to do so and he will become old enough to stay home by himself and pick playing Halo 4 over going to Target.

I like to write about these emotions, these memories, because one day they will fade as well. I won’t remember them quite as vividly. I won’t remember that I was wearing my aqua button-up shirt with skulls and roses – that is way too big for me now because I’ve been losing weight. I won’t remember that E smelled like my dad’s aftershave because he says it holds for 72 hours. I won’t remember that we actually saw a woman who was crossing the street get hit by a car with our own eyes. I won’t remember that he didn’t get ice in his drink because he says his Dr. Pepper will start tasting like water. I won’t remember that he had a small red pimple on the front of his nose. I won’t remember that he wore his Champion sweatpants backwards for the second day in a row.

One day it won’t be hot dogs, ice cream, and dance. For E, it might be girlfriends, skateboards, and staying up late. For me, it’ll be a career, paying off student loans, and going to sleep early. I hope we always at least vaguely remember a time when life was simpler. Moments where we were infinite with David Guetta blasting in the backyard, ice cream mustaches, and soda highs.

–S.

You Saw Me, Anyway.

I disappear.

I disappeared.

I was disappearing.

And then he saw me.

In all of my flawed glory.

And I tried.

Tried, but was not successful in tearing my eyes away.

I fade.

I faded.

I was fading.

And our first kiss breathed life into my throat.

To my lungs.

To my stomach.

To my spine.

Ears.

Fingers.

Liver.

Toes.

Eyes.

Thighs.

Arms.

Hair.

And into my heart.

–S.

Even though we didn’t make it, I still feel the same.

From 2014.

I know that we usually say I love you after we play-fight or someone brings up a topic that is still too fresh to joke about, but in every moment, serious or comical, I love you with my whole heart.

The beginning of this summer, at least for now, will be the last we will spend together.

As the days near your departure, I am full and I am hollow.

I am full of inside jokes, laughter, snippets in time, late night adventures, songs, embarrassing moments, proud moments, drives around the city, dances downtown, all-nighters pulled for assignments, the million little pieces that comprise our friendship.

I am hollow because I won’t be able to look at you across from the table at a restaurant and speak to you solely using eye contact. I am hollow because in your presence I am home. I have found shelter. I have found comfort. Life seems scarier to take on without you being a ten minute drive away.

Although we have only known each other for two years, I feel that our friendship has weathered the test of time in lives before and after this one.

I see us deep in the country at the age of five, collecting lightening bugs in mason jars and counting how long their light will last one Mississippi two. I see us at the age of eleven trying to drive an old beat-up truck and running it into a creek. I see us at the age of fifteen running away and deciding that we would live out of the bed of that same truck. I see us at the age of eighty-two at the nursing home ogling the ass of the tall, dark, and handsome nurse.

I am forever changed because of our time together. I hope in the future that we do get that apartment or house together that we always talked about, and even if fate wants us to always be separated by miles as our lives head in different directions, I want you to find comfort in the fact that I always carry your heart with me and when I feel the breeze against my face on a hot Texas day, or see the lights of the city late at night, I see two girls in a truck, laughing and speeding away.

I’ll be seeing you,

–S.

English Assignment circa 2008.

I believe that you don’t have to be skinny to be beautiful. I believe that if you are not learning that you are dying. I believe in pulling all-nighters. Eating junk food when you are sad and moments that take your breath away. I believe in love at first sight. Cheap birthday cake and cupcakes. I believe in watching a TV show just because you can hear your father laugh. I believe in sleeping in all summer long. I believe that what your parents say cuts the deepest. The feeling right after a deep conversation. I believe in smiles that don’t go away because of a certain boy. Being famous is overrated. Daydreaming. Texting. Italian food. I believe that laughter is the way into a person’s heart and soul. I believe that there is beauty in everyone. I believe in happy endings. The innocence of a child. Long car rides with loud music. IHOP and mix cd’s that people burn for you. I believe that people should not be allowed to drift away from each other. I believe that the truth will set you free. I believe in best friends that know you better than you know yourself. I believe that love is worth waiting for. I believe in moments you would like to freeze, just so you can play them over and over again. I believe in movies that give you a new outlook on life. I believe that tears don’t show weakness, but just how strongly you felt for something at a certain point in your life. I believe that you cannot hate a person because you will never truly know everything about them. I believe that wars don’t fix things – they separate families. I believe in Bosnia. I believe in wishing on shooting stars or 11:11 just in case. I believe things that are meant to be – always find a way back to each other. The beauty in a summer day. The spirit of someone that passed away. Saving voicemails just to hear that person’s voice. I believe in people that bring out the best in you. First impressions are mostly never true. Wanting something you cannot have. Doing something that you would never do. The words said when no one is speaking. The love of a family that is world’s apart. Things that complete my heart.

Today – I’d like to believe I’m still the person who wrote this.

–S.

If.

If you were here, I’d come pick you up at 1:30 am.

We would stop at McDonald’s and pick up all the food and drinks that are the worst.

I’d put on a playlist that I made that night. It would be filled with all of our favorite songs at the moment. Sometimes I would sing lead and you would sing back-up and then we would trade places.

I would look over at you and see that you are hanging halfway out of the window taking in the summer breeze that only happens at night. You’d be sipping your soda and a bug would hit your face while we are speeding down the highway to the airport. You’d erupt in a big cloud mixed with spitting and cuss words.

We are coming up to our destination. My secret place. One of the main reasons my car runs out of gas quickly.

The airport.

The lights. The breeze. The air. The sounds.

We take it all in.

The music is still playing, but we are no longer singing.

Here, conversation doesn’t have to take place. We are both sifting through our own demons. And this place calms us.

People are leaving. People are coming back. And although physically we are not on any of those planes – I see our souls rise up into the night sky and make things right.

We will always have these memories. And even when their warmth is no longer able to sustain our friendship – we know that those two young women are still alive somewhere in this universe.

A touch. A whisper. A scream. A cry. A moment. A feeling.

Fleeting.

In this moment, I am still aware that we are going to separate soon.

That you will move away and things won’t be the same. That someone else will get to hug you and see the way your face lights up for Pepsi and hot Cheetos – even though you know they make you break out. That someone else will learn all of your faces, different laughs, and words you’ve made up.

Someone else will be your friend. They will learn to love you. They will learn your ways.

-S.

Heavy Heart.

Excerpt from a letter that now almost seems like it was written in a past life.

I’ll miss your stories. I’ll miss fighting with you.

I’ll miss your deep voice. I’ll miss knowing you.

I’ll miss hearing your smile through the phone. I’ll miss you calling me on your lunch break.

I’ll miss falling asleep to your text messages. I’ll miss waking up to your text messages.

I will miss everything so fucking much.

God, it’s really over.

My heart is so heavy.

It is so so tired.

–S.