“Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.”
-Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go
I’m
sitting on the dock in my backyard, legs dangling in the black water that is
sparkling with the reflection of the million twinkling stars above. I’m counting these stars with a best friend,
delirious with fatigue and happiness and the unfathomable depth of the
universe. Then we’re singing, belting out some song at the top of our lungs,
letting the sound bounce across to the other side of the cove. We look out at
the vast lake, and up at the crystal clear constellations, and in that moment, time
is nothing and just existing is everything.
I’m
standing on the porch, looking down at the lawn (far) below. I don’t remember
the thoughts running through my head, but all of a sudden, I’m climbing on the
railing. And I’m standing there, toes curling over the edge. I lift my arms up
over my head and close my eyes, feeling the vertigo of the black swirling in
front of my eyelids, my body willing itself closer to the edge. I open my eyes.
And then I jump.
I’m
with my family, in an unfamiliar city. Finally, we are all together, after
years of being apart. We’re in a limo, for reasons I never really figured out.
There’s laughter, and there’s no music, so I’m singing. I lock eyes with my
brother for a second, and we both break out into cackles, because somehow we
just know that something that’s in both of our heads is funny. And all of a
sudden, the car is stopping, the door is opened, and we’re piling out. We’re at
a monument of some sort, a monument that is roped off with a sign telling us to
look but don’t touch. And then we’re running up the stairs, even my grandma,
with the snow swirling around our rosy faces. I pause on the steps as my aunt tells
me to strike a pose. After the camera clicks, I’m scrambling up and up, until
I’m at the top. Gazing out at the city, and around at the faces of the people I
love, I can’t help but smile. And really smile.
I’m
laying on a bed, its not mine, it never will be mine. It’s foreign, the room is
foreign, the whole place is a land that I don’t want to be a part of. I’m crying,
sobbing hysterically all over the scratchy sheets that will never feel like
home. I bury my head into the pillow and scream as loud as I can, just to prove
to myself that I’m still alive. And no one comes running.
I put my hands to the black and white keys,
and then my fingers take over, my muscles guiding them through a familiar melody. I play until I forget, until it’s only me and the sound
echoing in the empty room, bouncing against the stark white walls. My fingers
move gracefully across the ivory, and I'm amazed at their memory, unaffected by the events unfolding around me. I play until everything fades away.
I’m
running down the halls of my elementary school, feeling a sense of rebellion as
I break the one rule that has been pounded into my brain over the years. I
don’t have on shoes, and I’m sliding around on the tile in my socks. I laugh as
I run faster, stop, and then slide as far as I can. I’m with friends, and they
laugh and follow my lead. We pass a teacher, and my heart beats faster with
nervousness. But she doesn’t scold—instead, she smiles.
I
pull my suitcase over the lump of carpet that has folded up in the corner and
walk through the sliding glass doors. My eyes search for a familiar car, but I
can’t find it. The warm, humid air is like a big hug welcoming me home. I don’t
recognize the car, but then I see her. My mom is still the same, glossy brown
hair and beautiful, deep brown eyes that widen when they see me. I quicken my
pace, but what is this that I’m feeling? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I drop
the suitcase and am embraced in the best hug that there ever was. I crumple
into her; every pore of my being feels a sigh of relief. My cheeks are wet but
I’m not sad; I don’t know what I am. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m home.
xx
