Memoria

In my life, I have yet to learn a truth. Did you know that? Does it scare you as much as it scares me?

On days like today I want to shake somebody. I want to scream. I want someone to listen, not laugh and tell me that my distrust is unfounded. Don't you get it? There's a different story every channel I flip. I don't know whether to think defense or terrorism or accident or make-believe. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe I should just stand and stare? That's more effective anyway.

This morning, I stood in procession to honor those who have fallen. Did they understand what they were fighting for? Would it have mattered?

I missed out on something. I've been so busy growing up. I have piles of cutouts- newspaper articles and plastered smiles and laundry list accolades. I'm the kid who doesn't have to introduce herself, who's supposed to do great things, whose grandmother answers the phone with a "What else have you won?" Has she considered that sometimes maybe I call just to hear her... that maybe sometimes I just need a hello?

It scares me. I'm living days I can't take back. I'm leaving days I can't take back.

I'm not ready.

Retrogression

Welcome to the 5770th year of creation. My not-yet-seventeen is tired. Imagine how God must feel.

What's it like, I wonder, to understand always, to have been before the before, to be after the after? I don't spend much time in the present, you know, though I don't have far to wander. Still, I linger in the past and scramble for the future. I pitter-patter across ancient streets in next year's trends, with last year's promises. But I still have my mortality. I still have that glimmer. I know it all will end.

Does it scare you that what I look forward to most is what I'll leave behind? Should it scare me?

I have an unhealthy grasp of the ephemeral. I don't expect things to last. I hope for moments and make provisions so they can't occur. I write and draft and draft and redraft and stop before I finish. I leave my thoughts undone so I can come back to them tomorrow, but tomorrow becomes today. When I don't sleep, I miss the distinction.

You see, I passed a woman the other day. She had an old cap and a shopping cart of recyclables. She had a beautiful morning and a beautiful smile, and for a moment, she had someone to enjoy it with. For a moment, I had something to share. Her face light up that morning, you know. It shouldn't have. She should have known many hellos. She should have shared many smiles. Her laugh should not have been broken, throaty without practice. That morning shouldn't have been special.

People have been telling me how memorable I am. I take the time to care and I'm told that makes me different. I wish it weren't so.

Pursuit of Happiness

I know a boy who remembers me with 3 A.M.s and the scent of sour apple, and a man who's not sure who he's become. I know a mother and a father and a sister who laughed when she was born. I know your birthday and your number and your eyes before they find me. I know more than I realize and less of what matters. I used to think, not feel.

I'm taking a minute, and I don't know if I'll return it.

My window is open so I can listen to the patter of puddle on sidewalk. I have eighteen questions and only three answered. I have a mug of orange tea which I drink warm, not hot. I have a song in my head and another on the radio. I have a box full of memories and a lifetime to make them.

I have a story and people who share it. It would have been enough.

You know, the future is a funny thing, and maybe it's just me, but I keep going back to the past. I think that's the way it's supposed to be, though. I wasn't the only one who shaped me. I had help. They mattered then. They matter now.

We grow together, and it is beautiful.