I Remember

From a prompt.

Prompt: write using the words I Remember to begin every sentence.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

I remember playing in the street where cars now rush by with chaotic indifference.

I remember Christmas’ evoking magical moments as I looked for footprints in the freshly fallen snow.

I remember beaches where crowds were non-existent. Where the waves on the lake made strong surf. Where bobbing and weaving were essential to prevent being overrun by waves.

I remember looking out the window and seeing cars on the distant highway. Now there are houses in the way.

I remember headaches and sorrow bookended by waves of joy, repeated until exhaustion crept in.

I remember walking everywhere without a worry. People were friendly and helpful.

I remember the thrill and horror of reading Stephen King books for the first time. Pick the book up. Put the book down with awe and fear. This repeated often until I finished reading the book. The exhilaration was exhausting, and illuminating.

I remember the deep laughter of watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail through joyous tears in a movie theatre. That was in the opening credits before we saw the rest of the movie.

I remember the excitement of hearing a tune for the first time on the radio. It was always a pleasant surprise.

I remember being mesmerized by Hey Jude. Everyone stopped playing cards as we heard the song over and over on the tiny turntable, eventually singing along hypnotically with the outro.

I remember long trips in the car with no air conditioning, crowded, full of objects we “needed,” the swipe of a hand over the seat when enough was enough.

I remember Hibachi hamburgers, slightly crisp that were better than anything else I ever ate.

I remember 10 candies for 1 penny. A dime had so much candy that it was gluttonous.

I remember the joy of my first road trip in my new/old car. Cruising down the highway listening to the hits of the day I felt a sense of freedom that didn’t last.

I remember the first time I walked home from my friend’s house late at night by myself. Downhill, across the dark and mysteriously lighted creek with its old wooden bridge and then uphill again. Footsteps echoing in the darkness.

I remember lightning striking the water ten feet in front of our tent. In this same tent I remember diverting the running water so that it missed my sleeping bag.

I remember being fascinated building dams to control water flow after a heavy rainfall.

I remember standing on the front seat of my grandfather’s car as we drove the ten miles to the next town. Sometimes the songs I heard from then return me to that exact memory.

I remember cold walks in subarctic temperatures to use the outhouse in January.

I remember the first time I swam across a small river underwater without breaching the surface. A strong sense of satisfaction ensued.

I remember standing in the first house I bought both in awe and in total panic at having to owe so much money to someone.

I remember my first true love in excruciating detail. And my second for deeper and more satisfying reasons.

I remember going to my first movie by myself, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. People couldn’t understand why I went by myself. People still don’t understand why I do things by myself.

I remember too much at times. Some things need to fade away.