My Silly Stories & Literary Lore: I Remember

I remember

I was listening to my first vinyl on the stereo my mom bought from the garage sale down the street. Nine years old. Lying on my bed, mindlessly counting the embossed flowers crowding my papered walls, lost in clichés advocating that somehow, like the sun, love could chase the rain.

Conversion.

I remember

the sun digging deep beneath my skin. Triple digit temperatures. Solace breathed in the shade beneath the big Maple. I was sticky, but carefree. Raising a blade of grass from my thumbs to my lips, I tried to mimic the songbirds above. Blue Jays engaging in banter of high-pitched cheeping and chirping.

Love birds.

I remember

my shelves were full of every fairy tale known to man. Boy Meets Girl. I put myself in the place of the pretty one, dreaming of that magical moment. Boy Falls in Love with Girl. Malevolence and wickedness, disenchanted by do-gooders and justice, conquered by the prince on the white horse. Boy Marries Girl. I was continually mesmerized by, and even counted on, the predictability of good over evil.

Happily Ever After.

I remember

Sunday. His so-called passion, a cover-up for the scars that would surface long after he was gone. Apparently, crying 'Uncle' isn't an option when you're "on duty" (the ink barely dry on the contract mounted beneath the glass). The communistic commitment pierced my corneas - a siren of the reality.

The show must go on.

I remember.

empty pledges, prompting me to be still for just a little longer. His eyes told the lies of the lines that were set and I knew then I became the harlot. No breathing. Suffer in silence. These were the rules, the impetus, promoting resentment in love’s place. Strings attached, tangling, choking, suffocating.

Intermission.

I remember

breaking the lock to an old chest tucked beneath corners of cobwebs. My shoes marked with creases of my “once upon a time”. Still a perfect fit and double-knotted for good measure. No more shadows. Embrace the exception. Shedding the coat adorned with badges of scorn, I would refuse right-of-way to roads of the past and a future of not knowing the end from the beginning.

Baptism by fire.

Now I remember.