there are days when i should be a phone person. when i sit at home lost in my thoughts, and wish i could just call someone to chat. but i never do. my phone is mostly unused. i don’t know why i have one.
“and they’ll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon…and they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. and the memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.”
i did not go outside yesterday.
i didn’t wake up until noon, and when i did, i knew immediately it would be a lazy, groggy, lost-in-thought and wishing-someone-would-rescue-me-from-it day. i drank a coke and paid some attention to the cat. the cat’s not going to want to leave my apartment, as i’ve paid him more attention in 48 hours than his owner ever does. i talked to dad, and later to mom.
the rest of the day was spent cleaning. simplifying, if you will. i finally pulled out the file boxes that have been sitting untouched in my closet for a year now, and started going through them, weeding out things i don’t need. i am a pack rat, and as such, i had so many things from high school and college saved. playbills from all the broadway-caliber shows i’ve been to. silly coloring book pictures people have given me. photographs, from high school and from college. programs, certificates, letters and cards. postcards that used to hang on my dorm room door.
it was like revisiting my life from ages 18 to 23, all stored in little bits of paper. every item i pulled out of the filing bin brought back a flood of memories. late night walks around campus, knocks on the door at the end of the hall, conversations on the plush velvet couch, deadlines in the nique office. beach parties, shag parties, toga parties. theme-less parties. the way people used to feel about me, and the ways they used to show it, the way i used to feel about people, and the ways i used to show it. the night of my final marching band competition and the night the braves won the world series; both happened on the same october night.
and reminders that there are some things i cannot change, or maybe that simply aren’t meant to be changed, no matter how much i want it or how hard i try.
there were many good memories in the old box. a few sad, but mostly good. the photos, letters, cards, and silly coloring book pictures went back into the box. the rest ended up in a big white trash bag, which i then carried outside and dumped rather unceremoniously in the dumpster.
it seems sad to hear that i threw away so many reminders. but that’s all they were: reminders.
the memories are still there.
