Memories in a Box

Open the shoebox in the closet and let the time travel begin. The past has just come to you. All those things you kept over the years, can’t bear to part with, even when you have no reason to keep it. A brown fuzzy button, a drawing in the local newspaper, a green card, a letter, my life. One little seemingly unimportant thing holds so much.

The brown fuzzy button is from an old school, full size van. My high school boyfriend’s ride. Believe me or not, his name was Duck. We used the same box hair color, we’re anti social, and liked to fight authority. He got rid of that van, got a sports care, rolled it, killed a girl, went to jail, then “we” ended. Broke my heart, why was she in the car, why did the newspaper call her his girlfriend, why do I keep the button. The button is neutral, but the memories are not. Take the good with the bad.

The drawing in the paper is of a girl watching Bevis and Butthead on TV, while passing out, while falling backwards, being caught by hooded death. Kick ass drawing for a 5th grader. I drew it. I read Animal Farm that summer, meet this boy Marker, which lead to a strange friendship that I still have today. Marker was a great guy who had so much going for him. He is a genius. A genius that plays acid driven jam music, his band is underground famous, and was busted for growing pot. Yet in our summer class for smart kids we were reading heavy, dreaming big, and had our whole lives in front of us. I ended up dropping out of high school, going to college a year early and taking 10 years to graduate. He went to college, found drugs, went to Mardi Gras, didn’t come home for 2 weeks, parents called him in as a missing person. I said he probably got high on drugs and ended up in Mexico with no cell service. Yep. He came back from Mexico never to be the person he was before. I still love him.

I am an American citizen, born and raised. I have a green card. From Ireland. I lived there for 6 months while I went to school. It rains, sideways, while the sun is shining, and it’s 50 degrees, always. When it rains there are will be at least one umbrellas in any trashcan you see. I learned after my first umbrella that not having one is cheaper.

A letter I received in elementary school from Erin Grimes. Not a clue what happened to her in life but she was my friend back then. The address on the front was upside down. Inside was a drawing of two horses. She could name any bread of horse and I could name any bread of cat. I can still remember the basement where we would have sleep over parties.

Here is a shoebox filled with my life. Moments and memories that I can only remember when I see the little pieces that were left behind. How much more have I forgotten because there is nothing to remind me of it? I don’t keep journals, I throw away photos of times and people that I don’t care about anymore; I even clean out those boxes every once in a while. Sometime it is to forget them memories and sometimes things get tossed because on that day I just didn’t care anymore.