The scent of memory
Our senses send messages to our mind, imprints are left behind in some cubby to be mostly forgotten. Sights, sounds, touch, scents, all these things mingle and dance create little portraits of infinite richness. Left alone they may decay leaving nothing but a fragment or some feeling that there once was something that should be remembered but is now lost.
Tonight the wind blows across my face and playfully grabs at a memory. Back when I was living on Oakland street the first time, back when leg warmers seemed like a good idea. My mother was out, it was Wednesday and she had class every Wednesday evening learning shorthand or some other forgotten art. My sister and I could count on being alone until approximately nine p.m. and we were, in theory, supposed to stay home, do our homework, the dishes, normal kid things.
There were kids that lived one street over from ours. Kids our mom would not have approved of, kids whose mom's would not have approved of us. We longed for their company and their approval - or perhaps it was just that I love the evening sky - or I was still young enough to believe I should want my sisters approval.
My mom left for class, my sister and I left for a rousing game of kick the can. Kick the can in our neighborhood had it's own rules, as doubtless each neighborhood developed some of their own to make the game *theirs*. Growing up in Philadelphia gave us a sense of rising stakes, always add to the danger we lived with never lessen. So to win you had to nearly beat the bloody hell out of the other team, dodging cars, kick the can; the one tree that grew and tangled in the telephone wires was the only "safe" spot.
At 8:57, my sister and I would, without fail every week, would realize the time and race toward home. Flying by the old man that lived downstairs and perpetually asked us if we wanted some disgusting treat or another, into the apartment and attempt to fashion ourselves into some form of respect.
The bruises and bumps were easy to explain, we had a long history of beating the hell out of each other, but for a short time it was a secret we shared. One of the few that, when all was said and done, was harmless.
Then the wind moved on and whispered to someone else... playfully tugging at memories not quite forgotten.