The Old Red Journal
Every now and then I strap up my boots, pack some water, and brave the pilgrimage that is my old red journal for some inquiry into where I was nearly a decade ago. On one hand I cringe, because the content is so juvinle, and my writing is so childish, that I can’t help but come to the conclusion that I was a bland person, even by high school standards. On the other hand, it is nice to read the more obtuse passages and convince myself I really have come a long way by comparison. Another positive is my old red journal reminds me of things I had otherwise forgotten. In one early 2000 entry, I gobble as usual about missing Lauren, but then I go into a smidgen more detail than usual...
“I remember one night, her and I sat on a cold bench, and she curled up in my arms to avoid the icy sting of the steel. I felt her breathe. I spoke to her about all the secrets I kept hidden in my head; they came out like a broken dam flooding water... That night I told her my dreams, my hopes, how I felt about every little thing in life, and she just sat there and listened. She said nothing. She took in all I said. She just wanted me to hold her and to talk to her... I will always have that night, and till the day I die, I will think about that night and smile...”
Now, first of all I should note I added the semicolon into the passage just now... For some reason I didn’t know advanced punctuation 8 years ago and thought it made more sense to simply use a run-on sentence. Secondly, REALLY Dave? “All the secrets” you kept hidden? What, Dave, did you know a god code for Donkey Kong Country? Did you have deep feelings for Wendys over McDonalds and Burger King that you didn’t think anyone would understand? What secrets (of note) could you possibly have had? Third, and most importantly... I had forgotten that night. I still don’t remember it. Chemicals are flooding around in my brain in a desperate attempt to bring that night back to me, but I can’t trust the flickering sensory images they have cobbled together. I see a blue bench and I hear crickets. She’s wearing white. But what if I’m just creating the slivers of pictures that never existed, simply because I don’t want to admit that night’s actual memory has been lost to me? If Lauren were to be like, “OH YEAH! I REMEMBER THAT, IT WAS NEAR SO AND SO WHEN YOU AND I WERE DOING SUCH AND SUCH!”, would that jog my memory? Or would the little workers in my mind find themselves again empty handed, only now guiltily so? So much of high school has been blacked out for me, and I’m not sure why.
So for now this night exists only in shoddily put together words in my journal. It’s something. But it is a little disheartening that I used that memory specifically as an example of why I like that girl so much. Granted, I’ve had a few choice experiences in recent memory that might be a little bit more substantial, but still. I want that memory, just as it was.
Does this erasure of memory cheapen the now stubborn haughtiness in my voice when I tell people I’ve known Lauren for 9 years? If most of that time is mush, does it still mean something that I use it as a justification for us being so sure about us now? Of course, I wont let myself accept that it doesn't. Mush or no, it was my youth, and I remember enough to know that “Yes, that was me.”, and again, it’s encouraging to see how far I’ve come since then. Plus, the best feeling of all is that Lauren braved the trenches that was “Dave’s high school self” and came out on the other end wanting to marry me, so it couldn’t have been all bad.
Frequently, the extent of our reminiscence was that she was a sun dried brick of stubbornness and I was a wet noodle of emotion, so it’s nice to find the moments that can’t be defined by dull metaphor. And even though I can’t remember myself otherwise and previously lacked the audacity (or good sense) to write down examples of myself having more dimension, I do have moments captured in this red journal that serve to say “Look Lauren, I wasn’t just scared of you back then. You were a listener, a cuddler. And if you ever want more examples, and even though I wont remember any off the top of my head, just look on our shelf for that old red journal.”
Our shelf.
“I remember one night, her and I sat on a cold bench, and she curled up in my arms to avoid the icy sting of the steel. I felt her breathe. I spoke to her about all the secrets I kept hidden in my head; they came out like a broken dam flooding water... That night I told her my dreams, my hopes, how I felt about every little thing in life, and she just sat there and listened. She said nothing. She took in all I said. She just wanted me to hold her and to talk to her... I will always have that night, and till the day I die, I will think about that night and smile...”
Now, first of all I should note I added the semicolon into the passage just now... For some reason I didn’t know advanced punctuation 8 years ago and thought it made more sense to simply use a run-on sentence. Secondly, REALLY Dave? “All the secrets” you kept hidden? What, Dave, did you know a god code for Donkey Kong Country? Did you have deep feelings for Wendys over McDonalds and Burger King that you didn’t think anyone would understand? What secrets (of note) could you possibly have had? Third, and most importantly... I had forgotten that night. I still don’t remember it. Chemicals are flooding around in my brain in a desperate attempt to bring that night back to me, but I can’t trust the flickering sensory images they have cobbled together. I see a blue bench and I hear crickets. She’s wearing white. But what if I’m just creating the slivers of pictures that never existed, simply because I don’t want to admit that night’s actual memory has been lost to me? If Lauren were to be like, “OH YEAH! I REMEMBER THAT, IT WAS NEAR SO AND SO WHEN YOU AND I WERE DOING SUCH AND SUCH!”, would that jog my memory? Or would the little workers in my mind find themselves again empty handed, only now guiltily so? So much of high school has been blacked out for me, and I’m not sure why.
So for now this night exists only in shoddily put together words in my journal. It’s something. But it is a little disheartening that I used that memory specifically as an example of why I like that girl so much. Granted, I’ve had a few choice experiences in recent memory that might be a little bit more substantial, but still. I want that memory, just as it was.
Does this erasure of memory cheapen the now stubborn haughtiness in my voice when I tell people I’ve known Lauren for 9 years? If most of that time is mush, does it still mean something that I use it as a justification for us being so sure about us now? Of course, I wont let myself accept that it doesn't. Mush or no, it was my youth, and I remember enough to know that “Yes, that was me.”, and again, it’s encouraging to see how far I’ve come since then. Plus, the best feeling of all is that Lauren braved the trenches that was “Dave’s high school self” and came out on the other end wanting to marry me, so it couldn’t have been all bad.
Frequently, the extent of our reminiscence was that she was a sun dried brick of stubbornness and I was a wet noodle of emotion, so it’s nice to find the moments that can’t be defined by dull metaphor. And even though I can’t remember myself otherwise and previously lacked the audacity (or good sense) to write down examples of myself having more dimension, I do have moments captured in this red journal that serve to say “Look Lauren, I wasn’t just scared of you back then. You were a listener, a cuddler. And if you ever want more examples, and even though I wont remember any off the top of my head, just look on our shelf for that old red journal.”
Our shelf.