Saturday, October 16, 2010

Some things that I remember

I remember rolling decades old matchbox cars down lengths of decades old orange, plastic track across a decades old living room under the watchful gaze of a decades old grandmother who had watched my father do the same. Wind could be heard blowing down the chimney. The cat's bell clattering as it turned a corner.

I remember peering over the top edge of a lawn chair and the sudden and panicked fear that I felt as I unexpectedly tipped over the edge and dropped onto the rocks below. I have forgotten the pain.

I remember the barn behind my aunt's house encircled with blackberry bushes. 

I remember being thrown over Austin Weaver's shoulder during an altercation. Was it cold outside? I walked away in tears.

I remember one brother throwing the other over the bed and the way the window shattered when his foot flew through it.

I remember riding my bicycle home in the cold, wishing I had stayed right where I was.

I remember a thunderstorm summoned.

I remember the scars stretched across skin.

I remember hiding under the rear seat of my parent's Peugeot.

I remember being afraid of darkness. 

I remember building gasoline bombs in my neighbor's garage. 

I remember four of us in my basement, asleep and content.

I remember the pain that took my breath away. Feelings of loss and betrayal. 

I remember a darkened basement and pedaling in circles, and children laughing.

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I am learning to forgive