I Remember

I remember when I first learned how to walk. How I tered, stumbled, and fell. How I crawled over nails and got cuts on my knees from nails not hammered into the light mohandy floor borders.

This was when I was three.

I remember when I first learned how to pronounce words in Kindergarden I would say pafic, not specific.

I remeber being the last one firsted on a reading comprehension quiz in third grade. Read and blue intricratly woven pattens stamped on the cardboard to look like puffs of Milkweed in the wind.

I remember feeling the sting of embarrassment as my fourth grade crush named the compentents of a research paper while I just sputtered out one sentence on the topic sentence.

I remember being in a white sterile hallway two stories up begging for a railing so that I didn’t have to stumble down the stairs and crack my skull open while everyone would stand by watching me bleed out.

I remember when my mom scremed at me for asking too many math questions.

I remember my fourteen year old sister’s frustration at my lack of knowledge about an essay prompt I deperstely needed her help on the night before it was due.

I remember believing I wasn’t good enough.

I remember asking, “Why?” When no one came back with an answer, I figured I would just cry.

I remember the invisible, closing in on me.

I remember what it felt like not to breathe.

In that little place called Nowhere I had no one and that was fine with me because I knew asked for someone.

I remember the lamp stand, my back against the bookcase.

I remember wanting to crawl back there in the Fall’s dying days.

I remember the tries streaming down my sister’s face.

I remember looking over at the couch to see my brother and his girlfriend embrace.

I remember the soft fur of a new little lab.

I remember the expansive bell, white as a slab.

I remember the black mable coffin in Phoneix, and the tuna sandwich at the reception.

I remeber my Mario Charts Tournments with Aidan.

I remeber the red stall afraid to miss class as I looked in the mirror as saw the past looking back.

I remember the sofa’s edge, but not it piecing my skin.

I remember a little blonde girl, I remember a black haired Canadian.

I remember Williamsburg and William and Mary. I remember Bowdon, Amherest, and St. John’s, too.

I remember how pissed my uncle was.

I remember the stories of the Hurns and Edelridges, as well as those of the LaRoses, Romeros, Jones, the Tilersons, and the Clendenons,

I remember Mrs. P, Ms. T. and Ms. F.

I remember my brother’s former fifth grade asking me if my eighteen year old brother still liked cookie dough ice cream.

I remember my dad calling me by my middle name.

I remember my seven roommates and five dorm rooms, but no their numbers.

I remember my combination lock for my mailbox.

I remember the my grandma cannot remember me or the conversations we have had.

I remember the story of my dad being mistaken for a teacher and my mom sliding down the side of the house and reshaping her nose.

I remember the basic German spoken to me, but I have forgotten the meaning behind the empty words.

I remember falling off the swing in the backyard into the snow, breaking my arm.

I remember letting go of the floor border as I rolled down the stairs regetting that choice.

I remember tumbling in a cardboard box down the basement stairs.

I remember sneaking into a party that wasn’t real.

I remember sitting at my first dance.

I remember eating cookies instead of square dancing.

I remember learning to do the Cotton-Eye Joe with Megan, Jackie, and Audrey at the Brownies’ Dowd Ranch.