My great grandparents lived in a mobile home park off some busy highway or another. There was a small playground across from their house -- I remember there was a slide and some swings, and maybe one of those things that you spin around on until the earth rotates in reverse. A short walk in the opposite direction led to a pool. If I sit still and close my eyes, I can feel the water caress my face, taste the chlorine on my hands as I give in to the nailbiting urge, already deeply rooted in my six year old psyche. When I climb out, the cement is both rough and slippery beneath my feet, and if I move too quickly, someone cautions me not to run. It's hard -- I really want to jump back in.
I can't remember the layout of the pool.
Traffic roared like a home game arena. It wasn't noticeable from the pool, but we could see the cars from the playground. The smell of baking blacktop was ever-present in the summer, like the noise of the traffic. It was comforting. It was a part of who my great grandparents were.
At some point they moved out of the park and into a house with my aunt. I was getting older, starting to see them less. My aunt got married and moved away; my great grandparents moved into an assisted living facility. I occasionally joined my mom when she went to see them, but even at sixteen it's hard to understand the impermanence of life. They died while I was studying music in Memphis. It was very difficult to hurt, which left me feeling guilty. The people I got most excited to see as a child were gone, and I couldn't even cry at the news.
I work in an office on some busy highway or another. As I step outside to walk to my car, the smell of baking blacktop and the roar of traffic hit me. I stop and close my eyes; fragments of memories swirl around me, whispering, laughing. A lump forms in my throat and I run to my car and nearly drop my keys as I'm getting in. I scroll through the list of contacts I never call until I reach my wife's name. She picks up; my breathing evens out. I let her know I'm on my way.
6 comments:
I very much enjoy the times that writers spend the time to write. This was fun to read. Why can't you write stuff like this everyday? Oh, right, lego starwars, I forgot.
~Loven
That was some compelling storytelling!
(Lame rhyme, I know)
A classic example of why authors are often encouraged to "write what you know".
Evocative, poignant. You had me all the way. Now, keep going.
Cheers.
Now this is some lovely writing.
Holy crap, I just realized that people who regularly comment on my blog constitutes a "readership"!
LEVEL UP!
+1 Motivation
+3 Spell Check
+20 Ego
New Skill: Refer to "my readers" in casual conversation.
New Feat: Multitask -- You gain a +2 bonus on Focus rolls when performing two or more tasks. You gain a +5 bonus to minimizing Firefox when the boss walks by.
Kidding aside, thanks for the comments. I'm going to make more of an effort to get stuff up here on a regular basis. It really does help me out, and it's easier than trying to cram novel-length ideas into short, sporadic writing sessions. I'll tackle the longer stuff once the telecommuting starts happening (it actually is going somewhere, finally -- I've been cleared to work from home twice a month, as soon as one guy talks to the two guys I work closely with on assorted stuff).
dave -- Yeah, video games are kind of a lame excuse, particularly when I yammer about how much I love writing and wish I had more time for it.
Wow, I am part of a "readership" now! I am so excited!
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