Nostalgia

Me and Carra last summer: I remember our endeavor to photograph everything that is inane and frame the fruits of our labor. Endless shots in sepia: her lips, my cup, our feet.

I came across those photos today and they made me miss her. Thoughts of other friends were kindled. I thought of relationships long dissolved; 'conflagrated' bridges. Snide comments that severed the veins of diseased friendships. I let my mind wander aimlessly over lost companions: old classmates, disappearing cousins, indifferent crushes.

Winter at 22: Strands of flaming red hair pass in and out of view as I spin on the Dianna Ross playground tire swing. We talk disparagingly about our nasty, slow witted, or unfriendly co-workers. We rehash conversations had with the particularly jocular or fetching employees. There are lamentations about a godzilla-esque assistant manager, Coke jokes about a leathery skinned boss. I recall the reassuring euphoria that comes from sitting in the park at midnight with a close friend.

16, Ferndale, MI: With quiet effort I dab my sweaty forehead with a sleeve. The warbled voice of stevie wonder is permeating the thick unconditioned air of his living room. It smells like warm wood. We scribble nonsensical farewells into each other’s yearbook. We laugh as he gives voice to the many personalities that invade his mind. Goodbyes are hugged. Love that he will never be fully aware of is slowly cultivated.

A montage: He is three years my junior. He calls me sha sha. At four he is waiting for me in his ghostbusters uniform, insisting on being called peter venkman. We are caught smuggling candy from the gingerbread house into the car to be privately devoured-he immediately rolls and I am fingered as the mastermind. There is a fort of giant primary colored Waffle blocks, An alliance for the greater good of beating Donky Kong Country. We hastily snap Polaroids and tape them onto poster board. I am angrily ordering him out of my room, out of my teenage life, not realizing that I will never see him again.

I wonder at the passing of loved ones. We meet we love we lose. We share one common moment, A second in galactic time. But the importance is made evident by their eternal impressions. I remember forever her words, his laugh, the sound of him crying. Should I love less because I realize the inevitability of a painful loss? Should I take to relationships with even more apprehension and suspicion? I don’t know. But I do know that I will recall the scent of your pillow when your head no longer rests there and search for your face in crowds when you no longer grace me with your presence. Like those that came before you, you will leave behind a memory which will remain with me forever.