We drive among the old.
Buildings flash by my window and every one gives me a memory. That Twistee Treat has good ice
cream but their bathroom is terrible. Momma and Daddy went to that Mexican restaurant on a date.
We went to that church for the Fall Festival, and they gave out live goldfish. Happiness grows
inside me like a flower, the water is nostalgia, and the sun is memories. Flashes of my childhood erupt
inside my mind. Six years we stayed here, longer than any other place. The church full of old folks and
snowbirds always loved us. The sewing group was small but hard working. I made two of my best
friends at co-op; the pale girl with freckles and the tan girl who is blonde. And that dance group... The
teacher was blunt and scared me, but the dancing was fun. I remember the mud pit that we could sit
in for hours. I remember the climbing tree with strangler vines. I remember the swings and the spot
where we tried to dig an underground city. Dug pretty deep, too. I remember the sidewalk that we
painted with our footprints. I remember the parking lot that used to flood. I remember the eagle
reserve. I remember the Smoking Pit restaurant and the Daddy Dee’s ice cream. Memories, memories.
Oh, my sweet memories.
But as my flower grows, the roots dig in. Those roots, now, I do not believe they are happy. They are
coated with emptiness and bitter nostalgia. A twinge of something that I have never felt before is
filling me up through those roots. The memories turn blue and suddenly I am sad. I am tired. My
eyelids droop and my head is stuffy. I miss it. I miss it. Missing is something that is hard to explain.
It’s when you wish you could be here and there, now and then, you and her. It is when you wish you
could mush the two cities, two lives, two memories together and create a perfect life. It is when you
long for something that is gone, that is no longer there, yet love what is coming, what is here. Missing
is something that is hard to let go of. Sometimes you forget about those roots inside. Sometimes their
power seems sapped. But it is there, it is always there. One building, one picture, one sentence, one
word, and the missing is there. I remember all the good things of then and of there, the happiness, the
peace. I remember all the bad things, the hard things, the sad things that led up to the here and the
now. Sometimes the bad things, the hard things, the sad things leave a tint of blue over the here and
the now. Is there something I can do about it when I’m back then? I don’t know. And I see new
buildings, new stores, new billboards, and my city looks a bit unfamiliar. But is it mine anymore? I don’t
know. Did the then and the there have the bad things, the hard things, the sad things? It did. But
somehow it didn’t seem that way. Maybe the here and the now is just more and that made me awake.
Does it matter? I don’t know. And I can feel the memories leaving. I don’t remember every day. I don’t
remember every face. I don’t remember every building and every street. I want to. But just like that,
we’ll be gone, we’ll leave the city, my city, memories and all. I won’t look out the window.
Oh, oh, I miss it.
We drive among the old.
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