I don’t know why I’m telling you this

Some memories you lose and others pick at you like an obnoxious neighbor who won’t move away.

The cattle prod the father of my children and I find in our front yard one morning. Saying it must be a message for him. Fifteen years later I think maybe it wasn’t.

The jazz festival in Chicago. When I am stopped and asked do I want to buy a nickel bag? When I ask how much can you buy for 5 cents? My companion drags me away…

The first day of first grade, for the first time, when I meet two other girls who share my name, thinking that cosmically connects us. One of the Lauries wets her pants and I hate her because she shames us.

In Rocky Mountain National Park with my husband and daughters, looking at the elk, exclaiming “Did you see the rack on that one?”

In fourth grade when the boy I had a crush on moves away and brings cupcakes for the class his last day, when I was out sick. Says he will come back to bring mine. Waiting.

The month of the bats, August, the first one blows in one of our bedrooms after a storm. Over fifty that month. My dad and older brother, kill them with badminton rackets, the bats cry like kittens.

My first body cast for scoliosis. Kid throws a snowball at my back, the wooden thud. Its echo.

For Your Eyes Only. A phone call one snowy day that she answers tells me he isn’t.

The award in college chemistry for Most Illegible Lab Report.

The award on internship for Fewest Inhibitory Neurons.

Giving my first lecture. Standing on top of the bunny hill. Same experience, different locations.

My first job – restaurant, kitchen work, dare the cute jock to squeeze the ketchup packet, measure the square footage a half inch by one and a half inch pack covers. Clean the ceiling.

Again, first job, food prep, still under the influence from night before, day the health department inspector walks down the stairs with the boss, just as I turn the mixer on high when low was called for and cover them in pancake batter.

Once again, first job, waitress, spill hot water on nice customer, male, sensitive area.

When I discover that pregnancy disrupts center of gravity, astonishing myself and several onlookers with a sudden impulse to run at seven months.



2 thoughts on “I don’t know why I’m telling you this

  1. redmitten says:

    this to say- you’ve been read and related to. thoroughly. i love the way the dots ask me to help connect them. super.

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