The Memory-Pictures

Twelve years isn't easy to erase. Everyone knows that. I do. And I know that the memories will stick with me, the good and the bad.

They're like photos, most of them. Nothing moving. No, there are things moving, the little things. The windshield wipers on a car. Our mouths, laughing. The rain falling. Sometimes us. Not always. Rarely us. As if we're stuck there as the world moves along. Stuck in the moment, the memory.

There's us, in my brother's car. Wet day, not sure whether its rain or snow outside. Dark- it's nighttime. We're laughing.

Trying on my new jeans, and my new top. You two come in, ready to go. We all look fabulous. We're going to a party I don't really want to go to but for my new jeans to show. I don't have a fun time. But it's for a friend. So there I am.

New years; minutes after midnight and everything falls apart. I'm the only one you will talk to, so we sit alone in your dark kitchen, lit only by a distant hall light. And everyone else is wondering why I'm so special. Twelve years doesn't mean as much to them as they do to us. So I see myself huddled around you, holding you as you sob out the words you do and don't want to say.

I see the dinners your dad took us on. I see the dinners you were invited to from my family. I see the movies, the DDR/anime nights, the sleepovers.

You crying on my arm because your father yelled at you, for having to come volunteer with me instead of playing Diablo with him.

I see the three of us, dressed as elves, promising to do it all again next year. I see us all around the thanks giving table at your house,loving it because at that time, we were all family, even with a few down and out. I remember deciding it would be a tradition.

All this in memory-pictures. So much more, because the ones listed here cannot possibly stretch to fit twelve years.

And that's okay. And what bits of it aren't okay, they'll come around soon.