A memory made its way to the surface a while back; bubbled up from the depths of Forgotten to the forefront of my mind. It was easy to slip back in to it, like an old, worn cardigan; easy for me to be eight (or maybe nine?) again, on that brilliant sunny day…
The day we hopped on our bikes and rode over to the school, coasted through the gates and on to the tarmac, fast and free. The day we pedaled around the strange tangle of roads that took up half of the football field, narrow roads that twisted and turned and connected with one another. I remember pushing ahead of her when we got there, riding fast so I could feel the wind lift my hair up off my neck. I'd pedal furiously and then stop, close my eyes and glide until my stomach flip-flopped in to my throat.
The sun was so intense, so bright and yellow that it made my eyes water. The pavement blurred beneath my feet; the asphalt was rushing past, rushing like grey water and I was alive, glorious and carefree, the wind in my hair, the sun on my face…
And then, suddenly, a quickening in my stomach. A thick, heavy cloak of dread that crept up over my shoulders.
something is wrong
And all at once there was a car driving slowly alongside me, a small car. A hatchback; in my mind’s eye it’s a hatchback, as clear as a bell. Windows open wide, the guys inside leaning out, arms outstretched, all sneering faces and crooked, flashing smiles. Suggestion wafted out the windows and hung, stagnant, in the air between us:
You girls wanna go for a riiiide?
There were hot tears sliding down my cheeks and my breath, it was stuck in my throat, jostling for a spot alongside my heart. The sun was pulsating, beating down on me, making me feel hot and vulnerable, exposed.
I could feel it starting, the panicpanicpanic.
I squeezed the handlebars and pedaled hard, pedaled fast. I could hear her behind me, she was crying, and I was too. We were crying and they were laughing, those boys were laughing and I remember thinking it was disgusting, their laughter. Disgusting. The sun was in my eyes, the wind in my ears; panic whistled through my body. I rode furiously, my thighs pumping and screaming, pumping and screaming.
I had to get away…had to get away from there…
The next thing I knew, I was coming up to my street; the realization that I couldn’t hear her crying behind me anymore flashing neon in my mind.
I’d left her behind.
I shot around the corner and down the sidewalk, so close to my house yet so far, so far, and then I was bursting through the back door, shouting and crying, gasping for breath; my bike lying in a crumpled heap in the driveway.
I remember the sound of my mother’s boyfriend’s hands slapping down on the dining room table, the way he sent the pressback chair sliding backwards across the wood floor when he stood up. The way he stalked out the back door, car keys in hand, without saying a word.
He was going after her, his daughter. He was going to get her.
I remember folding myself in to my mother’s arms, every single inch of my body throbbing, throbbing. It’s my fault, this is all my fault.
And her arms around me, her hand clasped against my head, whispering okay, it’s okay.
When they walked through the back door together I remember relief flooding over me, cascading down my legs and in to my toes, leaving me weak. She was okay, tear stained and swollen but okay, unharmed, and I’d never been so grateful for that and for arms around me, a floor beneath me.
I slip back in to that memory and that same relief ripples over me, unimaginable relief. It’s been years since I’ve seen her – I doubt I’d recognize her now – but I can see her in my mind, standing in the doorway, resplendent in the intense sunlight; her blotchy face framed by her tatted brown tresses.
I cup that memory in my hands, try it on and wear it for a while. I squint at the blurry parts, the ones that have smeared over time, and try to bring them to focus. And I shield my eyes from the sunlight, still as incredible now, in my mind, as it was all those years ago.
26 Comments, Comment or Ping
Yikes! I’m glad you were both ok. How very , very scary.
February 17th, 2009
How frightening.
Well written, though, I was right there with you.
February 17th, 2009
What a heavy memory. I guess everyone has one or two like that. It amazes me how sometimes I might not remember a certain happy memory, when I can clearly see my elation in photographs, but I will absolutely remember the terror I felt in other moments.
February 17th, 2009
Another beautiful, evocative piece. Mmmmm.
February 17th, 2009
I’m gonna go with “wow.”
February 17th, 2009
Holy fuck. How did that surface itself?
February 17th, 2009
WOW! I read you just about every day and very rarely attempt to comment, but this was just so…. intense. Awesome post!
February 17th, 2009
The mind, our memory, is a powerful, evocative thing.
I’m glad the story ended well…
February 17th, 2009
Shit. I’m pretty sure I didn’t breathe through most of that.
February 17th, 2009
I figure you would recognize her if you seen her. And I’ll bet she’d forgive you for it too.
February 17th, 2009
oh babe. something like that? happened to me once too.
February 17th, 2009
The way you wrote this? It’s as if I was actually there. So real.
February 17th, 2009
wow. i was there with you, felt the panic, the wind…you are gifted.
February 17th, 2009
And my heart is thumping in my chest – well written, MT. And now I have to go shake some bad memories of my own out.
February 17th, 2009
An harrowing account of an extremely distressing childhood memory that sent shivers down my spine.
It actually made me recall how two big school bullies once hit me so hard I was afraid to go back to class, a long forgotten memory your post made me remember.
I must check in more often, you’re a gifted writer.
February 18th, 2009
Isn’t it whacked how cupped memories feel as fresh as today, even only in snaps and splashes? Always knocks me out.
February 18th, 2009
Shit! That could have been any one of us. It was me at one point!
Disgusting!
And written with a pen of hell-fire redemption, well, a keyboard. Superb!
(bastards!)
February 18th, 2009
that was so intense, i can only imagine how it was for you, as i could already almost feel the exact moment with you.
wow.
February 18th, 2009
Very intense, the memory, your writing, and the power, the bloody power those young men had…
February 18th, 2009
I think these memories are like dreams – the ones that you recall, long after they happen, are so significant. I’m betting you run into, or hear of that girl again soon.
February 19th, 2009
Really, you are truly one of the best writers I know. This piece is so well-written, so evocative, that my stomach is still knotted up with the anxiety of reading it. You really do have a gift.
February 19th, 2009
So strange the memories we keep. Like odd little stones we have to take out and touch every once in awhile.
Those fuckers. I’d beat the shit out of ‘em for ya right now.
February 19th, 2009
This is the only post I am reading today.
February 19th, 2009
your writing is simply incredible. I agree with the other comments here – you truly have a gift.
February 19th, 2009
Hug. That is a powerfully scary memory.
February 20th, 2009
This one made me catch my breath and left me unable to release it until I knew you were both safe — hit me like a punch to the gut.
*hugs*
February 23rd, 2009
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