Reminders

Isn't it strange how certain things can take you to a specific place and time? Certain songs or smells or tastes or maybe just a phrase uttered in just such a way? I opened a new bottle of bath gel today and was instantly transported to the Bath and Body Works at Baybrook Mall circa 1992. Back in those days, the mall was what you did on a Friday night. You piled into Cheri Bouldin's minivan, sang Meatloaf at the top of your lungs on the 5-minute ride to the mall, and then meandered around in circles until the van pulled up outside the door by Cinnabon to pick you up. See what I mean? One whiff of bath gel and BAM! I was 13 years old, all over again.

I remember one particular Friday, we decided to see how many store managers would ask us to leave. We didn't do anything destructive; we just acted like idiots, talked loudly, and said inappropriate things. I don't remember how many times we were "kicked out," but I do remember about 6 of us getting "stuck" in the tube in the children's section at a book store. By "stuck," I mean that 6 teenagers piled into the tube and then got the giggles and couldn't stop giggling long enough to pry ourselves out. All of this from bath gel. . .

Other reminders are a little more vague. Like dry pine needles, patchouli oil, and turkey legs. Three guesses and the first two don't count. Give up? Ren Fest. Nothing special about it, just Ren Fest. The first real cold front of the fall leaves me on the front porch of my apartment in college, hands shoved in my hoodie, cigarette hanging from my lips, mind wandering someplace likely dangerous. The feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you've run too hard for too long? That's a good one. I'm on a random country road in Seguin, sweat pouring in my eyes, ringing in my ears, thoughts of strangling a certain softball coach running through my mind. It was the first day of off-season my Freshman year. I will not soon forget.

Other reminders are so ambiguous they're hard to pinpoint. I think that's because they're more emotional than temporal. For instance, the smell of Daniel's hair after a bath. My heart swells with love and pride and a whole concoction of emotions that I haven't even named. My mind races through the last 15 months with a pace so swift that I can't even single out any of the stops along the way.

Memories are truly amazing. When I'm old, withered, and gray, I won't look back on life and remember how much I had in my bank account on any given day. I won't have a clue what I had for dinner two days before. I probably won't even be able to tell you that Doug only eats strawberry preserves on his PB&J sandwiches. But God willing, I'll take a deep breath, catch a whiff of a clean baby, and I'll be young. I'll be 30, sitting in my living room with my baby on my lap. I'll be reading him a book, probably about dragons. I'll kiss his hair, take a deep breath, and know that life never did get any better.