Yes, I remember
Yes, I recall
Yes, I paid attention
I am not where you left me
Along the side of a little shop of Wonders, residing on a fading Main Street, sits a couch somewhere between an orange rust and a merlot. This long little hole-in-the-wall Shop is bursting with things. Crammed floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Every step, every glance, every inch, holds a little piece of someone else.
A pair of black roller skates with green laces and green wheels
A license plate with a little rust
A new doll that stares, not seeing, back at the visitors
A bowling ball bag, sans the ball
An extra small, dark green leather jacket with intricate floral patterns
The sight is overwhelming. Inside this Shop of Wonders, I get lost in the sea of things. So much to see. My dad doesn’t. He sees what he wants. And before he takes it for his own, he goes line for line, story for story, with the brother of The Man who owns this shop. He can separate things. He can do pretty much anything. He can decide what matters. Where I, never do. I never learned how to put anything down.
As my dad fills the space with his stories, he gestures to me, speaks to The Man like I’m his pride and joy. He expresses how much we are alike and how I know him. He tells The Man, a story about us and he looks to me and says, “Remember?”
Yes, I remember
Yes, I recall
Yes, I paid attention
And they’re always so impressed. That I remember. That I pay attention. That I recall. Over and over, they are all, just always, so impressed.
I remember.
My superpower. My curse. My purpose. My burden.
I remember.
I’m like the inside of the Shop. Crammed floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Holding little pieces of someone else.
But I’m also like the outside of the Shop.
Like the couch. Sitting just outside, just around the corner, bare, uninhabited, vacant. It’s slightly removed. On the edge, the outskirts.
I am not where you left me.
But I will remember.
