moments
Current mood: optimistic
Last night, for the first time, my mom spoke via phone with her half brother who didn't even know she existed. My mom is... happy. I venture to say that yesterday is a day my mom will never forget.
It got me to thinking about days in my life that I have yet to forget... and days I'll certainly remember with vivid detail forever. Days that have impacted my life in some manner and permanently hold a spot in my memories. They are moments that I can play in my head like a movie... remembering colors, smells, sounds, feelings, words that were said, facial expressions...
Here are a few:
1. The day my mom and dad finally brought home my baby brother from the hospital for me to meet.
-- I was three years old. Of course when Daniel grew old enough to torment his big sister, I wished we could send him back!
2. The day I was at home from school while sick with a bug laid out on the couch with a wet cloth on my forehead, a blanket draped across my legs and a trash can strategically placed next to me on the floor. Cartoons played on the television. My dad came home from work carrying a baby blue hat that he'd brought for me to wear saying it was baby blue for his baby girl.
-- I was seven years old. I still have the hat.
3. When Michelle and I (who had been best friends since we were bald-headed babies at the nursery together) met Angelique. It was the first day we entered middle school and we were riding the bus home. Angelique sat in the school bus seat in front of us. Michelle and I, having been relatively sheltered, were shocked by the foul language used by middle schoolers and we asked this Angelique girl in front us, "Hey, you there, do you cuss?" Rather definitively, she answered, "Yes... no... maybe." That was it. We all instantly became sister-like, lifelong best friends.
-- I was eleven years old (21 years with these girls and counting). And if you are wondering, to this day there is very little cussing.
4. The afternoon my pawpaw (grandfather) forced me to reel in my own first real catch on the banks of a lake in north Georgia. He shouted encouragement and gave me pointers, but he never once took the pole from me as he wanted me to do it on my own. This is my favorite memory of all the time I spent with my pawpaw, who died eleven years later.
-- I was six years old; the small-mouth bass was 3 pounds, 1 ounce and set a record in the Atlanta area for my age group.
5. My first kiss. I'd grown tired of how loud the party was and how ridiculous my tipsy friends looked as they were laughing and rolling about, so I walked out onto the balcony and sat in a plastic lounge chair to enjoy the sounds of the waves hitting the shore and the warm night air. Moments later, he joined me on the balcony stating he'd wanted to kiss me all night. I was terrified. Truthfully, it was awful – he smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and half an hour later he was passed out on the bathroom floor. I never saw him again.
-- I was seventeen years old. No laughing! Guess I was a late bloomer... parts of me are still waiting to bloom!
6. The morning I was driving my brother to school and tail-ended a half-ton Ford pickup that was sitting still in the road. The two-lane, backwoods road that ran between our house and the middle school was hugged with trees that allowed the morning sunlight to stream through in bright, blinding rays. I realized the truck was stopped at the same time my brother did. He yelled my name; I hit the brakes. The front-end brakes made the car nose-dive below the bumper of the high-sitting truck pushing the car's hood into our laps and bringing my windshield within mere inches of the truck's steel bumper and trailer hitch. The police officer who responded said that if I'd braked any sooner, allowing the car to slide even further beneath the truck, then we might have suffered severe injury or been killed by the impact that the windshield and our bodies would have made with the truck's bumper. The black skid marks that remained on the road for months were a constant reminder.
-- I was sixteen years old. My parents made me drive Daniel to school the very next day, taking the same exact path. I had whiplash for a week and I have a broken Dodge hood ornament in my jewelry box to this day.
7. My first puppy. Tinkerbell was a little black mutt with the biggest heart and soul. She was given to me on Christmas morning. When my parents brought me into the living room where my surprise waited with a red bow tied around her neck, Tinkerbell sprinted across the room and lunged at me with licks ready to go... as if she knew she were my Christmas present and I was hers.
-- I was four years old. Tink died on Christmas morning twelve years later.
8. The first day I arrived in Los Angeles, fresh-faced, naïve, and chalk full of determination. I stepped off the plane, bucked up my chest and welcomed LA to hit me with its best shot. The air was cold for April, the traffic was at a standstill all around the airport and I encountered my first familiar celebrity face within the hour. I knew no one... but I knew me and that was enough. I hit Venice Beach, The Getty, Rodeo Drive, In-n-Out Burger and the local curb store to get an apartment guide book. I'm certain everyone I bumped into knew I was a newbie, an LA-transplant who, along with hundreds daily, had arrived in search of the dream. My first day in LA was filled with colorful hopes, shameless drive and unshakable resolve.
-- I was 27 years old. I stayed three years. I still have the same hopes, drive and resolve... but it's been redirected.
9. Three days ago, as we walked into Magic Kingdom with intent to battle it out for the highest score on Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin, a friend (not yet certain what else to call him) took my hand in his. The gesture was small, but the moment left me surrounded with a sort of comfort that was novel and exhilarating yet distinctly tranquil. Sure, it's a rather recent experience to add, but by sheer description of this list it deserves a spot as I doubt my mind's eye will soon forget the light rain that fell around me, the sound of the boat gently knocking the dock behind me, the smell of popcorn that slowly invaded or the word he muttered... "Weird?"
-- I was 32 years old. I felt sixteen.
10. My high school, Dougherty Comprehensive High, was and still is a major rival of another local school, Monroe High. When I was a freshman, the tension between the two schools was at an all-time high as DCHS was experiencing an exceptional football season having gone undefeated. That Friday night, the air was thick... literally, as it was quite foggy. Minutes before halftime, my friends and I struggled to grasp the reality of what had just happened in the stadium bleachers. Gunfire. Merely feet from us. A Monroe student, determined to even the playing field, entered the Dougherty side of the stadium and opened fire. In a stressful situation, the brain/eyes process more frames per second than in normal situations which gives us the feeling that time is in slow motion. That's exactly what I experienced as I realized the "balloon popping" was a gun popping... when I looked to my right I saw hundreds of frenzied students and fans rushing towards me like an ocean wave at the slowest possible rate... I turned to my left grabbing my friends' hands and pulling them with me towards the exit. Still operating in slow motion, still hearing the ringing of the shots and hearing my own breath and heartbeat, I pulled them to the only place I knew might be safe and away from the crowd – the underside of the bleachers where the lawn tractors and field maintenance equipment was stored. To this day, I still see the darkness beneath the bleachers... I still smell the gas of the tractor I hid behind... I still feel Michelle's trembling hand... I feel the cold concrete wall I leaned against.
-- I was fifteen years old.
Current mood: optimistic
Last night, for the first time, my mom spoke via phone with her half brother who didn't even know she existed. My mom is... happy. I venture to say that yesterday is a day my mom will never forget.
It got me to thinking about days in my life that I have yet to forget... and days I'll certainly remember with vivid detail forever. Days that have impacted my life in some manner and permanently hold a spot in my memories. They are moments that I can play in my head like a movie... remembering colors, smells, sounds, feelings, words that were said, facial expressions...
Here are a few:
1. The day my mom and dad finally brought home my baby brother from the hospital for me to meet.
-- I was three years old. Of course when Daniel grew old enough to torment his big sister, I wished we could send him back!
2. The day I was at home from school while sick with a bug laid out on the couch with a wet cloth on my forehead, a blanket draped across my legs and a trash can strategically placed next to me on the floor. Cartoons played on the television. My dad came home from work carrying a baby blue hat that he'd brought for me to wear saying it was baby blue for his baby girl.
-- I was seven years old. I still have the hat.
3. When Michelle and I (who had been best friends since we were bald-headed babies at the nursery together) met Angelique. It was the first day we entered middle school and we were riding the bus home. Angelique sat in the school bus seat in front of us. Michelle and I, having been relatively sheltered, were shocked by the foul language used by middle schoolers and we asked this Angelique girl in front us, "Hey, you there, do you cuss?" Rather definitively, she answered, "Yes... no... maybe." That was it. We all instantly became sister-like, lifelong best friends.
-- I was eleven years old (21 years with these girls and counting). And if you are wondering, to this day there is very little cussing.
4. The afternoon my pawpaw (grandfather) forced me to reel in my own first real catch on the banks of a lake in north Georgia. He shouted encouragement and gave me pointers, but he never once took the pole from me as he wanted me to do it on my own. This is my favorite memory of all the time I spent with my pawpaw, who died eleven years later.
-- I was six years old; the small-mouth bass was 3 pounds, 1 ounce and set a record in the Atlanta area for my age group.
5. My first kiss. I'd grown tired of how loud the party was and how ridiculous my tipsy friends looked as they were laughing and rolling about, so I walked out onto the balcony and sat in a plastic lounge chair to enjoy the sounds of the waves hitting the shore and the warm night air. Moments later, he joined me on the balcony stating he'd wanted to kiss me all night. I was terrified. Truthfully, it was awful – he smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and half an hour later he was passed out on the bathroom floor. I never saw him again.
-- I was seventeen years old. No laughing! Guess I was a late bloomer... parts of me are still waiting to bloom!
6. The morning I was driving my brother to school and tail-ended a half-ton Ford pickup that was sitting still in the road. The two-lane, backwoods road that ran between our house and the middle school was hugged with trees that allowed the morning sunlight to stream through in bright, blinding rays. I realized the truck was stopped at the same time my brother did. He yelled my name; I hit the brakes. The front-end brakes made the car nose-dive below the bumper of the high-sitting truck pushing the car's hood into our laps and bringing my windshield within mere inches of the truck's steel bumper and trailer hitch. The police officer who responded said that if I'd braked any sooner, allowing the car to slide even further beneath the truck, then we might have suffered severe injury or been killed by the impact that the windshield and our bodies would have made with the truck's bumper. The black skid marks that remained on the road for months were a constant reminder.
-- I was sixteen years old. My parents made me drive Daniel to school the very next day, taking the same exact path. I had whiplash for a week and I have a broken Dodge hood ornament in my jewelry box to this day.
7. My first puppy. Tinkerbell was a little black mutt with the biggest heart and soul. She was given to me on Christmas morning. When my parents brought me into the living room where my surprise waited with a red bow tied around her neck, Tinkerbell sprinted across the room and lunged at me with licks ready to go... as if she knew she were my Christmas present and I was hers.
-- I was four years old. Tink died on Christmas morning twelve years later.
8. The first day I arrived in Los Angeles, fresh-faced, naïve, and chalk full of determination. I stepped off the plane, bucked up my chest and welcomed LA to hit me with its best shot. The air was cold for April, the traffic was at a standstill all around the airport and I encountered my first familiar celebrity face within the hour. I knew no one... but I knew me and that was enough. I hit Venice Beach, The Getty, Rodeo Drive, In-n-Out Burger and the local curb store to get an apartment guide book. I'm certain everyone I bumped into knew I was a newbie, an LA-transplant who, along with hundreds daily, had arrived in search of the dream. My first day in LA was filled with colorful hopes, shameless drive and unshakable resolve.
-- I was 27 years old. I stayed three years. I still have the same hopes, drive and resolve... but it's been redirected.
9. Three days ago, as we walked into Magic Kingdom with intent to battle it out for the highest score on Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin, a friend (not yet certain what else to call him) took my hand in his. The gesture was small, but the moment left me surrounded with a sort of comfort that was novel and exhilarating yet distinctly tranquil. Sure, it's a rather recent experience to add, but by sheer description of this list it deserves a spot as I doubt my mind's eye will soon forget the light rain that fell around me, the sound of the boat gently knocking the dock behind me, the smell of popcorn that slowly invaded or the word he muttered... "Weird?"
-- I was 32 years old. I felt sixteen.
10. My high school, Dougherty Comprehensive High, was and still is a major rival of another local school, Monroe High. When I was a freshman, the tension between the two schools was at an all-time high as DCHS was experiencing an exceptional football season having gone undefeated. That Friday night, the air was thick... literally, as it was quite foggy. Minutes before halftime, my friends and I struggled to grasp the reality of what had just happened in the stadium bleachers. Gunfire. Merely feet from us. A Monroe student, determined to even the playing field, entered the Dougherty side of the stadium and opened fire. In a stressful situation, the brain/eyes process more frames per second than in normal situations which gives us the feeling that time is in slow motion. That's exactly what I experienced as I realized the "balloon popping" was a gun popping... when I looked to my right I saw hundreds of frenzied students and fans rushing towards me like an ocean wave at the slowest possible rate... I turned to my left grabbing my friends' hands and pulling them with me towards the exit. Still operating in slow motion, still hearing the ringing of the shots and hearing my own breath and heartbeat, I pulled them to the only place I knew might be safe and away from the crowd – the underside of the bleachers where the lawn tractors and field maintenance equipment was stored. To this day, I still see the darkness beneath the bleachers... I still smell the gas of the tractor I hid behind... I still feel Michelle's trembling hand... I feel the cold concrete wall I leaned against.
-- I was fifteen years old.
posted by Doris @ 4:55 PM
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