Not the Destination: Part I

I am a collection of experiences. This is life, right? Not the destination, but the journey. I have the strangest memories. Nobody has memories like mine. Of course not. Memories are unique. Every person’s memory of the exact same event will be different. Perception.

I wish there was some way of comparing my childhood memories with those of my younger brother. We have led such completely different lives -- especially in the fifteen years since the divorce (has it been that long? longer?), but even before.

I have memories of hospitals and physical therapies and children who I somehow knew were dying even though I probably didn’t even yet know what death was. There were clowns there. I remember the clowns. And the nurses. But the doctors and my parents aren’t much more than a blur. There was a toy box, too. When you went back for check-ups, you got to pick a toy from the box. I once picked the pink elephant from Carebears. I loved it. I cried once for it, because it wasn’t there when it was time for bed. I think my dad went and got it for me, but I’m not sure. I mostly remember the crying.

I also have a stuffed beagle that I have had since … forever? Her name is Muffin. She has been in storage for a year with most of the rest of my belongings. Sometimes, I wonder if she thinks this means I love her less. I just don’t want to lose her.

I remember the first time my dad taught me to say “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” It didn’t make the words hurt any less. It never, ever did. But thanks for trying, Dad.

I had friends in first grade at Wild Peach Elementary. I still remember all of their names and faces. But we were only friends at school. We did not have playdates or sleepovers. And I didn’t really have friends after that for a long time.

I remember that time, in second grade, when my mom “accidentally” baked my hamster by leaving it outside in an aquarium while she cleaned its cage. I have never been convinced that it was an accident. That hamster was vicious.

I also remember, many years later, how she killed my pet iguana by unplugging its heat source. She eventually owned up to that one. I really liked that iguana. Strangely, she didn’t object to the obscene number of pet turtles I was keeping.

I remember playing ball with my dad and little brother once. I hit the ball really far and my dad was surprised and kind of proud. He made a big deal out of it, anyway. I wasn’t that horrible at sports. I just got nervous around the other kids. Because kids are so cruel.

I am a collection of my experiences. This is my journey.