Memory 4 & 5

4) Our very own Charley Locke and Leland Whitehouse have a radio show (“Soundtrack to a Life”) on which they ask guests to construct a playlist of songs that carry strong associations.  Choose a song that generates free associations and write about the song and what comes from this.  The task here, however, will to avoid mere nostalgia or sentimentality. Find an association that is more than merely “pleasing”—that is, go beyond just the pleasure of remembering. Write in such a way that you reflect on the connection between music and memory. Or you might try a different sense and choose instead a smell or scent that triggers memories.

I slide the keys into ignition and press a heel against the ignition. I remember that they always tell you that you’re not supposed to drive in heels but suppress my chiding superego and rev up the engine and check my makeup in the mirror. Perfect. The purple eyeshadow was a risk but a definite win in the long run and I cannot wait for everyone at the party to see how amazing my hair looks pulled back and wild in the back. I giggle. They always tell you that you’re not supposed to drive drunk but I’m just a little tipsy so what’s the big deal I’ll get there just fine.

            I pull out of the driveway at 1 A.M. on the dot. I glance at the light in my parents’ room. My heart skips a beat because they can’t still be up or I’m screwed but then I notice that the flickering light means my Mom just left CSI on and that means they are definitely both fast asleep.

            I drive through my quiet suburban neighborhood and keep an eye out for any other teenagers sneaking out from their domestic prisons at this fine hour. Yeah right. I’m the only one over sixteen years old in these here parts except for that goody-goody Melinda who lives on the corner who gives me dirty looks for whispering to my sister in Church instead of paying attention and being respectful. I bet she’s in bed. She’ll be up at eight A.M. for her early morning run no doubt and maybe I’ll drive by her on my way back from the rager at Aly’s I’m about to crash.

            I swing into Mary’s driveway and she hops in the car. She’s more smashed than even I am and I have to slap her hands away from the steering wheel about three times before she gets the idea and turns her attention to the radio dial and puts on our favorite pop station. We jam.

            We arrive at Aly’s and I feel dizzy and I park in the grass and we hop out and I readjust my skin-tight dress before we click-clack-click-clack our way into the backyard. I open the door and hear the collective gasp of a party of former friends who thought I’d never find out about this party and have the guts to show up but here I am and I dare you to try and kick me out. The boys would never let it happen and even if they did Mary definitely wouldn’t and now I’m going to have fun so just back off and hand me the Malibu.

            I look right into my former best friend’s eyes and laugh out loud. I haven’t seen someone look this scared since that time I saw my sister’s face after my brother locked her in the closet for ten minutes and she thought she was going to die and I broke her out and gave her a glass of orange juice which is her favorite to keep her from hyperventilating. My sister is at home asleep in our room in her twin bed and it would kill her to know that I drink like this and I should probably go home.

            My cell phone rings and I see my Dad’s name flash on my Razor’s screen.

            I should probably go home.

5) Look back on the themes from this week, and write about the processes of memory and writing they embody.  What differences did you find in writing about an early memory versus a recent one? Where and how did you find yourself questioning your memories?  Where and how did you have to invent those things that fill gaps in your memory?  What was your response when you discovered other people had different memories? What did you learn while writing---about those memories, memory itself, writing, or yourself?  This theme might be free-standing, or it might incorporate one or more of this week’s other themes. 

           

            Writing about the distant past is absolutely much easier than it is writing about myself within the past two years. It is easy to incriminate my seventeen-year-old self, so far removed from who I am today that I feel entirely absolved of all guilt. Then again, my ease of writing about the far past might derive from the fact that most of it is fictionalized. It has to be – I have a terrible memory. When I struggle, I close my eyes and try to recall the spaces and motions I went through during those time periods. In remembering about my childhood, it is the actual space I inhabited (the boxwoods, sandbox) that I remember most vividly. My other memories – interactions with others, for instance – are memory runoff. I also call my siblings and parents for additional bolstering of memory. I know I have a tendency to forget or even blot parts of my past out, so I was not at all surprised to hear that others have entirely different or even contrasting memories. I learned, particularly in the music piece, that my memories are strongly sensorial. I remember things based on what I smell and hear the best. What I see and the actual dialogues I share are much weaker. Therefore, I had to be very liberal with the conversations I portrayed in my memories. It’s frustrating, and made me admire those who actually can remember their pasts so precisely. A very fun week, indeed!