This is a writing prompt by Natalie Goldberg, author of Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life. My response to this prompt is a free write based on the phrases 'I remember' and 'I don't remember.' The writing time for each segment was 10 minutes with a break in between and is not intended as memoir or as story. For more prompts like these and more information on writing in general please visit the Detangled Writers Blog.
I remember thinking that I would really like to kiss her and I felt some regret because I never did. I remember that it was hot that summer and a little Chinese girl wanted to use me as a mattress and a pillow and I loved her dearly for it but found myself constantly trying to scoot away from her furnace like body so that I could catch a hint of the ever elusive Belgian breeze and maybe get some sleep. I remember the lace capital of the world and I remember things that never even happened. We climbed to the top of the cathedrals and sang out existence to the world and I recall that we did it all while drunk on Sangria.
I remember being there in the sixteen hundreds, my blood and sweat coating the rock before me as I scraped my fingernails back and tried to lift it just like my father had done, just like my son would do. I remember looking at the mess that the architect told us would someday be a house of God and I thought to myself that he was mad. I was godless, but employed and I was building a sanctuary to someone I didn't know. My father had died when a pulley snapped and a net enclosed load of bricks plummeted down and crushed his skull. I remember how it tasted - I was standing so close that his brains and flesh and blood spattered this way and that and covered my young face and filled my young mouth. I'd never even tasted wine. I remember that I didn't cry because it was raining and it's impossible to cry in the rain.
I remember that the Chinese girl sat the right of me, her legs on my lap and her head pressed to my shoulder, and the Japanese woman sat to my left, her hip and leg pressed firm to mine and I smiled happily and cried out to the rest of the van that I was happily squished in Asia. I remember standing there at the end of the war, looking up at the large cathedral and crying. I cried so hard that the rain was like a pittance compared to my tears that welled and flooded my eyes, my face, my shirt, the whole world. I remember hearing the screaming of the women and children who had run to this place seeking sanctuary and who had found nothing but a tomb; theirs. I remember thinking that 624 years was a long time, but ten minutes was even longer because in that horrible moment when the side fell in and the roof crumbled and crushed those who had worshiped under it a thousand times before, it all moved in slow motion. Taking eons to fall as I stood there watching and crying, my own life pouring out of me from where a bayonet had met my belly. I saw my beautiful church become a murderer.
***
I remember thinking that I would really like to kiss her and I felt some regret because I never did. I remember that it was hot that summer and a little Chinese girl wanted to use me as a mattress and a pillow and I loved her dearly for it but found myself constantly trying to scoot away from her furnace like body so that I could catch a hint of the ever elusive Belgian breeze and maybe get some sleep. I remember the lace capital of the world and I remember things that never even happened. We climbed to the top of the cathedrals and sang out existence to the world and I recall that we did it all while drunk on Sangria.
I remember being there in the sixteen hundreds, my blood and sweat coating the rock before me as I scraped my fingernails back and tried to lift it just like my father had done, just like my son would do. I remember looking at the mess that the architect told us would someday be a house of God and I thought to myself that he was mad. I was godless, but employed and I was building a sanctuary to someone I didn't know. My father had died when a pulley snapped and a net enclosed load of bricks plummeted down and crushed his skull. I remember how it tasted - I was standing so close that his brains and flesh and blood spattered this way and that and covered my young face and filled my young mouth. I'd never even tasted wine. I remember that I didn't cry because it was raining and it's impossible to cry in the rain.
I remember that the Chinese girl sat the right of me, her legs on my lap and her head pressed to my shoulder, and the Japanese woman sat to my left, her hip and leg pressed firm to mine and I smiled happily and cried out to the rest of the van that I was happily squished in Asia. I remember standing there at the end of the war, looking up at the large cathedral and crying. I cried so hard that the rain was like a pittance compared to my tears that welled and flooded my eyes, my face, my shirt, the whole world. I remember hearing the screaming of the women and children who had run to this place seeking sanctuary and who had found nothing but a tomb; theirs. I remember thinking that 624 years was a long time, but ten minutes was even longer because in that horrible moment when the side fell in and the roof crumbled and crushed those who had worshiped under it a thousand times before, it all moved in slow motion. Taking eons to fall as I stood there watching and crying, my own life pouring out of me from where a bayonet had met my belly. I saw my beautiful church become a murderer.
I don't remember anything after it happened. Some people get drunk and do stupid shit and use the excuse that they don't remember as a way to justify their idiocy but for me it's the opposite. I don't remember the morning after, I don't remember waking up next to him, don't remember his name, but there are parts I know, rather than remember. I know what he tastes like and what hour he was born. I don't remember how I know it, but I do.
I don't remember when it happened, but something changed. I don't remember why you left me when you did but I'm glad that you never came back. I don't remember how painful it is to have a crush on someone for nearly three years and finally tell them you love them only to have them spit on your face and tell you that they don't swing that way. I don't remember anything like that. I don't remember the time I nearly drowned. My parents told me about it, about how Dodi rushed into the little forging river (I don't remember, it may have been a stream) and dragged me from the frothy water to the safety of shore (I don't remember she may have just nipped at me until I got out of the water). I don't remember getting my wisdom teeth out and I don't remember the second Harry Potter book at all, just that there was a snake and there were spiders. I don't remember chutes and ladders - not even once. I don't remember everyone who was at that Halloween party with the black candles and the Children of the Corn, but I have a very vivid memory of 'Amanda is bad' leaping out of the Ouija board and making everyone look at me as if I were some kind of murderer.
I don't remember space travel. I wish I did. It's been years and years since my arrival on this planet and sometimes I don't even remember my real name and my real form. I see a girl in the mirror, sometimes a boy, and I make words with my mouth but I don't remember the old words and the old ways and the smell of my people when they gathered in the divine hall. I don't remember that anymore. I thought I could close my eyes and see the skin - I don't remember the color - and that I could hear their voices - I don't remember how it sounded - and I thought that I could bring it all back one of these days but that was another life in another time and it is not me anymore.
I don't remember the point. Half of it is real; half of it is unreal and I'm caught between hating and loving and feeling hopeless and feeling outlandishly confident. I don't remember if I took my medicine. I don't remember if I said 'I love you' to the people who needed to hear it last night. I don't remember to brush my teeth as often as I should and I feel bad because I just had them cleaned not long ago and sometimes when I eat sugar, the teeth hurt. I don't remember the last time I felt really and truly useful and productive. I don't remember the last time she smiled and meant it.
Amanda LaFantasie © September 2012
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