Memories.. What once was and what cannot be undone.

I got this from someone else..  She got it from someone else..etc. The idea is to write random memories, leaving out names.. I cried reading hers, and I don’t even know what most of them meant.

Writing my own, I’ve laughed, cried, stared off into space as I fill in the blanks that I’m leaving out on purpose.  What an emotional rollercoaster.  I barely scratched the surface.

I couldn’t tell if the boy beside me looked like a cartoon, with his saxophone and hooked nose that looked like a beak, or if I was just imagining it.  I spent most of the day looking at the clouds anyway.

I snuck the phone into my room so I could talk to him, knowing I could get in trouble but not realizing the consequences for both of us.

I landed on my arm and it hurt, but I hardly cried and was surprised when the doctor said it was broken.

I knew what would happen that night if I went, and I’ve never been sorry. But I was still surprised when that guy yelled “Switch!”  And I always laugh when I think about it.

I knew when I made him cry that I was going to leave him.

You were mad that I wouldn’t pull my panties down.

I tore a page out of the book, the one that wasn’t the Bible but it was about the bible, and as I set it on fire, the lightning struck nearby, and the old black man came out of the woods singing in the dark, and I thought I was going to die.

“You put mayonnaise in my hair!!”

She stood so that we would pass by each other when we danced, and she pinched me every time.

He was screaming at me, calling me a WHORE, calling me a BITCH, and I knew he would act later like nothing ever happened.

I was crying while I threw up, and I knew nothing in my life would ever be the same. And it wasn’t.

I didn’t think we would fall in love when I met you.  I wasn’t ready for it.

I felt really shy the first time you came to my house, because you were so pretty and everybody was so excited to see you.

The guy kept trying to make me kiss you, and he just couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t.

She told me the only way to be in the club was to have sex with your boyfriend, but I knew she hadn’t when she told me I could be in the club anyway.

I never felt cool enough around her, especially when she played her music or talked about her other friends.

Nobody ever believed we were just friends, but I’m glad nothing more ever happened.

She grabbed me by the hair and hit me in the face, and I was numb with shock and surprise because I hadn’t done anything.

He was so mad when he came home and saw that I’d gotten drunk with the boys and we had spraypainted graffitti in the attic.

I remember the first time you put the gun to your head.

We went camping, but we were in my family’s house.

“You’ll never be bad enough to make me stop loving you.”

I didn’t know what to do as I called the ambulance.  I felt too small, too weak, I felt swallowed up by everything that was happening, and I didn’t think I would be able to handle it.

I hid in the closet as they were yelling, trying to cover her tiny ears so she couldn’t hear.

We were talking about having a seance, when something fell in the closet by itself.  We never tried.

I checked to make sure the door was locked, and it wasn’t, and when I turned back around, for just a second it wasn’t my room.  I almost passed out.  I swore I’d never smoke pot again.

I held the radio close to my head, with the volume as low as I could turn it and still hear, terrified someone would catch me, but I just had to hear the music.

She read the same book to me over and over because it’s what I wanted.

He swung and missed, hitting me in the mouth, and I sat in the grass crying while people I barely knew came to comfort me.

She laid her head on my shoulder, devastated and exhausted, crying because it was so unfair.  I would have done anything to change it.

I drove past the house and they had painted it white, but it should have been yellow.

“You’re so pretty.” “No you’re so pretty!”

She told me the “facts of life” in the dark, filling in the details my mother had left out.

We sat in line for four hours just to get gas, and I bought a paper from the man standing on the side of the road, and when I saw the pictures I wept.

I stood on stage and I sang, and I knew it was beautiful, and I was so proud.

When you got back in the car and the cops left, and we started to laugh, I knew we were going to be good friends.

They called my name after every subject, and I was glad when another girl shared an award with me because I was embarrassed to win them all.

I felt my face burn with shame as my name was written on the board, even though it was just a misunderstanding.

I thought they wouldn’t notice even though it was infected.

My body was shaking as we knocked on the door of your father’s house to tell him you were dying.

“Truth,” he said, “with a capital T.”  And I cried and had to leave.

We passed around the Coke bottle like it was liquor, giggling like we were stoned, and we were all sober.

I grabbed your arm, made you look me in the eyes, and told you I was going to make you go home, and you stopped trying to fight the guy and kept dancing with me.

We all piled into the van and drove to New Orleans even though we had exams, ate beignets, and turned around and drove home.

I knew when you wanted to look at the rings in the magazine that you were going to ask me to marry you.

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