When it comes to fear, and to human beings... we cannot help but wonder, just... what scares a person the most? What instills a feeling of fear, or discomfort in the depths of someone's soul? It could be anything, really... an insect, a memory, a television show, a story.... or a word. Just one simple, everyday word. Now, you may wonder what the heck I'm talking about here, but to make things a lot clearer... I'll use my own 'word' as an example. Now, what word causes my skin to crawl? Simple...
'Age.'
Now, I have no fear of getting old, nor do I have a problem with it. Aging is a natural, beautiful process, after all. But, with all of the hardships and joys that come with old age... what gets me, most of all... is this one thing. Forgetting memories. Growing up, a person can gain a cavalcade of memories; precious fragments of life that they want to hold onto forever, and never let go. I am one of those people, who would face old age without fear.... but I never want to forget all of the good, wonderful things that have happened to me as the years passed. What shaped me to be... well, me.
So, here I sit... at my computer screen, on September 13th of 2003. I am nineteen years old, currently... and so many relics from my young life are still sealed away in my heart in mind, for what I hope will be many years to come. Should my mind fail me... and let loose all of these moments, sending them into oblivion... I will have my writings beside me. To look back upon, and rekindle the memories that I hold so dear. so, that is one of my biggest fears... forgetting memories, forgetting life.
I remember days of summer, excitedly packing my black duffle bag with more clothes than I would need, for a three day visit to my grandparents' bungalow. As a child of ten years, I would always be excited... knowing that every day, out in picturesque Ben Eion, would be a dream come true. I would spend hours, out upon the craggy beaches... balancing, with my flip-flops, upon large black rocks... watching the waves of the Bras D'or lakes wash up beneath my perch. Fearful of stepping into the seaweed, which sat inches beneath the water. I would gather sea snails, as they clung to the slippery rocks... my small hands never being able to crush them, but who said that I would have the need? I was never able to gather all of them... because, there were simply hundreds and I would always give up, returning my 'prisoners' back to their watery home.
I remember going to sleep in the spare bedroom of the bungalow... the one, furthest to the left, at the very end of the beach house. The door would never close fully, because of the numerous housecoats that hung from the corner. My grandmother always had the most interesting places to hang her clothing. Outside of this door, there would always be an old, dusty shelf that smelled of old paper... of age. I could never understand these old books, that were thick and yellow, but I knew that my grandfather could. So, I would leave them alone... although there were a few books that I could understand. Inside of this room, with it's one lamp that often lit the walls pink or gold, there was a night-table... sitting just between my bed, which was the one closest to the left side of the room, with one other bed situated directly across. In the first drawer of this dresser, there were coloring books, made back in the 1960's. One was an "Alice In Wonderland ©" coloring book that I could never get tired of looking at... most of the pictures were either colored in, or scribbled over by the younger members of my vast family, who would visit here on other weekends. Others were left devoid of color and left to the ages... why, I remember trying to color one of them... I think it was the Cheshire Cat. I colored him green, instead of purple... so I eventually gave up.
I would always return to look at that book, over and over. But, in the drawer where I would always retrieve it... there were other books... most of which I have forgotten, nowadays. The night-table had one other drawer, but I could never get it open. For years, I would try... but it was always lodged shut, likely with age. To this day, I have never found out what that drawer contained... I never will. But, also in this room, there was a large dresser, looking akin to a vanity table. I do believe that it was dark brown... like a chestnut color, and there were so many drawers. Being a child... and often accompanied by a partner in crime, such as another cousin, I would open these drawers. Curious of what rested within... but, always ended up finding old clothing that my grandmother used to wear. Still.. it was an adventure... everything was at that age. So, kids will be kids.
The left bed in that bedroom, I have always staked claim to it during those carefree days. The reason being... was that it would often be pressed up against the wall, next to my grandparents' bedroom. Whenever I went to bed, I would be able to hear them talking in the next room before they were to fall asleep. It was comforting... it always showed me that I was never alone, and if I could get over my childish needs to stay up as late as possible... I would be lolled to sleep by them. (Though my grandfather had a doozie of a snore!)
Amazing how something like a snore could become one of the sweetest lullabies, and how the corners of old doors can make such fabulous coat hangers...
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(Kill the midi!)