I still remember

I still remember the smell. She sprayed her letters with perfume and it made me miss her even more.

I remember my old house. I remember the hill in the backyard. How we used to set up the slip-n-slide so it'd go under the trampoline. I remember trying to mow the lawn but then watching my mom do it. I remember my dad coming over to pick me up on Saturday mornings.

I remember my sister's hair. It was so dark and so thick. I remember her music in the morning when she got ready. I remember dancing at her wedding. I remember us being close. I don't remember the last time I told her I love her.

I remember that trip to lagoon. The one where he got his last DUI. The one where he asked me if I had any gum and I didn't. I remember the cop asking him to get out of the car. I remember watching him get taken away in handcuffs. I have some gum now, but it's too late.

I remember peeing the bed. So warm.

I remember having to see a speech therapist. I remember eating spoonfuls of sugar. There was no medicine, just sugar. I remember pretending to be asleep so my dad would carry me inside. I remember sleepouts on the tramp. And bunkbeds. And sunsets before anyone ever worried about taking pictures of them.

I remember the sunset wallpaper in my kitchen. I remember the extra long phone cord and the record player. I remember listening to Michael Jackson's Thriller with the lights out and the panic. I remember getting the wind knocked out of me and wondering if I would ever breathe again.

I remember not wearing a shirt and not caring. I remember going outside to play. I remember throwing rocks at Josh. I remember the funeral. Waiting in line. How tan he looked. I remember how empty everyone's eyes were.

I remember yelling at my son last night. I remember the look on his face as I turned out the light. I remember drinking a Pepsi and falling asleep on the couch. I wonder how much we'll all forget.