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Jesus Christ. On a bike.
February 14, 2025
Maybe 15 years ago? I threw all my yearbooks away. I had them going back to middle school. My childhood was just so rough, so ugly, I didn’t want to remember. But then, sometimes I’ll think of someone from high school and I’ll want to look at their picture again, see what sports they were in. And sometimes I’ll recognize a name but not a face, and I’ll want to remember what they looked like so I can match them to now. But overall, I’m glad to be rid of them.
I threw my mother’s yearbooks away, too. Why did I hold onto those? She was the only one I knew in the book. But I did hang onto them. For a long time. I threw them all out at the same time.
And then after I moved from Louisville back to mom’s, maybe five years ago? I threw away all my photos. They were in a cardboard chest, one covered in a vintage flower print. (I still have the chest. I have beading supplies in there, now. Repurpose. Reuse.) I gave the chest to mom and told her I didn’t want the pictures anymore. I told her it was too painful to revisit those times. She didn’t argue. She likes to pretend there was no abuse, but she knows goddamn good and well there was. Lots of abuse. So much abuse. But she pretends. So, I pretend, too. Most of the time, anyway.
She reclined in her electric recliner and went through them, each and every one, but I…
