Memories are strange
creatures. They creep alongside me like
a stalking wild cat, staying out of sight and only on the fringe of my vision until
they become discernible through the foliage of my mind. Then, their form appears, and I react with
all the various emotions attached to the situation or person brought into my
mind.
Sometimes memories hover behind
closed blinds or doors. They hide when I
try to open the locked portals of my brain.
Then again a word or gesture, a
smell or sound, can trigger a memory to pounce out of nowhere and land right in
front of me,
How do the cells of my brain bring
forth so many memories in a day? What
enzyme or chemical illuminates a corner of a brain cell and causes a whole
scene to play behind my eyes as if it were a movie screen? How can I dwell within a memory for days or
watch one flit across the same screen as if it were a shadow?
Where can I forcibly tuck
distasteful memories so I don’t run the image through the camera again and
again? How is it I can turn a key in the
lock of a mental door to sequester a memory in solitude only to discover it has
escaped and tracked me down to shock me with its re-entry into my vision?
The mechanisms of memories baffle
me. I wish they could be tamed, brought
to heel, told where to lay and when to speak, but that’s impossible. They are independent critters, and all I can
do is learn to live with them.
