Memory

I have a memory of standing in a crowd, pressed up against a metal fence next to a girl who gave me cigarettes and whom I never saw again, chanting, "Hail Satan!" over and over.

I have a memory of sitting on a wooden boardwalk in the forest with a friend, seeing everything for the first time.

I have a memory of sitting in the exit row of a transatlantic flight when I was sick and crying as I looked alternately out my window and at photographs.

I have a memory of sneaking down into the basement of a church-turned-venue and ordering a beer and not getting carded and feeling like the cat who got the cream.

I have a memory of driving on unknown roads in a new state with my mother as the rain came down so hard and thick I couldn't see 5 feet in front of me.

I have a memory of standing in an old kitchen, watching a friend cook dinner for shabbos and feeling so much love for her as she sang to herself.

I have a memory of waking up three different friends just to tell them a boy I liked kissed me.

I have a memory of walking around the streets of Holland with a near-stranger and feeling at home.

I have a memory of listening in the hot, cramped back of an art gallery as Phil Elvrum sang to me everything I have ever felt.

I have a memory of taking a new friend to my roof where we exchanged ideas and wondered wonderful things.

Right now, I have no regrets. Everything happened for the best.