As I get older, it’s become more and more apparent that my memory is failing. Short-term and long-term. This is not a new problem, as it’s been going on for years…even in my early 20s, I was having trouble remembering the most basic of events, people and milestones. At one point back then, I began attributing it to specific things. Like the fact that I had thrown away most of my childhood keepsakes when I was asked to clean out my old room (after I had gone to college). I thought perhaps since I didn’t have any constant reminders of my past, that I was doomed to slowly forget it.
It doesn’t matter how it’s happening, it just plain sucks. I’d like to find a way to improve my memory.
But from time to time (getting more frequent lately), I’ll get a total non-sequitur flashback. Maybe I’ll be washing the dishes, and think of that girl I had two dates with back in college. Or brushing my teeth, and suddenly recall the one fistfight I had in middle school.
I guess today I’ll outline the memory I had while getting out of bed. If I had started typing it out right then and there, I’m sure I’d have remembered more details, but it’s slowly fading as time passes.
When I was in middle school, I spent a great deal of time with my friend Maria. She was really fun, outgoing, and introduced me to all kinds of people, most of whom were right in the middle of a rebellion against their parents. Some of them were the types that I knew would someday go bad, or at least wouldn’t really make much of themselves…but I didn’t really have a problem with that, and they were good friends for the time. Enter Jerry. He had long-ish hair, messed up teeth, looked kinda goofy, and was a bit of a scrapper (prolly got beat up by his older brothers a few times). I could tell if someone pissed him off, he’d make them hurt. But being the guy I am, he and I quickly became friends, and hung out a good bit. Not best friends, and honestly I never saw him unless we were both hanging out at Maria’s house (or around the neighborhood), but he was ok in my book, and I was ok in his.
Years later (and THIS is the memory I had this morning that kicked it off), when I was in college, I ran into a few old friends from high school (girls I hadn’t known terribly well), and my friend Jason and I decided to go hang out with them at Breitbeck Park on that warm summer night. The park is basically a big grass area right on the shore of Lake Ontario, and there’s a big paved figure-8/circle around the perimeter so you could walk or rollerblade. Jason and I had our skates slung over our shoulders, as we’d been doing some stunt skating earlier, and wanted to show off for the girls. Next to the park, not far from the shore, is a big parking lot where the weekend walkers usually park, but that night there was only one car. A big old beat-up Buick with a bunch of going-nowhere types leaning against it and smoking their butts.
Jason and I were walking along with the girls, talkin’ about god knows what, when the dudes at the car started getting a little louder, and we noticed they were sending their comments in our direction. For a few minutes, J and I just kept alert and kept to ourselves, just making sure we were paying attention. But at one point, Jason heard something he didn’t like, said something in return, loud enough for them to hear, and we saw the whole pack of thugs move in response to this. The trunk of the car was opened, and baseball bats appeared as the guys started moving toward us.
I told the girls to stay put (at this point we were safely far away from the thugs and their car), and J and I started off toward the guys…fully aware we were about to get a beatdown, cause there ain’t no way we’re gonna compete with baseball bats. I honestly started fearing for my life, but what the fuck was I gonna do, run away? Then what would happen to the girls? Fuck it, I’m going in.
But as we got to the center of the grass, and the thugs were getting closer, I told Jason to back off. I had seen a familiar face.
“Jerry?” I asked. One of the first dudes to reach us (with no baseball bat in his hands) had looked very familiar, and only upon seeing him up close did I recognize him. And I firmly believed it was an act of god that I even remembered his name. When I first saw and recognized him, I had a minor panic attack at the thought that maybe I wouldn’t remember the name…which wouldn’t have been good.
“Jim?” he asked. “Uh…what’s up? HEY GUYS. Hang on. These guys are ok. Let’s go. No, seriously, LET’S GO. I’ll see ya man.”
And we went back to the girls.
I have no idea how I didn’t get laid that night. Beats the fuck outta me.