borrowed memories
August 15, 2014 § 4 Comments
Yesterday we visited my husband’s high school, now our son’s. Forward steps were met with backward glances; old memories intertwined with new experiences.
My husband identified familiar faces in framed photographs and structural differences around old corners as our son greeted friends and peers shuffling through the monotonous maze of required materials, photographs, and instruction. I visited with a close friend sharing this milestone while absorbing my daughter’s restless observations.
It was a day I will remember by sound. The staccato of footsteps echoing against painted brick hallways of uniform lockers, tapping out a morse code of stolen moments and friendship; memories of congested stairwells and rushed passing periods, the smell of lettermen jackets and the crinkle of letters folded into intricate envelopes.
As we left the air-conditioned hallways for the sun drenched remains of our summer day, I could hear the answering squeak of new gym shoes across decades of days long past; a borrowed memory of another time and place marking a new beginning.
scribblechic 
I can totally relate to this.
Roots are important to me-I live next door to my childhood home, still walk these same streets. It’s like I operate in different time zones at once-every corner harbours a ghost.
We purchased my husband’s childhood home from my In-Law’s and I find myself often caught between my husband’s memories and my children’s experiences. It is a lovely accident of intention that has gifted us so many familiar paths and happy haunts.
You have a gift for capturing moments, feelings, and experiences with a few well-chosen words. I especially liked this:
“…the answering squeak of new gym shoes across decades of days long past…”
And you, Charles, have a gift for fashioning favorite passages into a compliment. Thank you!