All my memory drabbles are based on real memories. There's no fiction in there.

It was a long time ago, but it's amazing how the smell of those damned trees stiffens my nervous system.

(edit: cat walked on computer. Thanks, PC.)

Oh Deb.

{{{{{{deb}}}}}}

Kristin, she wasn't mine - I was seventeen. She was my three-year-old goddaughter. We were forced off the road by a drunk driver in a "borrowed" car (he had no license). The area's simply gorgeous, West Marin, Stinson Beach, Bolinas, Muir Beach.

But I no longer travel those roads, either as a passenger or as a driver. Never got over my terror of cliffs.

No matter who she was, it is a very painful, poignant memory to have to bear (though I'm selfishly, for you, glad she wasn't your actual child). Cliff roads scare the hell out of me too, but for much less reason.

So what are the drabble rules, anyway? I'd like to play.

Kristin, Steph L. "The Great Write Way" Apr 24, 2004 8:11:08 pm PDT

Drabble #3: Sense Memory

I am pulling false strawberries and violets, twin curses of shade and neglect. As I throw the plants into the wheelbarrow, I see the red berries against the plants, linked by their tenacious runners. I know the berries have no taste. I have eaten them before. For a moment, I hear the creak of chains on the swing and smell the damp, slightly oily smell from the coal cellar. I see the wire clothesline and then a flash of siding, dry rot bubbling through the paint, drips upon drips, rounding the edges of the boards.

I have my grandmother's backyard.

I really like that last line. I read it like "I have my father's eyes."

The entire picture is stunning. I love the "oh, man, this stuff growing won't taste like anything" understanding.

This isn't good, I don't think, but it's what first came to mind.

I can’t drink Mountain Dew anymore. Not that it’s a big loss, being that it’s fake citrus and some kind of electric chartreuse you don’t find in nature. But I don’t drink it because it’s his drink. The man who gave me the first kisses I could tell the world about. They tasted like coffee with that stupid soda’s weird aftertaste. He drank so much of it that when I smell it in the mall I think of him. Not because it’s a bad memory but because it takes years off my life. Both the good ones and the bad ones. I can’t take it.

Very visceral, erika, I like it. I don't like him a lot, but I like the piece.

Also? Want to name a band Electric Chartreuse.