I spent a summer working at The Refectory in Chautauqua in upstate New York. Did we listen to music? Did I listen to Howard Stern? Did I ever stop for coffee? Did he ride home with me most days? I don’t remember any of the details of that time, and I must have spent hours a week for two school years enveloped in it. Yet, I can’t seem to remember a single thing about it. My brother was a freshman during my junior year, meaning that I must have driven him to school with me for two years of high school.
I turned 16 at some point during my sophomore year of high school like every other kid. Yet, I must have done it over a thousand times in the 18 months that I lived in that apartment. Did I have trouble finding space? Was the weather a giant burden because it was outdoor parking? I can’t picture what anything looked like as I was walking in the door. Yet, I can’t remember what it was like to drive up, park and go from the car to my apartment. Sometimes, I did so with groceries, I am sure. I presumably parked my car and walked into the apartment on many occasions.
I lived in North Royalton on street called Beaver Ridge Drive. It is strange to me that I could have had all these things as a part of my life, and yet, I can’t remember any of the little details of what it was like to be in the situations. I am not sure why, but lately, I have been thinking about the things that I can’t remember all that well.
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