Two

The people point and make sounds.  They want to go over there or eat here or watch that.  The sounds don't matter.  The noise is purely functional.  The sounds are forgotten as the doors of the Dollar General open and the stale, desperate breath creeps onto the sidewalk.  And I am reminded.

I am reminded of the time I was walking into a Dollar General not too far from this one -- maybe 30 miles north, and the smell reminded me of a Dollar General in a town near where I grew up.  I am reminded that I am often reminded. 

As I ran the other night, I was reminded of a night like that one several years before when I was running next to the homes on a quiet street.  While running on a quiet street and thinking about the homes, I was reminded of the homes we used to drive by when I was a kid.  And so, the other night, while running, I was reminded of that night several years ago when I was reminded of riding around in a car dreaming of what it would be like to live in a home like one of these.

And I realize that now I am often reminded.  That I rarely just experience events.  That the heat from the sidewalk this June feels like the heat from the sidewalk last June and that I'm rarely present.  I'm often drifting into a seemingly distant past.  That I'm left wondering what happened to the last year.  What happened to the time when I sat on a hot, black metal bench and felt the sting of heat? Why am I doing it again? And why can't I just have that one moment? 

I do things like turning the radio up super loud and rolling down the windows so I can get lost.  So for one moment, for thirty seconds or even a full minute I can be here.  Experiencing the song, the music, the scenery as if for the first time.  And then, I am reminded.  Of driving to college and listening to this same song with the windows down and smiling and laughing. 

The number of new experiences seems to be dwindling.  The period of wonder and discovery is growing into a period of knowing and waiting.  Even before I hit 40, friends from high school and college have died. 

The number of years between what I call "total happiness" experiences is growing.  1993 shows up twice, 1994 is on the list, 1995, 1996, 1999, 2000, 2006, and 2011. There may have been more before 1993, but I'm thinking of my adulthood, mainly. 

There have been a number of truly good experiences to go along with the euphoric moments.  Perhaps I could have had more euphoric moments had I made different decisions?  Perhaps I'd also be reminded of different things?

I feel as if I stare at the future knowing almost exactly how it will unfold. Somewhat absurd, sure.  But, in the past, I stared at the future and had no idea what might happen. I knew certain events would occur (marriage, children) but didn't know when or how.  Couldn't see them.  Now, I can see the progression of a marriage, the growth of a child, my own aging process.  I can see a career path and I can see the doors I opened and closed with various decisions. 

And so the people point and make noises and Dollar General breathes on all of us as the hot sun burns the memories of the time I walked past a Dollar General and was burned by my memories.