Memory is a fallible instrument. You just can’t trust it. Or maybe you can trust yours, but you shouldn’t trust mine.
I wanted to tell you about this trip that I took with my mom from L.A. to Sacramento one year for Christmas, but then as I started to write it I realized that my memories of this one supposed trip are really an amalgam of a bunch of different trips that I took to Sacramento as a child.
Strange. I used to have such a good memory, but now I just can’t trust it.
Anyway, forget about the trip that led to Sacramento let me just start there already.
It’s the night before Christmas or thereabouts, everyone was asleep, there was a present under the tree with my name on it. Wait, did you get that? THERE WAS A PRESENT UNDER THE TREE WITH MY NAME ON IT! I crept out of bed and tiptoed into the living room. I carefully unwrapped the present and saw the most beautiful diary with a lock and key.
It was a thing of beauty. I swear that a spotlight shone on it while I held it. It was the best present anyone could have ever gotten for me. I put the diary back in its box and re-wrapped the present. I turned around to head back to bed and my heart stopped! Sitting on the sofa watching me the whole time was my adult cousin. I was mortified. I looked at him and said nothing. He looked at me and said nothing. After more nothing, I slowly walked away and went to bed.
The next day I thought for sure he would tell on me, but he didn’t. He said nothing about it to anyone. He watched me open the diary and act surprised and he said nothing. I felt guilty, but grateful.
For years, I was grateful. I have a huge family and this is a cousin I rarely saw. About a year ago I saw him and brought up this memory and thanked him for not ratting me out and you know what he said? He said, “Hmmm, I don’t remember that, but I was so fucked up most of the time back then that it’s no surprise.”
Here I thought he was so cool for not telling on me and really he was probably just catatonic. That’s why he didn’t say anything.
I told you, you just can’t trust memories.
About UnknownMami
Hahahahahahaha! Great story!
Thank you, I’m glad you liked it. I’m sort of bummed that I ever talked to my cousin about it because I like my memory better than his explanation.
Twitter Name: Unknown Mami
ooooh, a diary! what a fantastic present! and while you’re disappointed w/ the explanation your cousin gave you, I found it funny as hell!
Twitter Name: erinmargolin
I think it’s funny too, but there goes my sweet memory of how he kept my secret.
Twitter Name: Unknown Mami
That gave me a good laugh. Thanks.
My pleasure!
Twitter Name: Unknown Mami
I don’t know why, but that memory makes me sad.
It is sad.
Twitter Name: Unknown Mami
The thing that I admire most about your writing is that no matter what the topic – you always make me laugh first, think later. Sometimes the other way around.
At first this made me laugh and then I realized it is sad. Not to recall memories – either by age or just by being in a bad state of mind.
I have a horrible memory too – though since becoming a mom, it’s gotten much much worse.
Twitter Name: laliquin
Ah well, at least you don’t have to feel grateful to him anymore.
Twitter Name: Eva Gallant
Oh how delicious! Now this is my kind of story/memory, etc! I loved this. I came over expecting a sweet story about a toddler (and that would have been fine, too) and got this treasure! Love it, UnknownMami. Love you!
Well, at least you still got the diary. Sometimes memories are better left unchallenged… especially good ones.
:-)
Traci
Twitter Name: tracisstar
Oh, man…
Like Mom says, “I have a very good memory, but it’s short.”