Struggling to recollect a certain time of your life; that night, in particular, is somewhat like glancing through a photo collection. The photos appear to be taken by a child. Seeking to capture the entire world as they viewed it, shaking the pictures before they can develop, eager to view precious moments caught in time. Brows furrowed when the moment came to unveil their photographs. They were nothing but three squares overflowing with swirls of colors and blurred images. Forehead creased with a grimace upon your worn face. Like that child, you are trying to remember a particular moment. The child arranged the photographs in an album, despite being imperfect. Intending to reflect on memories. The images you carry are heavy. The weight of upheaval born upon your body, heart, and soul is exhausting.
As the visions whirl around your head, you sift through blurs and swirls, deciphering an object for a moment before it fades. It is the dark wood paneling. The paneling covering the walls forever embodied the decade they built the room. The moss-colored shag carpeting, is still in pristine condition, as though nothing has tarnished this once safe space over the last five decades. You can recall visiting as a child. Her life was full of excitement and grandeur. The stories she used to tell you were fascinating, transporting you back in time. Is it possible that you will be responsible for the worst story to unfold there? You no longer have the ability to recollect those loving memories which preceded that night, because you can’t remember that night, maybe you prefer not to.
The swirls of color in your head shift into shades of purple. Your sheets, the blanket. Images of those heroic crime-fighting cartoon girls flash in your mind. The blanket was a reminder of happy times. Staying up late on humid summer nights. No thoughts of school, your sole stressor at that age. If only you knew what would occur. Though you outgrew the blanket, you carried it in your possession. It served as a token of remembrance from your childhood, something you couldn’t leave behind. Now, serving as a part of you that remains unattainable. You wonder if throwing it out was a mistake when you could have donated it. Guilt overcomes you as you realize by throwing away the blanket, you might have denied another person the chance to enjoy warmth and comfort. That same feeling you used to feel while curled up in that blanket, watching cartoons in the early hours of the morning. You are just as bad as him. His actions still deny you the ability to find comfort in the moments of life that should fill you with warmth. The lump in your throat gets bigger, and tears stream down your face, your eyes swollen, red, and watery. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it and whisper to yourself, No.
The images circle your mind again. You cannot recall every vivid detail, but you carry heavy shame and discomfort, anyway. Even after ages have passed. Blue glowing shadows crack through the thoughts racing through your head. Let’s play a game, you hear your past self whisper. You can see your GameCube set up next to your television. The electronic devices are only a few years apart in age. When comparing the two side by side, it becomes clear how quickly technology evolves and changes. Your T.V. appears futuristic while the GameCube could pass as an ancient artifact. It is almost mind-boggling how quickly everything can change. You suppose the same concept does not differ when applied to humans. How quickly a single moment, a single night, can transform someone. We should just drink some more instead, echo through your mind. No. The television’s blue glow blends with all the other hues, shapes, and jumbled images that replay in your mind.
A hazy shape of a wine glass comes into focus. He is holding the glass to your mouth. You take a sip, uncertain why. Well aware you have already had enough. You recall that gesture happening all evening. Every time your alcohol intake slowed, there he was, glass in hand, pressed against your lips, your mouth overflowing with the taste of cheap sour wine. No. Let’s play Smash Brothers. I bet I can beat you, were the last words you recall saying.
Everything is black.
The blue glow appears again. Only for a flash.
Blurry shapes above me. Heavy breathing
Electronic twinkling. The Super Smash Brothers character selection music.
No.
Black.
Why did you let that happen?
The warmth from the sun coming in from the window warms your body. The rays of light can’t seem to stay away from your eyes. You open them and everything comes into focus. Empty bottles splayed horizontally on the moss-colored shag carpet, beneath them a garnet stain. After one night with you, carpeting in perfect condition for decades was ruined. A used condom to the right of you on top of your comforter, between your body and his. He looked over at you. Good morning, beautiful. Do you want another round? You didn’t get me to finish last night, so you owe me. Your stomach soured, and the burning sensation rose to your throat. Your blanket is ruined. He mumbled something about finding your hangover repulsive and gathered his belongings to leave. Wasn’t he aware more than the blanket lay desecrated? Maybe he didn’t care.
That night countless fragments of yourself were stolen. Over five years have passed and your body still tenses when someone touches you. The slight aroma of wine sours your stomach, accelerates your heart, and you can swear the walls are closing in. The once adored pass-time of challenging your friends to a Super Smash Brothers competition was long abandoned.
You dust off your old Nintendo and file through your game collection until you find it. Covered in scratches and dust, the years of wear and tear apparent. You tug the bottom of your shirt and rub the disk clean, hoping it still functions. As your hands grasp the familiar smooth plastic controller, sticky from the countless grubby hands that have also held that same controller throughout the years. The muscle memory takes over, and your fingers glide to the start button. You tap the small gray dot in the center of the controller while whispering, No; it wasn’t your fault. Bracing yourself for your new start as you feel lighter, if only by a fraction.
Photo by Adrien Converse on Unsplash
