november rain

a journal entry in the style of Joe Brainard

Do you remember the colors & how soft they were?

I remember blue, fading blue.

I remember stacks of worn-down blue classroom chairs in the corner of a musty old classroom lit with fluorescent lights. 

I remember hiding under the chairs as other kids danced and skipped in circles, shaking maracas and banging tambourines to the beat over some educational song for toddlers playing over the CD player Ms. Morley had on. 

I remember that I found their unbridled, unconfined joy alien and terrifying.

I remember orange, green, and yellow little pills giving way to deep, chocolatey brown.

I remember Grandpa Miller and the way the paper of his fun-sized M&M pouches he always brought would crinkle and tear in my tiny hands.

I remember the little strength I have nearly failing me on his funeral day, and worrying about how shameful it would be for a pallbearer to drop his casket.

I remember the dirty golds & greens of elementary school sandboxes.

I remember hiding with Kelsey in the playground tube slides. The sun filtered through the red and yellow plastic, setting our skin and hair aflame as we pretended to be dogs who were also spies infiltrating a secret base. 

I remember that Kelsey was held back in first grade and we slid apart; I’d reached the end of the slide and emerged in the daylight, but she was still playing in the colors and shadows.

I remember seeing my name on a poster in the corner of Ms. Davidson’s kindergarten classroom saying I was one of the select group of students who got to ride the bus home from school.

I remember I was so elated to finally be able to ride home with Brinley every day that I burst into tears when the teacher told me it was a mistake, even though it wasn’t.

I remember screeching streaks of yellow breaking through the fog.

I remember turning around on the bus to see Brinley poking her head over the seat, calling my name out coyly. “Over here, Sam.” I turned back around, and back again. Her face had advanced three seats closer to mine. “Hello, Sammy-Dammy.” I turned around again, trying not to laugh. Then she appeared next to me like a magician.

I remember that a few years later, she disappeared just as easily.

I remember in first grade a girl named Anastasia on that bus who punched me in the stomach when I couldn’t guess what the thing was that decorated her water bottle and started with the letter “E.” (Looking back, it might have been elephants.) 

I remember feeling a keen sense of injustice when all the teacher did was tell her “not to hit.” Not only was she not punished, but she was accused of the wrong thing, which felt just as bad.

I remember staring at the dragon boss in one of the video games I played the most and imagining him eating me. I don’t remember why I did that—I was, like, eight.

I remember asking my mom if men can marry other men after thinking for sure the phrase “Harold and his husband” was a misprint in my brand-new Captain Underpants book. She told me that God doesn’t approve of it and I shut up immediately.

I remember bursting into tears when my next-door neighbor Naya’s mother yelled at me when she found out that her daughter had given me what was probably an emotionally priceless family heirloom. I don’t even remember what it was, exactly; it was some kind of circular box that fit in the palm of her hand. I think she let me take it anyways. I feel bad to this day.

I remember water, grey instead of blue.

I remember bursting into tears when the swim instructor told me that my mother had explicitly forbidden me from eating the skittles the other students were entitled to after doing a good job in the pool, and that I was to have the jelly-beans they provided instead. I don’t remember why they were so special or what the big deal was. Give me my skittles, dammit, I might’ve said if given the vocabulary; I’d earned them, after all!

I remember being afraid of the holes in the edge of the pool that blasted bubbles, thinking they looked and sounded scary when I was under the water, like the mouths of little demons screaming at me.

I remember Travis and Wesley.

I remember being at someone’s house watching Ni Hao, Kai-Lan. I think it was Avery, the girl who Lexi said had a crush on me in kindergarten. We live in the same apartment at the same university now and I don’t think I’ve seen her once. Would we recognize each other if I did?

I remember in middle school being so surprised and flustered when this giant football player (who I thought was cute) smiled and waved hi to me in middle school when I didn’t think he knew who I was. So much so that I don’t think I said anything back. I must have looked antisocial or rude.

I remember hating who I was back then.

I remember all of these colors and more.

I feel my past falling around me now in the November rain that patters my shoulders like God’s tears of joy, and imagine for a second that I am the same way today, the colors just as gentle. I drink & drown myself in this delusion while wondering if it might be prudent to hold an umbrella.