I remember when dressing the walls with felt markers seemed like a good idea and feeling like Picasso felt like freedom. I remember forcing myself to like the color "dark green" simply because it's the color of my birthstone. But "dark green" got old and it never looked pretty on my color-book pages. I remember sleeping just outside my parents' bedroom doors at night, believing that the monsters couldn't touch me as long as I stayed in that doorway of protection. I was warned about the ones under my bed or in my closet, but Monsters Inc. never taught me about the monsters that twist and play with your heart and mind, those we call friends and even lovers.
I remember when my world looked so small. When I thought the mountains were too big to climb and if you reached the top, you could see China on the other side.
I remember being willing to change the cake and even the entire theme for my own birthday party, just because my "Strawberry Shortcake" invitation wasn't the cool girl in my homeroom's "cup of tea." I remember when going to sleep was a chore and waking up after the sun was expected and not a privilege only given on Saturdays.
I remember getting a "talking to" from Mrs. Calvin, my first grade teacher, after being late to class. Little did she know, I was with my family in AF canyon taking possibly our last family picture with my dad. All due to a sickness that filled and poisoned his body. As if its demons were merely a spoiled orange in a full crate. Eventually, we were all infected. I remember only being seven, when the word 'cancer' reminded me of a small crab, not the probable death of my hero or the cause of emotional and spiritual pain one can only experience when told their husband has a matter of months, if that, and you're on your own.
I remember when we had breakfast for dinner. The eggs seemed to cook better, the bacon revealed its maple muster and the apple juice tasted just a little bit sweeter.
I remember when nobody was married or moved out.
When life seemed constant, but never simple. When the world appeared to be perfect, a perfection that could be reflected off the flowers that only grew in April.
I remember wanting to just be big. I remember asking Time if he could go a little slower. Or maybe even put his powerful hands to good use and reverse the clock.
But Time isn't a life saver, he doesn't grant wishes or take commands. He is Time. He runs out. He leaves you with memories and "I remember" tales, only to be reminisced. Because at the end of the day, we're the ones consumed by Time and adjusting our watches.
