While driving home with the windows down and the music up, I was listening to some smooth tunes brought exclusively to me by the Smurf. It got me thinking of how memories are associated to music. And I wasn't listening to anything particularly compelling or haunting from my past (I was listening to J. Mraz's Common Pleasure, acoustic version). But it reminded me of a memory---nothing all that specific, just something I had forgotten in the bustle of daily life.
It must have been right after my sixteenth birthday, at the peak of my Jason Mraz obsession when I believed I could love no other man but him. This was before Sarah Lawrence, before smoking, before boys wanted blow jobs, before serious waitressing, before resentment and regret.
My parents had decided to get an above ground pool to cool off the blazing summer days (a bit tacky? Who gives a fuck. It was awesome). The siblings and I would spend nearly all day just floating about until the skin on our hands and feet would begin to prune and pale so badly, that we would have no choice but to climb out of the 12 by 30 foot cushioned walls that had---for those few hours---expanded into an ocean. We had fun, splashing around like idiots, jumping from ladders and just talking; talking about the future. What our kids would be like. How we'd have Barbecues and kite flying competitions at least twice a month. What sort of people we'd marry. What type of jobs we'd have. I guess we didn't always hate each other.
The best would be when our parents decided to swim with us. It'd always be late in the evening after dad got home from work; just when the pinks in the sky began to turn all shades of purple. It was like magic, I tell you. Fireflies would light up around the lanters we had. And I just remember my parents being so happy.
I hadn't thought of this in a long while. Things have changed. A lot.
Well, Good night darlings.
This memory has made me full with a kind of happiness I haven't been able to feel for a very long time.