Warning: This is all about me. More so than usual. If you’re here to hear about notme things, well, turn back now. You have been warned…
First off, you should know about my accident. Reminiscing about childhood memories is much less significant unless you have acute amnesia. That said, even with amnesia (yes, it still sounds to me like something out of Jerry Springer too), Google Street View shouldn’t really have such an effect on me 10+ years after my accident. Yet, here I sit all strange-ified.
Here is the house I grew up in. The odd part is that I remember the house. The even odder part is I only remember weird fragments from the house. I remember a bungie-corded milk crate attached to one of those posts in the front that we used as a basketball hoop. I remember that fire hydrant being illegally opened so the kids in the neighborhood could play in the water. But I don’t actually remember any of the people. I remember walking to this library, but I don’t remember the actual trip. I know kids used to hide their knives in these bushes before going into Munger Middle School so they didn’t set off the metal detectors. But I don’t remember going into the school. (Don’t get me wrong, I could probably take you to my locker — I just don’t remember ever opening it. SO WEIRD.)
So while this evening I’ve been walking around my old neighborhood with Google Street View, and remembering things like Stan’s Whip and Whirl, they’re all hollow memories. I wish I could explain it better, but it’s as if I’m remembering a setting with no characters.
And yes, it creeps me right friggen out. That library I linked earlier? I know where the good books are inside. I know the smell of the back room full of grown up books that only the nerdiest kids ever checked out. Sadly, it’s all an odd, empty, lifeless memory.
Except that back room. I think I could sit in the old leather chair and smell that book dust for hours. I might drive there just to smell that smell one more time. 🙂