The Pull of Dying Memories and Unfinished Business

T. J. Marcott

The dirt road ends in a darkened cul-de-sac. A single street lamp is strangely out of place in this heavily wooded area. Its field of illumination ends at the edge of the road, dwarfed by the presence of the enormous magnolia trees that lie just beyond. The front yards are long, and narrow, but they appear to get wider as I walk along. I know that I have the right address; I could feel it before I even glanced at the rusted mailbox. To the left of me is a dilapidated privacy fence. To the right of me are a few oddly placed shacks that fade into darkness. Straight ahead is a gravel drive that leads past a small garden, and then to a small cabin. The air is thick with the scent of Oleander. As I walk to the back I see another garden, but this one is much larger and more diverse. I feel the glare of the many lawn gnomes that line my approach. It has been a long time since this garden has been tended to and while many of the plants seem to flourish many more seem to be half dead. I brush through the thick strands of Spanish moss which hang from the ancient trees. With my view unobstructed I can better see the garden in its entirety. In the center of the garden is a small pond. Staring lifelessly into the pond is a large white ceramic angel. Several small vines seem to bind the angel to its station. The mournful expression of its dirty face reflecting from the surface of the slimy black water seems to mock the heavens as much as it denotes the apathy of its owner. It is clear that the person who had started this work had spent a lot of time getting everything just right, but nature had spent even more time tearing this down. The garden was a masterpiece of landscaping that had been left to rot, not unlike many relationships. We make excuses for everything. We blame others, we tell stories, or we simply run away, hoping to avoid the truth and circumvent our own inevitable conclusion.

Is that what you were doing, avoiding the truth, running from your past?

We can only move forward and rid ourselves of the trappings of the past. We must always strive to make a better life. Sometimes it is no good to hang on, at least that is what the doctors have told me. You wouldn’t know about that, because you weren’t around for the “bad” times. When you left you didn’t even say goodbye, but I understand that we both had issues and you saw a chance at a new life. I am just happy that we finally have the chance to see each other again, after all of these years. I have had to move many times, and have been forced to give up most of my possessions. The only things that I have to remember you by are the memories themselves.
I have always hated keeping pictures around. Photographs seem appropriate if you are selling something. Pictures are great on album covers and movie displays, but I don’t want pictures of my friends or family plastering my walls. I don’t carry pictures in my wallet except for my driver’s licence. The less that people know about my family, friends, acquaintances, the better…because in this day and age everyone is trying to get information to use against you. Identity theft can be very lucrative, and if anything should happen to me I wouldn’t want to leave a trail of bread crumbs for some weirdo to find my family, and perhaps exploit my misfortune.