the redhead in the red truck

November 30, 2013

so when we redid the office upstairs, my mother went a little crazy and decided to repaint the hall and the stairway, too, so she took everything down: the grandfather clock that my great uncle made that stood on the landing, the quilt my parents' friends made for them as a going away gift when we left texas so very long ago (each friend painted a square), the photo collages...

there's one that i really like. many of the pictures it holds were taken at the monastery one summer a VERY long time ago. my younger brother was a baby. so i must've been four.

in several of those photos, i'm sitting on the tailgate of my great uncle's beat up, red truck, munching on chips and crackers and guzzling coca-cola. yes. at four. i was already addicted to the stuff. thanks, dad.

i'm sitting there in my red-and-white striped, long-sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans. and i'm smiling.

and in that moment, i was happy.

my mom's gathered all the frames that once hung on the walls and laid them out on my brother's bed. she wants new ones. better arrangements.

i kind of want to leave them as they are. sure, they're really old, which means they lack a certain style.

but that's history there. i don't want to mess with it.

that girl in the photo, she's adorable. i don't even remember what that feels like.

that girl? she'd already had two surgeries. she'd have two more in the next decade. she's awkward and clumsy and quiet. but right then, none of that mattered because she loved.

i don't even remember what that feels like.

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