A few weeks ago, as I was searching for 1 of the 4 books (don’t judge me, I’m a slow reader), that I want to read this year, I found myself returning to familiar territory with Stephen King’s On Writing. I am a fan of King’s though I admit that I haven’t read any of his books lately, okay maybe since high school, but I’ll occasionally pick up one of his short stories or read portions of a book that I read before.
I’m sure someone is asking, “How can you be a fan of him when you don’t read his books?” Valid question and if I was on the receiving end of this, I’d ask the same thing. This is where things like, “Judge not, lest ye be judged…” and other appropriate scriptures and sayings come to mind.
Okay, let me defend myself for a moment. Damn!
I don’t read much because reading is a real chore for me. Because of my vision, I can only read things on my tablet, computer, laptop, or phone if I’m truly desperate. If I look at these things too long, it does something to my eyes and my balance. I have to make the font so big that I’m reading at 24pt or higher and I still have to sit close to the screen.
“Why don’t you get the audiobook” you ask? I like to read books if I’m going to read them. I don’t necessarily like to listen to them.
I’ll stop while I’m ahead.
I like Stephen King. I admire his genius and prolific writing. He’s smart, witty, and outspoken, and his work often turns into excellent movies (with 1 or 2 exceptions).
See this is what happens when you “wander as you wonder.” You go down the rabbit hole and instead of coming up in Wonderland, you end up in No Man’s Land.
But that’s exactly where I live to be.
Back to my story.
In his memoir, King opens with a self-evaluation of his childhood and talks about his first memory. This prompted me to stop and think about my childhood. A quick Google search reveals that; the average person can remember back to 2 ½ years old.
Not me.
I can’t remember anything about being a toddler. I can recall stories that people told me about myself; pouring my food on my head, staring at the goldfish until it jumped out of the aquarium, normal stuff. This notion intrigued me though and I sat with my thoughts attempting to be intentional with my first memory.
German’s Day School valedictorian speech. I was four. That wasn’t it. Getting stuck in the tree by one leg and hanging upside down while my Mother got mad. Nope. The vacuum cleaner incident. Nah. I prefer to forget that one anyway.
For so many years, I pushed back many memories. At an early age, I became an expert at compartmentalization as a survival tool. My memories were forgotten on purpose, so this was a tough assignment.
It took some time, but I believe I found the answer…
Maurice scratched his lower back. Though he was wearing a t-shirt, the sweater still itched. Most of the sweaters that Christina made her son wear itched, but she insisted on always being warm.
It was a cool, autumn night as Christina, Thomas, and Maurice walked through the crowded fairgrounds. The onslaught of flashing lights, thrilling screams, and ringing bells was exhilarating to the young boy. The sweet aroma of deep-frying sweet dough floated through his nostrils and down to his stomach. The lights reminded Maurice of Christmas, and he loved hearing the disco music blasting from the speakers on each ride.
Maurice was four years old and this was the first time, he could understand what being at the fair meant.
He loved every bit of it.
At home, Thomas and Christina’s relationship was quickly unraveling. Simple disagreements turned into major arguments daily, but on this evening no one argued. It was the three of them walking through the fairgrounds, stopping for a short moment to watch a woman transform into a gorilla right before everyone’s eyes.
A cigarette dangled from Thomas’s lips. He casually blew out smoke as the trio made their way down the fair’s Midway.
“What do you want to ride?” Thomas looked down at Maurice.
“Everything.”
“Me too,” Thomas responded as he rubbed his son’s afro.
Thomas loved the most thrilling rides. Christina didn’t like to ride them. They both wanted their son to have fun.
Bells rang as game attendants barked out, “We have a winner!” Maurice couldn’t focus on any game and the bright lights turned into a blue. In the distance, he saw the double Ferris wheel; fluorescent green, lights, dancing in the dark sky.
“I’m getting on this.” Thomas stopped in front of the Bobsled ride.
“You can’t get on with the cigarette. You might burn the thing down.” Christina stated, half-heartedly joking.
Too late. Thomas handed the ticket to the ride attendant and proceeded to the bobsled with the American flag painted on the side and top of the bobsled.
He was the only one on the ride.
Maurice marveled at his Dad’s braveness. This was an adult ride, though it only went around in circles on a track with a background of snow-covered mountains, a painting of the Abominable Snowman, and painted scenes of people skiing (past Yeti). Maurice had seen the last group of people get on this ride and it was fast. He wondered how everyone didn’t get dizzy and fall when they got off. He knew Thomas wouldn’t fall though. Thomas could do anything.
Thomas coolly sat down in his bobsled and waved at Christina and Maurice.
“You’d better hang on!” Christina called out to Thomas as the ride slowly started. He waved at them laughing, each time he passed by; the cigarette undaunted by the force of the wind.
Every time the train of bobsleds passed by, it would go a little faster. The ride attendant would say on the microphone “Do you want to go faster?” Thomas yelled “Yeah.” Maurice and Christina laughed at Thomas as he passed, still smiling, still cool, but his cigarette was gone. His curly afro blew in the wind like he was using Christina’s hair dryer.
The bobsled train roared as it rounded the track. Maurice struggled to count the cars as they passed. It was too fast. So all he did was giggle and yell at his Daddy.
“Don’t fly away!”
I love this piece as I love all that you write. I just love reading about you!