i stepped outside to take out the trash
took out my headphones and went for a dash
stopped in my tracks and fell to my knees
to the ghost of the past right in front of me
“i am the chirp of the crickets at night
the stillness of the darkness in sight
i am you when you were tot
begging mom for a plate of spaghetti you sought”
“i am the sound of the cars on the street
driving past you as you looked at your feet
walking to ralphs without ingredients in mind
because mom always knew exactly what to find”
“i am the green carpet filled with puke stains
from the spaghetti-induced stomach pains
i am mom hugging you tight
i don’t care, it’ll be alright”
jn
Conspiracists always say that time is not linear. While sci-fi won’t sway me, moments like these will. As a 20 year old living in the city for college, the only familiarity to home is the sound of the crickets and the feeling of the cool night air. These external senses transport me back in time.
It’s a lonely Sunday night in the summer of 2009, just my mom and I in our cramped condo. I really wanted spaghetti for dinner and we had no ingredients in the fridge. My mom and I went for a walk to Ralphs a few blocks down — a walk filled with cricket chirps and the brush of a breeze. We lugged the ingredients home and she made delicious spaghetti for me. Then, I got nauseous all of a sudden and I ended up puking up all the spaghetti. I felt so guilty like I wasted her time and her effort. I remember her comforting me and telling me nothing is a waste when her energy is expended on me.
