08 October 2012 nonfiction, "dominant impression"

As I walk slowly to the bench, my feet swish through the soft grass, and the sun warms my back. I sit down and the bench creaks a little; it’s been a while since I’ve sat here. I blink and look around. This is the place where memories reside.

            I look down and brush some dirt off the bench. When I look up, my freshman English class smiles at me. They look back down and furiously scribble in their notebooks. I smile and blink and they’re gone.

            I scribble something in my own notebook, and my dog Cinnamon runs up to me, playfully chewing on a Frisbee and desperately trying to get me to stand up and run. I laugh and remember. This is his favorite place, it’s such a shame we haven’t been here in so long. He runs  off, disappearing behind the trees.

            The sun gets a little warmer, and I see myself running with the track team. “It’s hot!” I hear memory me complain, but the she runs faster anyway and vanish into the distance.

            Music notes drift out of the conservatory across the pond, and I see myself sit quietly on a chair, taking the sandwich out of my lunch bag. I know what that young me is thinking: she’s practicing a cat monologue, wondering how well the costume is going to turn out. She sets the sandwich down and runs back inside as piano notes get louder.

            It’s time for my piano lesson! My mom and Lexi and I are all running to get there on time. Lexi’s wheelchair runs over the walnuts on the ground and she says A-A-A-A-A but it sounds all bumpy and goofy.  I laugh, and Lexi laughs too. My mom nudges the memory toward the door, and I disappear inside.

            I smile, and wonder how one place can hold so many experiences. As I stand up to return to the school building, I hug my notebook closer to my chest. I vow to come back soon.