Imagine This

golden hours

The haze of golden light shines brightly over the image of happiness, or the shadowed blue of angst. All you can think about is that sliver of remembrance, the fading picture in your mind. The little things stick the most in the pictures: like the cut of someone's hair, the tinkle of laughter trailing away, the quickened smile or frown that lights their face. You remember the good times and the bad, but both are equally distant in the mind. You recall the touch of the sparks from his fingertips spreading over your skin. You remember the blast of perfume as she walks past. You watch the clock strike the curfew time, panic welling inside your chest. Vividly, you can remember thinking, "My mom is going to kill me."

  But sometimes, it's worth it. Sometimes you grasp your keys, running out the door, flashing a brilliant smile and an awkwardly smooshed side hug to your friends as you flee the party, intent on making up some excuse to explain to your mom that it wasn't your lack of remembering the time that made you late but something else. Perhaps you drove home slowly because it rained too hard but the air is stale and stiff against your face, making that brief excuse fly out of your brain. You smile at those memories, wondering if it was really worth it when half of those friends didn't talk to you past highschool.

  You remember the neglected feeling of being left out of some group that went bowling or made plans for ice cream without you, thus beginning the grudge that you can barely recall now. You look back on those faded golden days, the mean girls and boys hardly making it anywhere or getting what was coming to them. Even some turned out to be really nice once you got to know them, and suddenly, that backhanded comment about how ugly they thought your boyfriend at the time didn't make much difference because you were both immature and stupid. And then you laugh, because maybe they were right or maybe they didn't notice the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw you, or how tightly he wrapped you up in his arms, or how his blue stare scanned your face whenever you were mad or happy with such intensity as if he was going through it too and you laugh because it doesn't matter. He is the only one that was in  your tunnel vision and you don't even remember what other boys acted like, much less looked like. But they'll never know how you feel because only you can remember that.

 The golden hours sitting watching the sunset on the horizon that marked the stopwatch until curfew reared its ugly head once more, and then those blissful few hours when your parents extended the time or your best friend got to sleepover instead.

  You remember those faded blue memories of the ache within your chest when he told you that you couldn't move on in life with him, but looking back, you realize that it was all a mistake anyway. It didn't seem like that long ago, but you can barely remember the conversations you had and those that you did, were spotty at best.

   Those bright memories flashed into your brain as soon as the name was spoken, and yodeling bad country music at the top of your lungs while driving down the back roads come back with a tinge of sore throat.

  The softness of new baby skin slips past your fingertips, the little mouth opening and shutting while he waved his tiny mitten hands. You recall vaguely the big head over the rolls of fat, the dimples along his knuckles and the flexing of his tiny fingers while he scraped his wee fingernails across your cheek. Blinking sleepily, he watches you from underneath the fringe of eyelashes and yawns, exposing his toothless mouth. One day, you remember his sweet, chubby cheeks smooshing against your shoulder as he falls asleep, completely trusting in you.

  The blackened days of missing someone not comparing in the slightest to the whitened haze memories of walking hand in hand with a little person, their adoring faces lifting to meet yours and telling you that you are their best friend and they love you. A warmth spreads from your chest into your face, flushing your sunburned cheeks from playing too much outside on the swings and playgrounds with them. You recall the ache of your legs and arms when the kid finally plops down beside you on the ground where you've been sacked out for hardly a minute and exclaiming that you haven't played with them nearly enough. You remember the irritation building up as exhaustion settled over your eyes but you hardly pay attention to it because the smile that spreads over their faces next far outweighs it. Soon, all you will remember are the white gold memories. Those other rainbowed tones fading to the back of your mind when you open your mouth for story time. The little hand curls into your own as the little face rests against your shoulder and you lean backwards against the broader shoulder of the one behind you. The ring on the wrinkled hand presses tightly against your palm because the little child who has your daughter's eyes is clinging too tightly. But that too will fade as you smile down at her and remember only those golden hours.