Monday, December 14, 2009
receipts
Whenever people say that it’s little things, little details, that allow you to recall moments of your life you've buried in the back of your mind, note that they don’t precede it with ‘sometimes’. Because it happens not sometimes, but often. Of course you have your scrawled notes, plane tickets, greeting cards, envelopes with letters of days past, which remind you of that birthday, the death anniversary, or the big promotion. But there are things that are even smaller, more innocuous, that go unnoticed, that make you remember minor events that led to bigger things you end up remembering. Things like receipts.
I empty my pockets at day’s end, just like the rest (or, at least, the most) of you. But, unlike most of you, I don’t read them right then, and decide whether to throw them immediately. They end up occupying empty spaces of my drawer or desk, whatever portion of my room that seems to need a little more clutter. And it becomes weeks, sometimes months, after the fact that I decide to go through them and make an audit.
And you end up reading about a mass card you bought for someone’s grandmother. That was the first time you had seen your college group almost complete in over two years. Where you talked with friends about work, and promised to exchange resumes, not knowing that, months later, you’d be officemates as well.
You read about a short grocery bill of food and drinks that you made with friends in preparation for that all-night poker party you had in someone’s house. The one where she admitted something she shouldn’t have, and where he ended up not having to say sorry even though he was spending the whole night wracking up the courage to do so.
That receipt from the convenience store when you had to stop for water and cigarettes, on the way to the hilltop house you rented for the weekend. Where you had wine and cheese under a moonlit garden, and she whispered softly in the hammock about plans to follow-up your unica hija.
The toll ticket you had during that road trip where you went 170kph for the first time in your life, on a tollway that’s normally packed with traffic. And though you’ve forgotten why you went so fast that night, you haven’t forgotten to not do it again.
You end up reading that you ordered fish and chips, shrimp Diablo pasta, and lengua, that time you had a dinner date with someone you really like. Someone you like so much, that, even though she said yes to a second time, you're still hesitant to take her up on it because you know you still have your own issues. And you seriously, seriously, don’t want to mess this one up.
You throw them away eventually, like all ultimately useless pieces of paper. But for a few moments, you recall why you now wear your hair tied up every Friday. Or how you ended up having the time of your life doing a job you love. Or what led you to decide to never date girls from a certain high school. Whether you like it or not, chose it or not, don’t be fooled into thinking that there are no witnesses. They just stay quietly hidden, waiting to be unearthed.
The next time you feel thermal paper between your fingers, receive a slip of paper from a waitress, or a piece of pad paper from a greasy hand, know that they may become small reminders, little things you keep in your pocket that lie in wait, until such time that they’re asked to tell a story.
yours.
Whenever people say that it’s little things, little details, that allow you to recall moments of your life you've buried in the back of your mind, note that they don’t precede it with ‘sometimes’. Because it happens not sometimes, but often. Of course you have your scrawled notes, plane tickets, greeting cards, envelopes with letters of days past, which remind you of that birthday, the death anniversary, or the big promotion. But there are things that are even smaller, more innocuous, that go unnoticed, that make you remember minor events that led to bigger things you end up remembering. Things like receipts.
I empty my pockets at day’s end, just like the rest (or, at least, the most) of you. But, unlike most of you, I don’t read them right then, and decide whether to throw them immediately. They end up occupying empty spaces of my drawer or desk, whatever portion of my room that seems to need a little more clutter. And it becomes weeks, sometimes months, after the fact that I decide to go through them and make an audit.
And you end up reading about a mass card you bought for someone’s grandmother. That was the first time you had seen your college group almost complete in over two years. Where you talked with friends about work, and promised to exchange resumes, not knowing that, months later, you’d be officemates as well.
You read about a short grocery bill of food and drinks that you made with friends in preparation for that all-night poker party you had in someone’s house. The one where she admitted something she shouldn’t have, and where he ended up not having to say sorry even though he was spending the whole night wracking up the courage to do so.
That receipt from the convenience store when you had to stop for water and cigarettes, on the way to the hilltop house you rented for the weekend. Where you had wine and cheese under a moonlit garden, and she whispered softly in the hammock about plans to follow-up your unica hija.
The toll ticket you had during that road trip where you went 170kph for the first time in your life, on a tollway that’s normally packed with traffic. And though you’ve forgotten why you went so fast that night, you haven’t forgotten to not do it again.
You end up reading that you ordered fish and chips, shrimp Diablo pasta, and lengua, that time you had a dinner date with someone you really like. Someone you like so much, that, even though she said yes to a second time, you're still hesitant to take her up on it because you know you still have your own issues. And you seriously, seriously, don’t want to mess this one up.
You throw them away eventually, like all ultimately useless pieces of paper. But for a few moments, you recall why you now wear your hair tied up every Friday. Or how you ended up having the time of your life doing a job you love. Or what led you to decide to never date girls from a certain high school. Whether you like it or not, chose it or not, don’t be fooled into thinking that there are no witnesses. They just stay quietly hidden, waiting to be unearthed.
The next time you feel thermal paper between your fingers, receive a slip of paper from a waitress, or a piece of pad paper from a greasy hand, know that they may become small reminders, little things you keep in your pocket that lie in wait, until such time that they’re asked to tell a story.
yours.
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