Prompt. Begin a story with the line:
I thought I would always remember this, but over time it has become blurred.
Use a narrator who struggles to piece a memory together. The memory can be triggered by a chance meeting or the discovery of an old letter or photograph.
Write up to 500 words.
~~~
I thought I would never forget this, but over time it has become blurred. But really, now that I think about it, I was always too young to remember it at all. Maybe I only thought it was important because the moment was captured in a photograph taken by someone who could actually remember the moment. Someone who thought it important enough to use up a precious snap from the Kodachrome film in 1978. At least this photo was taken in daylight so that one of those expensive cuboid flash bulbs did not have to be wasted.
My mother probably took the photo. She may have even given Aunty Salvia the negative to have a copy made so that she too could see the moment when I told my cousin, Leon, in no uncertain terms to get out of my shiny red peddle car (colloquially known as ‘The Toot-a-Banger’).
I cannot think why, at the time, it was so imperative that I have the silly machine back. It only ever seemed to scrape skin from my shins with its sharp folded metal design under the steering wheel. It invariably caused me to repeatedly stub my toes as I struggled to manoeuvre it around the concrete path that Dad had just poured around the whole north-western side of the house— a task only performed because there was enough aggregate left to do so after the major remodelling of the dairy yard into a herringbone formation.
But really, now that I think on it, I do not remember, at all, that day I demanded my pedal car back from my slightly older cousin, whom years later, if I am honest, I actually grew to have a little pre-teen crush on. He was a bit of an athletic bull-headed boy compared to my brothers. He was blonder to. He was different. More confident I think.
Anyway, I digress. I just really do not remember that day at all. But I do remember that the photo was a favourite of my mother’s, and she would tell the story of the day of “The Great Toot-a-Banger Rescue” by the very determined 4 year old that I was, from the very much older, taller and somewhat confused looking 6 year old Leon. Does he remember this moment? Somehow, I doubt it meant that much to him in the grand scheme of things either.
I wonder what happened to Leon. As we got older, the connection to cousins slipped away as we all fell into adulthood, and our parents had less and less reason to continue to go to the relatively large bother of travelling to see each other for the kids’ sake. There were no longer any young children whom they wanted to give some sort of excitement and memories through the arranging of the cheap farm stay holidays with relatives.
So now I ask myself: whose memory is this? Because now that I am honest about it, I just do not remember “The Great Toot-a-Banger Rescue” happening at all. My mother probably does not remember it anymore either. Truth be told, she probably does not even remember telling me the story as we sat around the family photo albums.
And truth be told, that is my actual memory: not the event itself, but the story being told.
Rebekah Martin
Drafted April, 2017… I forgot that I ever wrote this!
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