Memory Lane


Last week I shared a weird dream I had. I almost figured it out. It all ties in to this house here. This is where my mom grew up and my grandparents lived for nearly 40 years. 323 (seriously, look it up) Enxing.

I have a whooooooooooole lot of memories in this place, only a few of which have stuck with me through everything else. None of them are particularly traumatic except for one which I’ve already written about. That’s not what’s bothering me. Well not entirely, it’s sort of an extension of sorts to that memory.

Long story short for those who don’t want to follow the link above: When I was eight or nine, I wound up at a park with my younger sister and grandfather. We happened to walk into the middle of some criminal activity, and things got a little scary.

Fast forward ten years to right around my 19th birthday, I was dating a guy who grew up in a different suburb of the same city. I was sharing my tales of growing up there with my boyfriend and he told me he was there that day at the park participating in whatever shady things went down. He saw me the girl in a yellow sweater, and it changed his life blah blah blah.

Well now we’re ten(11?) years even further into the future from that day and after splitting up, going through the most epic battle royale break up, bickering back and forth ever since it’s recently come to light that 90% of everything and anything my boyfriend told me during our relationship was lies. Which I honestly figured out a long time ago. That’s not why I’m upset. I’m conflicted because I have memories of this group of kids piling into this grey Ford Taurus Wagon across the street from my grandparents house that I never discussed with the guy I was dating ten years later who claimed to be one of those kids.
It’s not something that he could have lied about, because we never discussed it. We only talked about it once and he got so upset he refused to believe me and wouldn’t talk about it anymore. Which kind of makes it seem truthful, but at the same time he was so good at faking his feelings for me I really don’t know. It’s been 20 years. There’s no way to prove what did or didn’t happen now. He and I can’t talk about it due to other circumstances (not that he’d be honest with me anyway even if we could talk about it) and in all honesty it’s just stupid stuff.

The reason I remember it/him/whomever so vividly is only because of the car. My parents also owned a grey Ford Taurus Wagon at the time and being so young it was a huge novelty for me to see another car like ours exist in the same general slice of Earth. I know they made thousands of those cars, but I’d never seen one so similar to ours before so it was really cool.

That’s the bulk of my memories. Seeing this car just like ours always out front of the neighbors house, being accosted by the gaggle of kids (Blonde Girl, Scrawny Brown/Blonde Stoner Kid, and a Stocky Blonde Bouncy Kid) that went with it for playing in the leaves one Fall afternoon, the driver of the car getting mad that his keys wouldn’t work when he mistook my parents car for his own. Kicking at our car scaring my mom enough to call the police on him. The house the car was always parked at getting raided by the FBI and DEA a while after the Taurus mysteriously disappeared.

That’s it. That’s what I remember. It’s the most inconsequential, stupid stuff, important only to an 8(9) year old kid. Even if Scrawny Stoner Kid was the guy I ended up dating, none of those memories (well aside from being totally freaky, weird that we ended up dating ten years later) should be inspiring such an emotional reaction. Maybe it’s just the stress from everything else finding the most off the wall way to release/express itself? Or possibly the betrayal from my “family” reminding me of other betrayals? I don’t know, but I feel like it means something.

I feel like that place, my grandparents house, means something. There is something there, that I’m not remembering or seeing or understanding in someway. I’m really getting frustrated that I can’t figure out what it is… ugh. Well let’s hope that i don’t have any more weird dreams about it; then eventually it will fade back into my subconscious where it belongs.