strong sensations
Sometimes I get overwhelmed with past senses. The way a certain place smelled, felt, or looked. The way something tasted. It can all come back in an instant. Tonight it was one place that flooded me… Hard, canvas-upholstered couch, coffee table just right for propping feet on, couch pillows that kind of hurt your ear when you lay your head on them. A smell. A warmth. Always a warmth. A cozy bed. Shit. Sometimes I miss things too much. I cry for the things I found cozy at any time, no matter the reasons I no longer experience them. Whether there is a good reason, an unfair reason, or just a plain old shitty reason. I can go back many, many years to any of countless memories. I’ll indulge myself in the first four that come to mind.
7 (and fewer) years ago. That bed. I still know how it felt. So soft. The cushion on top of the mattress. I remember exactly how my body pressed into it. His pillow always seemed to have a cold side somehow which was a magnificent thing. Navy blue sheets. Always. Moist in his room. Cooler in that room than the others. Smelled a little old, but not necessarily in a bad way.
7 years ago. Freshman dorm room. Cold floors. Cold cinder block walls. Cold air. Smelled old– in the bad, musty, mildewy way. Humid at night. Dirt on the floors always getting stuck in a layer to the bottom of my feet. Desk chairs made of an extremely coarse twill that hurt like the tiniest needles if your skin touched. The softest, light blue flannel sheets– cozy and warm in such a smelly, cold box– on such a stiff, plastic mattress. They stretched a little so you could really form a nice, tight coccon. LOUD, obnoxious girls at the end of the hall talking so fast you could barely tell what they were saying, but you could hear their constant, shrill noises, for damn sure.
Starting 24 years ago, to be frank. Nix Auto Parts. Grandpa. His NAPA. Essentially unchanging sensations I’ve experienced my whole life. Smell of grease, rubber, and torched metal. Noises. Banging. Familiar faces. Talking. Laughing. Phones ringing. Receipts printing from a semi-loud dot matrix printer. Lots of tapping on computer keyboards. Warm, sugary coffee. Shoes gripping a huge black, ribbed rubber mat that lays behind the counter. Dirty hands. Always dirty hands. Happiness. A small paragraph doesn’t even begin to do that place justice.
Tonight. Cozy couch with the slightest scent of cigarette from its previous owner. Warm in this room. Dimly lit. My favorite stretchy, cotton pajama bottoms. Canvas pillow that isn’t the softest… but it does have a lovely maroon and white patterned fabric. Achy heart. Tired body. Tired heart. Achy body.
Agh.
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