Archive for the ‘ Past Memories ’ Category

Late May, Early June

I remember this one night, I was standing in the backyard of my parents house. It was late. Everyone was asleep. It was my favorite time of the day, when everyone was asleep. It was like the whole world was mine. If a pin dropped, I’d be the only one to hear it. It was late may I think, or early june. It was warm but cool, if that makes any sense. There was a beautiful moon out that night but it wasn’t visible. God wanted there to be nothing but clouds that night, so we couldn’t see the moon. Its like the story of my life. I’ve spent the last 25 years trying to show my self to everyone, but I keep getting obscured by clouds. That’s the way God wants it. I wish sometimes I could talk to Him. Reason with Him. But there’s no reasoning with God. He can be a real prick sometimes.

High school

Power to the black woman who was in high school and pregnant. She still came to class even though she knew everyone would look at her and ask her questions and be assholes to her. Pretend like nothing was different. Everything was! She was 16! She was African American. She was a female. Her stupid boyfriend forgot to put a condom on. Her mother hates her. Her father beats her. The boyfriend is out with his friends drinking. Her little sister gets the wrong impression and one day get pregnant too. But this girl, she knows, she knows, she has to go to class. She has to go. There is no other school. No special place for girls like her to go to. Its public school or nothing. One day she didn’t come to class and someone told the teacher she gave birth to the baby. I wonder where she is now.

Wasting your best years

I wasted away my years at college. I feel so ashamed. I feel like I just wasted God’s time. You know because I could have been a decent person with a real purpose and I was not that. I also could have been a party animal who just wanted to live, but I was not that either. I bounced around schools. Went to three different colleges in a 5 year span. Went to one school, then learned abroad, then came back and learned at different school, then transferred back to the first one. The whole transfer part probably occurred so I could meet her. Even though that was an ugly experience. Anyway college is a time you have to grow, to learn, to make mistakes, because you had 4 years to figure it out. That’s why so many are unhappy. 4 years go by and they need more time, time they don’t have. Its like you’re trying to solve a 90 second math equation in only 30 seconds of time. It’s hard! Anyhow, I didn’t grow very much in those college years. Didn’t live like I should have. Now, I’m trying to play catch up and its fucking impossible.

You know something, when you’re 17 or 18, you don’t even realize the time go by. It just passes and you don’t pay any attention to it. When adults tell you “relish this time! it won’t last forever”, you balk at them. But I didn’t balk at them. Because I was so ignorant, that I didn’t even stick around to hear the advice in the first place.

The Grandmother and The Clock

There’s this clock in my basement. As the hand moves and the seconds tick by, it sounds very reminiscent of the clock that hung on the wall of my grandparents apartment when i was a boy. I never knew my grandfather, even though he died when i was 17. He was… sick and old by the time I grew up. He barely spoke. Barely moved. When he was 82, he had a stroke, paralyzing him on one side of his body. He passed away a few months after. My grandmother is still alive. I won’t say her age because I am superstitious about those kinds of things. She is approaching her late 80s. Anyway back to the apartment and the clock. When I was little, I’d stay with them sometimes when my parents left on vacation. I’d eat these sandwiches my grandma made which basically consisted of challa bread (its jewish), with sour cream on it and sugar sprinkled on top. It was delicious. I’d stay up watching the honeymooners and the wizard of oz on tbs. I once watched Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. I think I was 8. It was the scariest thing ever. It made me cry at the end when Jack died and they zoom in on that photo of him, amongst a large crowd, and the photo dated 1921. He was smiling in the photo. People tend to do that. Pictures can be worth a million words because they are a snapshot. This snapshot is usually of good times. Pictures are evil. Because they remind us of those good times that were, and how they will probably never repeat themselves. Anyway after falling asleep on the couch, my grandmother would place a chair by the couch. She was afraid I’d turn in my sleep and fall. I never did. But maybe because I knew the chair was there. Sometimes I’d have problem sleeping. A problem I had throughout my teens. Sometimes I couldnt fall asleep or wake up in the middle of the night. I’d wake my grandmother and she’d give me a glass of water to drink and would sit by me on the chair, until I fell asleep again. She did this many times when I visited. I remember sometimes hearing nothing but the clock during my sleepless nights. This clock was like a friend . It was always there, always ticking and tocking along. And the clock thats in my basement now reminds me of it. It sounds identical to it. Sometimes I  go down to the basement, and just stand there in the darkness and I listen to the clock tick and I am reminded of my childhood, and my grandparents, and all the great moments that were, and never will be again.

Italy

There’s this story my dad loves to tell every so often. It’s a great story, the problem is, he mentions it almost every few months during some mildly related conversation. Its not that he’s obsessed with telling it, it’s that he forgets that he’s already told it. So each time, he thinks he’s telling this amazing story I never knew, for the first time, when in fact, it’s like the 21st time.

Anyway story goes, my family was in Italy once when I was a baby, about a year old. And we were living there for a few months, and my father was looking for work but it was hard because he spoke no Italian and no English, for that matter. One day my hat flies off in the wind. It blows away and my dad starts to run after it. An elderly Italian man picks up the hat and gives it to my father. Somehow, someway, through universal sign language, this man ends up offering my dad a job. He worked the entire three months we lived there. All because of my hat.

So there it is. The story my father loves to tell, and will continue telling it, for the first time, each time.

Regret

Regret is the worst feeling in the world. It’s like being trapped in a living nightmare. You can’t escape it. You can’t go back, you can’t change what is done, you are stuck, you are imprisoned with the consequences of your actions and as a result, you feel regret. I hate feeling regret. It means I made a significant mistake. I have a long way to go, but I have much to regret so far in my life. I’ve never been a drunk or a drug addict, I’ve never been arrested, I’ve never knocked a girl up, I’ve never killed anyone, I’ve never broken the law. In fact, you could say I am an obedient and model citizen of this country.

But, for example, I did not take full advantage of the luxuries of youth. I did not go to 4 years of high school. In fact I only went up to 10th grade, then transferred to this small private school my older brother and cousin attended, and due to my connections, they allowed me to essentially cruise through 11th grade and then graduate altogether at the end of the year. I was ecstatic at graduating a year early, but I now wish I had allowed myself the privilege of a normal four year high school education and experience. There is no going back though. There is only regret.

I was 17 when I entered college, and if you’ve ever been 17, then you know that the last thing a kid that age wants to do is take college seriously. I certainly didn’t. I slacked off, took my time, and never realized that these four years were supposed to be the most important four years of my young adult life. I left college after one year and traveled abroad. It was the greatest year of my life, because I did nothing but smoke weed, sleep till 1, watch movies for 10 months straight, and I ended up getting a whole year’s worth of college credit for it to boot. I could have done so much more with that year though. I could have learned so much more about this world. I could have brought back so many more experiences than I did. But there’s no going back. There’s no undoing or doing over. There is only regret.

When I returned home, I was 19 years old. I went back to college, and met a woman, her name was Erin. She looked to be a bit older than me, perhaps 21 or 22, I presumed. She was cute and liked me. One day she told me she was actually 31. I didn’t care. I liked her too. But I was scared. I was naive. I was inexperienced with someone who was over 10 years older than me. I did not know how to handle the situation. I would occasionally walk her to the train station after our class twice a week. We would talk and she would express her interest in me. I acted like a complete loser and never asked her out formally. The semester ended, and I never saw Erin again. Some time after that, I wrote and directed a film based on some of my experiences, and one of the story arcs was about a young college kid and an older classmate named Erin who fall for each other. I don’t think she ever knew I did that. She probably will never know. I wish I could go back but that is an impossibility. There is no going back now. There is only regret.

After that semester ended, I took an internship on a film set. The director was really famous and one of the people I looked up to. It was a hard decision to leave school again, but the opportunity was too golden to pass up. It was grueling. The whole experience was enlightening and valuable, but the most difficult job I’ve ever had to endure in my life. The star of the film, who would later score an Oscar nomination for his performance in the movie, was nothing but a washed up coke head who was lucky enough to get a second (or third, or fourth) chance at stardom. But he’s a talented guy and he deserved his accolades. Anyway, I did take full advantage of that experience, but somehow I feel like I could have done more after it was over. I was given an opportunity to continue working on high profile film sets, but I decided to go make my own film, which took up the next 2 years of my life. That was an interesting period in my life. I wish I could go back. But there is no going back. There is only regret.

By the time my third stint in college began, I was a few months shy of my 21st birthday. The first day I showed up in class, a blond girl caught my eye. Something about blond’s, I don’t know. She turned out to be a total dick-freak. I mean, she just loved the dick. Unfortunately for me, I was not one of the participants in this love affair of hers. She was threw herself at me for years after that, but I relented because she had a different belief system than me. I feel foolish now, because she was quite attractive and we shared a lot of the same interests, but mistakes of the youth are prevalent in this story. That blond is now married and living in some one room shack with her husband. If only I could go back and just fuck her once, just to get the idea out of my mind, once and for all. But there’s no going back and fucking, there is only regret.

Anyway, I could go on and on with exploits and missed connections during college years, I think everyone could write a book about those subjects, but I think this should suffice it for now. I think my thirst for regurgitation of my past is over for the moment. Thank you for listening.

Fantasies

I had this one fantasy as a teenager. My room was situated in an awkward place, a bit to the side. So when I closed my shutters at night, you could still see everything through the slit on each end. Whenever I’d change, I always imagined a girl living across the street, and watching with her friend as I took off my pants or jerked off and they could see it all and laugh when I got up from bed with a hard on or something. That was my illicit fantasy. And today, the only fantasy I have, is the one that’s uploaded onto porn sites every day.