Everybody has a few things that are permanently engraved into their memory; most of the ones in mine are silly little moments, and this one is no exception.
I was about nine years old, and my family was still small; just me, my parents, and my two little sisters. It was a cold fall night, and my Mom was away. The blinds were drawn, a bag of popcorn had been popped, and my Dad wanted to put in a scary movie.
Now, you have to understand: It’s not that I hate scary movies, it’s just that my brain has always behaved sort of like a severely overstimulated office assistant, and giving it any sort of situation; a book, a TV show, a movie, or even one freaking half-formed sentence, is akin to giving said office assistant an urgent assignment and four mugs of industrial-strength coffee.
See, my too-happy mental friend is definitely well-meaning. But, he is an overachiever, and likes to keep me thinking for days, weeks, and months about anything I put in my head. As you may have guessed, when given even the mildest of scary films, he kindly takes it and turns it into a four-course meal of terror. So I don’t think anyone could fault me for trying to avoid the entire genre of horror.
As I was saying, the bean-bags were fluffed and the DVD fished out, and everyone else was ready for the insanity to begin. To their dismay, I picked up an apple from the fridge--popcorn and I have an uneasy relationship--and retreated to the peaceful confines of my bedroom.
It was just another night, just another one of the silly little memories that everyone has tucked away in their brain, but, to me at least, it is these small, innocuous moments that make us who we are, and keep life worth living.
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