Memories From Home

This city has always held a fascination for me, a kind of pull that comes from being the place of my birth.

Indeed, I recall the day of my nephew’s introduction to this world in vivid detail. It was raining, and I was surprised my sister let me into the room. And I remember my graduation day like it was yesterday, when I was almost late because I had to take the bus in my graduation gown.

And I think back on Friday nights hanging out on South Street with Anthony and Ken, two other inquisitive souls who will always share with me those nights spent wandering. It is all still so clear to me, although it has been fifteen years since I’ve lived here.

It blows my mind the things I remember, the things I cannot –will not — allow myself to forget. I recited some of my most complex poetry on these street corners. I rode the trolley from one end of Baltimore Pike to the next more times than I even remember. I fractured my wrist on that tennis court over there behind the school building.

I bought literally hundreds of blank cassette tapes from a Tower Records store that no longer exists outside of my memory. I ran down the porch steps of my Nana’s house and busted my head, over on another block that is also gone from this world.

I rode my first bike hard against the wind on lazy fall days down Cobb’s Creek park and sometimes closed my eyes. To soak it in. As if I knew all I would have for stretches of time would be those memories. Of the first home I had ever known. In a time period that will always be right here. Inside me.

Sam