Afternoon Memoir

It was cold, just like it is now. And it was late in the afternoon, just like it is now. I had bought a small quiche and some salad, like any weekday when I found myself not wanting to cook. A ham and cheese quiche. I even remember the taste of the crust. I was probably on my way to the hardware store two blocks away from the apartment. It was this tiny place- like all other places nearby, to be honest. No one had more than 30 square feet of property, as far as I can remember. And perhaps that’s why it felt so nice; every store was its own little world. And you know me, I hate shopping, so you’d find me all over the place. Supermarket, butcher shop, that small cheese and cold meats place. I probably wandered around the flea market too, but it’s hard to shop for furniture when you live in a rented studio apartment.

It was cold; but the sun was out. And there was little to no traffic, which made it the perfect day to go out for a walk.

I firmly believe that sometimes you can see your memories. Outside, in the middle of the street. There they’ll be. You see them in a friend… you see them riding the bus. You see them painted on a wall, or sleeping on the floor. But you can’t get close to them. See, as quick as they are to come, they can also easily escape you. And all you have to do is look out the window, and see that the sun is out, to be overcome with the memory of a particular day. And if you remember it, it’s because it was a happy memory. Sad memories have a different shape and taste. And this one in particular is not sad. Quite the contrary. This one in particular is just a deep desire to go back. And, like now, I realize that I never left. That I will always live in that tiny apartment, in the corner of that street. Even when I die. That’s where you’ll find me. Whether or not I want it, whether or not I miss it. I had the toughest times there; I had moments when I wouldn’t even want to open the fridge and observe its contents. But I also spent terrific moments. They were so simple. That’s why they were so beautiful. Because I never thought that to come home with a pound of fresh mozzarella would make me smile like that. Because I did not think that a walk around the neighborhood, between those old houses that reminded me of a childhood that I am sure I invented -but seems the most beautiful childhood to be had- would calm down my heart, just a little bit.

I had bits and pieces of happiness. Yet I always knew how to make the most out of them. I knew that they came every once in a while, and I accepted that. Later rather than sooner, but I accepted it. I knew I could be happy. I was, happy. And when I wasn’t, I would order ice cream or go to the bakery just around the corner for some pastries. Then I’d sit down in my room, waiting for happiness to come back. And I think it always did come back.