Coffee: Organic Honduran, Trader Joe’s brand; I can’t remember if I’ve had this coffee before. There are only so many fair-trade, whole bean brews at Trader Joe’s so it’s possible. It tastes muddy, a bit sour, and makes me think of banana trees. If you took a waxy banana leaf and chewed on it, I imagine it would taste something like this.
I forget a lot of things. Names, dates, birthdays, casually dropped stories in conversation and sometimes even important parts of peoples’ lives. I may have even written about this very thing on this very blog before; forgetting, forgetting, forgetting.
I used to be proud of my memory. When I was little, I’d say the youngest memory in me was a rough allergic reaction when I was two. I remember being blurry, hazy, and I remember the terrycloth blue chair in my parents’ living room. I practiced that memory so long that it’s still in me, but ask me what happened last week and I’d be pressed to tell you.
But ask me any two lines of my novel and I could spit the scene like I’d just lived it. Or any two lines of the short story I just sent off and I could breath each breath of each character, smell the hot sticky powder of a prose spring. I wonder sometimes if that’s where my memory’s gone – real things pushed to the corners while fiction fills my attic. If so, that’s not so bad a trade.
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Fund the Coffee Log 🙂 – https://ko-fi.com/livesaywriting
“Do a hundred-ninety in the lane called memory
And I know you in that lane with me
But when the light change, you didn’t change with it
And now I’m honkin’ my horn
Got to get that dead grass off of my lawn.” – Lil Wayne, Let’s Talk