Saturday, September 19, 2015

Home Body: Not One of Us #54

Contents:

Marvels and Wonders, by Patricia Russo
Bugs on a Window in Arkansas (poem), by Heather Dorn
A Cherry Without a Stone, by Sonya Taaffe
Even a Loser Can Win, by S. L. Bickley
Sunshine on the Rubble (poem), by Holly Day
Rag House (poem), by Phylinda Moore
Not All the Coal That Is Dug Warms the World, by Steve Toase
He Was Cut Off (poem), by Anne Babson
First Offence (poem), by Neal Wilgus
Snowflake (poem), by Anna Sykora
The Night Queen, by Gillian Daniels
The Old Road, by Yoon Ha Lee
Walk the Wing (poem), by Erik Amundsen
Keep the Home Fires Burning (poem), by Sonya Taaffe
Art: John Stanton (cover), Yoon Ha Lee

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Memoriae Obscura


Funny how the mind makes—or doesn’t make—its connections. Sporadically for about twenty years now, my wife Flo has run into a woman while we are out shopping, whom she’s sure she knows, who is sure she knows Flo.

They both feel this connection. They worked together, as adults—no shared school or childhood memories. Ate lunch together, chatted, seemingly over a period of years.

At different meetings, each would rattle off times, places, scenarios, at which the other would draw an utter blank. Then, we wouldn’t see Rita for, say, two or three years. For some reason, they never exchanged last names.

A couple of weeks ago, while out shopping, Flo noticed Rita again. While I was off looking for something to fix something with at home, they chatted, with the same results.

A few days ago, shopping again, we stopped at the in-store deli to talk and go over our lists. After a while, Flo notice Rita again. She was sitting at a table several over from ours, facing away from us.

Flo tried to describe in a little more detail the connection they feel. It is as if they were dragged from a deep sleep and transported to some underground facility to work a shift. Their friendly conversations would take place during meal breaks. This sense of connection, of shared memories, still persists.

Now for an example of how connections work in my brain: First, the “crazed deejay” spins up The Beatle’s “Lovely Rita, Meter Maid” softly in the background. The word “meter” pings with the description of the factory experience Flo relates.

The result: