Autumn Reverie
Just as T.S. Eliot says that April brings in a mix of “memory and desire,” Autumn triggers a flood of memories for me. So I decided to write on an “I miss” prompt just to see what came up--I thought I would share my results with you. (Maybe you will feel an urge to write one of your own.)
I Miss
I miss being able to tolerate loud music, being at Glitterdome in Atlanta and demanding the loudest, fiercest beats. I miss when the bass made me feel alive. Now, even mildly loud music, or a thrum of bass, gives me a headache or makes the fluid in my right ear vibrate to the point of nausea. I’m hard of hearing in that ear now--to no end of frustration.
I miss the sound of laughter, but lately when people laugh in this pandemic-tense-violent world, I want them to stop and realize the seriousness of the situation. I have gotten so serious lately that I hardly recognize myself.
I miss the cooing of babies. That never gets old.
I miss the sound of someone telling me they’re in love with me for the first time. Even though I am content in my current relationship, and I hope never to experience the awkwardness of dating again, I do sometimes hear one of my former girlfriends saying, “I’m so fucking in love with you” with such intensity and passion that even I, the great doubter, remained convinced. I couldn’t sustain that passion that I lived for in my teens and 20s...and 30s, but I guess I remain a touch nostalgic.
What does a person really mean when they say they miss something anyway? Does it mean they would take it back? That they want it back? Because I miss the sound of my grandfather’s laugh and I would take him back in a hot second, but I’m okay without the drunken nights of Lynyrd Skynyrd and George Dickel in my teens. I miss the smell of my Atlanta bestie, but I prefer the snuggled in and safe nights of my two cats and a full night’s sleep.
I do miss my ability to run fast, see well, and work all night long--yes, please, I will take those back. And also...
The wind over the ocean.
The waves on the beach.
My daughter humming as she colored.
The sound of I love you given often and freely.
The Ice Cream Truck’s jingle and the panicked sounds of “Mom! I need change! Mom! I need a dime and a nickel! Mom!”
The sound of June Bugs rising from the grass like a storm as I sit silently on the front porch; my memory shifts now as I wonder if I was witnessing cicadas, a flawed memory, not knowing how to name this phenomena, winged creatures rising from earth like an 11th plague as I sat recovering from strep throat in the summer. It terrified and delighted me simultaneously.
I miss the sounds of nature and the sounds of a large city such as New York or Paris; the whooshes of the underground and muffled conductors and tired passengers and buskers; the vendors and the lovers and the fighters.
I miss the sound of Eathon chiding me for being too shy and teasing me for having fairy lights on my bed, saying it looked like a bodega. I miss Eathon.
I miss RIck’s laugh, his resounding speeches of encouragement and refusal to let me disparage myself. I can recall the exact timbre of his voice from when he laughs, cries, and howls in anger.
I miss Jan chastising me when she thought I had been outlandish or dangerous--Cindy CUNNINGHAM, you did NOT! Then talking with me about it until the sun rose.
I miss Ken and Randy driving me around Atlanta for hours, listening to a cassette tape of Shannon’s “Let the Music Play” on repeat for hours. Just one more time. Just one more time. Come on. Just let the music play. In the car, we’re all okay.
