inspired by Joe Brainard’s “I remember”

I remember the sound of Ma’s hair dryer. I remember the singe of the hot comb the night before Easter Sunday. I remember Blue Magic and Pink hair spray, olive oil, and Palmer’s hair food. I remember Phoebe wiping the grease off my forehead when Mom was done braiding to prevent me from getting pimples. I remember the light tap of the flattening iron. I remember the sound of knuckles cracking and the deep breath she took when she was halfway through (It had been three hours). I remember begging to look like the girls in school and crying when my hair didn’t fall to my shoulders, even after six hours in Phoebe’s computer chair. I remember the music she used to play – the ChiLites, the Chantels, the Ronettes, The Jacksons. I remember her humming along. I remember the light hiss the clothing iron used to make when she was getting my outfits ready. I remember the sound of cabinets closing. I remember the shower water running. I remember Courtney playing Backstabber every morning. I remember her hugs. I remember the sound of Aaron’s iTunes library. I remember Gang Starr, Ghostface Killah, A Tribe Called Quest, Kendrick and Commissioned. I remember sneaking into his room and sitting with him as he downloaded new music.

I remember Alvin Slaughter playing on Sunday mornings. I remember the sound of something tearing and the horror I felt when I realized it was my stockings – the nice ones with the flowers on them. I remember the clacking of my oversized flats on the smooth church floors. I remember hearing the sound of flowing water in the Baptism quarter, where I’d find Dad waiting for me. I remember my friends. I remember the sound of children laughing. I remember the sound of teenage girls laughing, and feeling anxious when it got too close. I remember the soft thud of my head hitting the pillow when I arrived home from school every evening. I remember family dinners. I remember the sound of frying oil and the smell of coconut. I remember the sound of Sunday football and seeing Dad fall asleep on the couch after only five minutes of being there. I remember Ma laughing from the kitchen. I remember the sound of Ma’s hair dryer. I remember the singe of the hot comb the night before Easter Sunday. The Blue Magic, the Pink hair spray, the olive oil, Palmer’s hair food.

I remember our home. I remember feeling pretty and taken care of and the ache of wanting to feel that way again.