I Remember...

Luckily, I'm taking a Principles of Writing course this semester that requires us to do 15 minutes of journaling every class - during this time we are given a prompt (such as the title here) and we are to press pen to paper until the professor declares, "Stop." We aren't allowed to sort through our thoughts, only to jot down mercilessly. Since I never ever ever have time to blog anymore, I've decided that I will use this journaling as an oppurtunity to post something for hungry eyes. The prompt today was "I Remember..." and here is what caught fire to some old college-ruled paper:

I remember the way he looked in the driver's seat of his spot-me-anywhere, red F-150 - a car that smelled of hay and Winstons, masked, however unsuccessfully, by too much Listerine and way too much cologne. He didn't know that the smell of hay and Winstons made me love him more, not less, or that the smell of Listerine and Curve made his wreckless driving even more nauseating. I can see his profile - hair wild from the pressure of his cowboy hat finally wearing off, his nose unproportioned, bumpy and lumpy from fights on and off the mat, his freckled lips, and his swollen knucles on the steering wheel.
I picture him and I see myself today. The same wild eyes. The same over-smile. The same ugly nose. How could two people so different be so alike? I wonder what parts of him will surface in me every day. I tie my shoes like him today, will I be sick like him tomorrow? Will I laugh in the face of death?
I remember the way he looked in the driver's seat of his spot-me-anywhere, red F-150. I'd give anything to be able to be intoxicated, disgusted by the smells of that truck. The smell of leather and horse-sweat makes my eyes wet and the idea of reigns in my hands makes my heart do flips into my stomach. I remember him. I still remember. Dare I ever forget? Please, God, grant me the ability to picture him like this forever.
I remember seeing him at the bottom of that escalator - his cowboy hat and dirty button-down shirt welcoming me more than ever before. My mind flashes from that moment to pictures from my childhood and back again - wildly grasping for any hint of memory it can hold on to. The idea of having no more "I Remember"s makes my stomach turn, my eyes burn, and it makes me sad.

I remember the way he looked in the driver's seat in his spot-me-anywhere, red F-150 - a car that smelled of hay and Winstons.