Sometimes I close my eyes I think about all the possibilities. I think about the grass and I think about the chalk I use to play with on my sidewalk. I think about hopscotch and I think about beer. I think about my grandma and going to the bead store. I think about sitting on top of the jungle gym, a memory that I’ve always had but has no context. I think about a paintbrush and the power of words. I think about the frog that sat outside my window and I think about my letter jacket, for some reason. I think about max and tennis balls on fire. I think about crying. I think about crying. I think about crying. I think about the old man who lives at the halfway house. And how he walks around, in his old man clothes. How could he be a criminal, still worthy of being babysat? I think about crafts I made with Ian and I think about mosquito bites. I think about the tire swing at my uncle john’s house and I think about getting lost in Portland. I think about Katarina and how my mom called her Kat but everyone else called her Kit. I think about Folgers coffee and how my mom used to make rice crispies every day. I think about the time I played hockey when my mom was gone. I got hurt but I couldn’t tell her because I wasn’t supposed to be playing. I think about moving. I think about the yellow tank top that I had forgotten about. And I think about my aunt Lynne Anne. I think about road trips to Nebraska. And harry potter. I think about falling asleep, probably because my eyes are closed. I think about the neighbors I have had. Rick, Bonnie, Barbara. Katie and her family. Jon and Ino. I think about porcelain dolls, and a scary clown I got for my birthday. I think about the gecko I found with Brent, and how short that kid was. I think about basketball, I thought I loved it. I think about concussions, and the girl that died a few weeks ago. I think about curtains, and bunked desks. I think about salsa mixed with sour cream and an extreme feeling of guilt. I think about a window and a Friday night—another memory with no context. I think about art and face painting. I think about the Halloween carnival, and my first kiss. I think about wall ball—at St. Johns, in Washington, and just a few days ago. I think about Travis. I think about skinny dipping. I think about Beaverton, and the say my mom told me Matt was leaving. I think about my pink soccer ball, and my black one. I think about dishwasher I forgot to load, and how much I miss my mom when I’m not at home. I think about fire. I think about max, again. I think about newspaper class and soft pretzels. I think about cheetos and cheese, and so I think about max, again. I think about my first day at Turner. I couldn’t find the gym, but Kara helped me. I think about Brittany and hope she is ok. I think about the Nuggets game. And contact lenses. I think about the red scarf and the leaves that I crunched. I think about walking around the playhouse. How old was I? I think about those two big white dogs. I think about that mall that is in my dreams, and the flamingo. I think about Italy, the bellhop, and the rainy day. I think about playing cards with Kyla, then watching the third wheel. I think about how I never slept, and now that is all I do. I think about my first interview, and my first day at work. I think about the first time I saw Travis. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I think about the people who have confronted suicide in my presence. I thank the universe for the way those confrontations turned out. I think about my dad and the bottle of Vicoden in my drawer. I think about the words I want to define myself, and the ones that do. I think about the way my stomach sank earlier, only to float up in confusion and surprise. I think about his lips on mine and his hands gripping my sides. I think about the stupid smiley face balloon. And Hanna Sudbeck who stole my lollipops. I think about being called four-eyes by someone with glasses and I think about Brandon Zigray. I think about Bobcat and the trains. I think about the power of light. I think about when my stepdad bought our TV, and when I hugged him at his sister’s funeral. He was wearing a maroon shirt and he thanked me. I think about the butterfly that flew right past my nose and I think about the little tractor sprinkler. I think about max again. He was plowed like a tractor. I think about the blue hoodie, and the turquoise socks. I think about Hood River and the wedding. I think about gymnastics and the Chilson Center. I think about Wyoming and Tesch. I think about fabric shopping, and I think about the letters I have written. I think about the northern lights. And I think about crying. And I think about the clouds and the sky and the stars and the sun and the universe. And I think about the possibilities. I close my eyes and I think and I think and I think. I remember and I think and I remember and I remember. And I smile and I frown and I think and I think and I think. And I remember. And I think and I remember because I never want to forget. I never want to forget to remember. And I never want to forget to think about the possibilities.
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