Memory—tricky, slippery, fluid, changeable
Every remembering physically changing that memory in the very synapses of the brain
My brother recently said of my mother, she was always ready to laugh
I said, I can’t remember her laughing, ever
I have no memory of her laughing, I said
Then it came to me in the middle of the night—an image, a memory
I’d finally remembered my mother laughing
Riding in the car with my family a very long time ago
Traveling through the dark night together
Feeling of total safety
Total belonging
They gave that to us that night in our two-tone, faux “woody” station wagon
But it was illusion, that safety
No seat belts back then, in our hurtling tin can
All the same, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, it wasn’t true
Or maybe it wasn’t true
But it was real
Rushing forward through time and space
A little space ship containing a universe
Laughing, talking, making jokes, playing games
Dad driving, the steady captain of our little ship
Mom, the cruise director
I finally remembered
Oldest brother in the highly coveted way-back of the station wagon, lying on sleeping bags and pillows, looking out the back window at the lights going by
Talking, talking, talking, holding court, holding forth
The rest of us a captive, but mostly benign, audience
Ok, now everyone laugh hilariously at everything he says, she said, our cruise director
Thinks he’s the king of comedy on a roll
Now, she said, don’t react or laugh at anything
Perfect complete silence
Was that when he sensed something was up?
Or did it happen in the reverse?
Memory slips again
As I recall it, fallible synapses again at work, he redoubled his efforts
Trying to recapture his audience
Until the game was revealed to peals of laughter
Laughter filling the car that night
And still sounding faintly in my ears
