Selective Moment Memory

Do you ever feel the echos of a small snippet of time when life seemed unreal for a brief moment? A picture like a screen shot flashes in my mind, and the feeling of that moment hits every part of my physical and mental being. I stop breathing. And just as quickly it appeared in my mind’s eye, it’s gone. I still feel that slap, those moments, all of the good and the bad completely involuntary.

I see a flash of sun kissed grain fields from the vantage point of being in the passage seat of his car. But that’s only the image. The real memory was the crushing, sinking feeling pulling me inward. It was the moment I realized what I had known was correct.

“Pull over at the next rest stop. I need to pee.” We had not been to a restroom in over two hours, and my tiny bladder was having none of it.

“Where do you think we are?!” My brother asked, with over exaggerated sarcasm to really hit his point hard. “We are in the middle of nowhere. There is literally nothing for another hour or two. Just pee on the side of the road like a normal fucking woman!” I faked outrage, but I couldn’t contain just how happy I was to be in the car with him, even to hear him negging me. It had been way too long.

It was hot the entire trip. There were miles upon miles of golden fields and insanely huge farm equipment. I have always lived in one city or another, and the vastness of the land, the way of life here, it’s all so unreal to me. Does that what people from here feel when they go to a city?

My brother knew both worlds. Knower of much, master of none, he declared city life “too trivial” for him, and with the inspiration of high school Four F, moved to a farm as quickly as he could leave the house. In those 15 years or so he’s developed an accent. I am almost certain he is faking it, but he pulls it off nicely. It suits him. If we were still kids I would hold it against him. I would have made fun of him until he cried, and I would bask in his sweet tears. I absolutely hated him. But as I grow older and see him for the person he is, not just my sibling, I realized he is the most similar person to me that exists.

“I absolutely will pee on the side of the road, I am not above that if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”

“Fine! Let’s see how your city ass can pee without pissing on yourself.” The sarcasm is real.

“Oh, dear brother, you forget that I am a pro at peeing in alleyways behind bars, because I am classy A-F.” 

Perfect aim. Slight ricochet on the flip flops.

Those moments are the absolute best. Sun pouring down on us. Bitchin’ playlist on fire. Windows down. Not a care.

But, as we all know, those moments are just that, moments, fleeting at that. We always had in the back of our mind why we were on this road trip. We both tried desperately not to bring it up. I even avoided any kind of topics or road trip small talk that would even remind us of why we were going where we were going. My brother naturally did the same thing.

We were driving to our cousin’s funeral outside of Missoula. His girlfriend’s funeral was being held there as well, but no one in our family was invited. I decided to fly to my brother in Utah so that we could drive together. I thought we could make a very rare road trip together to try to shed some of the heaviness of our purpose for going, but I was wrong. The air in the car was heavy and thick from the sadness that was just below the surface radiating from both of us. I tried paying all of my attention to being present and focusing on the sun, and the playlist with the windows down, and just being with my brother, but I found myself always drifting towards the matter at hand. The seemingly endless golden field turned into a void, and I could no longer really see the giant farm equipment or the few houses or barns strung along the way. I might as well be staring at a wall.

As of the last day we were on our trip before arriving at our destination, we had not talked at all about what had happened or why we were going. We occasionally talked about the family members that we would no doubt see. We both agreed that our mom would very quickly upon our arrival she would definitely inquire about us having her grandchildren and declare how nice it is for her friends that get to spend all of their time with their grandkids and surround themselves with generations of family. We both agreed it was a valiant effort on her part, but it was not going to happen unless there is an “oops” baby. I am positive that several of the creepy uncles were going to make graphic comments about my appearance all in the name of a “joke” while our dad squirmed around. We both felt some relief to be with people thinking about only one thing together.

“It’s going to get dark soon. We should figure out where we’re going to stay the next time we get reception.” I told my brother this as we pasted an exit with one gas station and the only cars we have seen in some miles. 

My brother didn’t say a word. His face had changed without me noticing until now. Instead of the warmth he always seemed to have in his eye he starred ahead on the long straight highway. Just silence and fixation on the road ahead. 

“Did you hear me? Next time there’s a little town pull over so we can figure out where we’re going to sleep. And eat. I’m hungry.”

No response. 

“John, what’s going on?”

“I heard you the first time. It’s still like four hours before it gets dark. Why do you always have to make things difficult? I’m just trying to drive to get us to where we need to go.” He was angry and looked towards the road with odd, undefined determination.

“Okay, I’m just staying that reception is bad out here, and if we want to find some place decent to sleep we should start looking when we have the opportunity.” I could feel my mom’s passive aggressive tone coming through my own mouth.

“See?! This is exactly what’s wrong with you. You assume everyone else is dumb, and that we don’t understand basic concepts, and you are the smart enlightened one dropping some valuable insight onto us like we should be grateful for your superior intelligence. Get over yourself.”

“What? Where is this coming from? I just don’t want to stay at a shitty motel and though if we find one online first then we don’t have to drive around in the pitch black looking for somewhere to sleep.” My frustration was boiling over at this point. I can feel my face getting hot as below the surface tensions start to rise. 

“There you fucking go again! Like I want to stay at a shitty motel. Okay princess, at the next town we’ll pull over, wasting both of our fucking time, so you can post to your ‘insta’ or whatever bullshit you’re on.”

“Why are you arguing with me John? I don’t want to ague with you.”

John kept staring along the never-ending line in the middle of the road, his teeth were grinding back and forth as his face turned red. 

He spoke slowly and quietly, but terrifyingly sternly at the same time. “You just always have to be fucking right all the time, don’t you?”

“Look, up ahead. There’s a sign by the road. Let’s just stop where ever it says, and I’ll book us a room somewhere along the road. It will take me five minutes.” I was trying not to speak with a scorning tone. I was trying to be as amicable as I could.

“No.” Simple and to the point. 

“What is your fucking deal John? This is coming out of nowhere! We haven’t disagreed on anything this whole time.” I was confused. “Why are you being like this now? What has changed in the past hour?”

“I’ve just noticed how high and mighty you are all the fucking time.” John can be passive aggressive just the same. “You just always have to be right, about everything. You know, when we were kids Jackson and I would make fun of you behind your back. Hell, we still did. You’re always posting pictures of how great your life is, and how many fucking friends you have. You’re fake Meni. You always have been.” My brother knew exactly what to say to make me feel like an absolute shitty person. 

We sat in silence, but both of our minds were racing. Our playlist stoped, but neither of us bothered to press play. It was silence so loud it was defining. My mind was racing, and I could tell John’s was too. The far away sign came and went as our stares into the void continued. The sun hung low just off the horizon.

Very methodically and with clear purpose John slowly paced voice pierced the silence. “Once when Jackson and I were about five or seven or so we were walking home from school with some other boys, and by his house we heard these little weird sounds coming from beside this house so we stopped and looked, and there were these kittens…”

“I remember, that’s how we got Zoie.” I have a bad habit of interrupting people. I quickly realized what I had done and stopped talking. 

“Those other boys wanted to take those kittens to do just terrible, terrible things to them.” John’s head slowly shook back and forth as if he was saying no to the road. “I mean, I don’t even want to tell you. But Jackson stopped them. He was ready to fight for those kittens. The boys talked all this shit to each other over fucking kittens. I just stood there and watched. Thank God no fists were thrown, but I know for a fact that Jackson would have fought for those kittens.”

“Jackson did occasionally have a good side.” I said with reluctance. 

“See?! You did it again! Always having to be fucking right.” The argument sprang back up from where it started.  

“I know you loved Jackson, I loved Jackson, but that doesn’t change what he did…”

“What he fucking did?!” He shouted mockingly. “You don’t know what fucking happened! No one does, so stop acting like you fucking know everything. You don’t know shit.”  

“He drove wasted drunk John! I know that doesn’t mean he deserved to die or for Kim to die, but we know what he did. Everyone knows what he did. There’s no point to arguing about it. Let’s just concentrate on finding a place to eat and sleep.” I spoke sternly and directly to get my point across. I said what I needed to say, and now it’s time to move the fuck on. 

Just as stern and direct, under his breath John muttered, “You don’t know shit. There’s no where for miles to go.”

I am confused. Do I not know shit about Jackson or finding food?

“All I know is that it’s getting dark and I am hungry and tired, and I don’t want to fight, okay?”

John did not pay any attention to what I said. “What state of mind do you think he was in? I want to know what you think Jackson was thinking.”

“He was drunk! He wanted to go home. What else is there? Nothing.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that the car hit the light pole on the passenger’s side? Jackson almost survived, but not Kim. She died instantly.” It felt like he wanted to say this to me our entire trip.

Now I am really confused. 

“Why do you think that’s weird? People die like that all the time.”

“I read the police report. Right after the accident I called one of my cop buddies to get it to me.” 

More silence. I think he simultaneously wanted me to ask him further and dreaded me asking any further at the same time. I chose my words carefully.

“Why did you get the report? The accident seems pretty straight forward.”

“Do you ever have moments that just stay with you? Like a flash that you’ll remember forever?” John seemed like he was looking far away onto another plane of existence.

“Yeah, sometimes. What are you thinking about?”

“I was so scared when those fucking dumbass boys wanted to drown those kittens. I was so scared they were going to hit Jackson and turn on me. But I just have this image of Jackson standing there. And all at once I felt safe. I can remember that moment so well. It’s like I’m right there, in that moment.” John’s tone became soft and defeated sounding. “Jackson was not drunk when the accident happened.”

“What?! They told us it was a drunk driving accident. Are you sure? That doesn’t make any sense?” My mind was starting to race, but an odd calm came over John as if he was ready to just take a back seat and let something go.

“Jackson called me that morning. He told me Kim was pregnant. Meni…” John took one hand off the wheel and slicked back his bald head. “Do you think…”

An infinitely deep feeling started to pull my entire torso towards the bottom of the car as I could feel myself drain. But I resisted what I know John wanted me to say. I fought the feeling and pulled myself up. 

“What are you saying John?”

“You knew him Meni. You spent more time with hime than anyone.Do you think he did this on purpose and accidentally killed himself?”

Immediately, without a moment to think, my knee jerk reaction, “No! Why would you think that? Absolutely not.”

John stayed silent as we drove into the fading light and I looked back out into the void, and there it was. The moment that it hit me. I did know Jackson, better than anyone, and I knew John was right. 

The idea was not new to me. I had similar thoughts. Jackson told me he had been trying to leave his girlfriend for months, and I knew Jackson. I knew his love had turned into hate. I knew what he was capable of. I knew how he would get “sometimes.” I knew the part of him that we dare not ever talk about out loud. I knew his capacity for kindness, just as well as I knew his capacity for revenge. I knew immediately, more accurately I felt, when I received the phone call about the accident that Jackson was responsible. But I did not want to know the truth. I felt no need to confirm what I had suspected. John did it for me. John had independently came to the same conclusion, and as much as I tried to deny it, I knew John was right. It’s that moment, the flash of John driving with the void passing by outside the car windows, accompanied by the sinking feeling of overwhelming dread that will always hit me with a powerful dead weight, often without notice. I find the confines of my mind to be overwhelming sometimes.

Jackson had this habit when we were in restaurants of always pulling the paper on the straw half way down and blowing it on someone or a target he found funny. Sometimes it was funny. Often it was just annoying. But to his credit it did usually get a quick laugh from the table. He like to watch animal friend videos online. He always loved animals. He would wear his socks until his curved big tone nail would poke a hole in the top, and then he would call his socks “toesie socks”. He loved his mother, could do without his father. He had propensities for kindness. He had propensities for violence. He could hold a simmering hate low and deep in his belly until he had just the right moment to strike. I hate seeing the people you love as people the same as anyone else, with all of their good and ill intentions. For now I will try to think of John’s moment of Jackson standing in defiance of peer pressure to help out the innocent. A contrived image in my head of Jackson standing with his hands on his hips and a hero’s cape around his shoulders flying in the wind. The savor of kittens. Strong and proud to be the hero of the story. That’s the moment I choose.