Memories. My mind sometimes wanders back to memories that are etched moments that are insignificant in time and outcome, but indelible.
One such memory is of a grade school classmate, Trudell. The time was 4th grade. Trudy was tall for her age, slender, and very pretty. I always felt awkward and shy with girls, especially a beautiful girl. She and I weren’t friends, nor did we interact much. This was the age of boys and girls hanging separately.
Every classroom in the old Medford school had a coatroom. They were long and narrow, full of boots and clothing. This, after all, was Minnesota, and it was winter.
Trudy and I happened to be in the coatroom, alone. I wasn’t aware of her. I don’t think she was aware of me. We each turned around and found ourselves face to face, inches apart. Neither spoke. We just gazed at one another, a moment frozen in time. I did think of kissing her, and have regretted not doing so. I have a rare dream of that moment. I kiss her in my dream, not a kiss of passion, but a kiss of union, connection, grace. A classmate entered the room a moment later and called our names, breaking the reverie’s spell. What is etched in memory is that we were both bound and frozen in that moment.
After one such dream I searched for her on the Internet. I was sad to learn she died young, age 60, after a rich life of family, travel and career. I pray for her, and treasure that memory of a brief moment of so long ago.
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I have not tackled Marcel Proust’s, “À la recherche du temps perdu”, a sprawling novel about time and memory. My entry and thoughts are a poor attempt to search for a lost time.