I remember that when I was a young girl Dots were my favorite candy.
I remember the last meal of meat I ever had. It was a McDonald's Chicken Snack Wrap. If I'd known that would be the last time I ate meat, I would have made it a better meal.
I remember my mother used to prepare liver with bacon and onions for my father.
I remember it made me sick to watch her dredge that gelatinous blood red meat in flour and then fry it in dripping.
I remember she only tried to make me eat it once and I wouldn't. After that, whenever she made liver, I had a bowl of Corn Flakes for dinner.
I remember the orange lights on the highway when my parents and I moved from Warren, Ohio to Cincinnati.
I remember how small and gray and fragile my mother looked after she came out of her hysterectomy surgery.
I remember the corners of my father that used to poke into me when he would hug me when he dropped me off or picked me up from summer camp. I remember his pocket protector would bite into my legs and chest, and somehow whenever I remember my father I think of the plastic corners of him that poked at me.
I remember how angry I was at my parents for not telling me right away when my father fell asleep at the wheel and totaled his car.
I remember when I came home from college and discovered that my mother had left my father and taken all the furniture with her. The house was empty: all of the pieces I'd climbed on and lounged on and slept on were gone. My room was still the same, but nothing else was.
I remember the cavernous silence around that time.
I remember the smell of an aerated football field on a Friday night before a high school game.
I remember jumping up and down and screaming with CP when Ohio State scored their first touchdown at the 2010 Rose Bowl.
I remember Tang.
I remember Alpha-Bits.
I remember Candyland and Checkers and Chutes and Ladders.
I remember watching thunderstorms blow in on the flat land of southwest Florida.
I remember the slick feeling in my mouth after I got my braces off.
I remember the best sleep of my life in a bed in a hotel room in Champery, Switzerland.
I remember the sick feeling in my stomach when my friend Eric Hartman went into Diabetic shock and had to be rushed out in the middle of a band performance. His face was so red and he could barely hold up his bassoon before he collapsed.
I remember years later, after we were both out of high school, I let him go down on me. It was amazing.
I remember when I asked an older girl who was in a church fashion show with me, why her slip was black--because the only slips I'd ever seen were white--she yelled at me, "None of your business!" and I didn't know why she'd gotten so angry.
I remember being a Brownie, and going on camp outs.
I remember watching Wheel of Fortune, and not knowing what the phrase, "Your mother wears army boots" meant.
I remember Emily Everheart and Brooke Burns.
I remember wool school uniforms.
I remember imitation patent leather Mary Janes.
I remember jellies.
I remember going to see The Nutcracker. At intermission I went down to the front of the stage and peeked into the pit orchestra. One of the musicians was standing up for a stretch, and he winked at me.