My 1st memory.

The 1st Scar

Have you ever heard that smell is attached to memory more than any other sense? Probably so, somewhere along the way. My first memory is of the smell of stale oil and dirt. Kind of like in an old barn, or a junkyard, do you know the smell I am talking about?

You may think that is a weird smell to start your life with, and I wouldn’t argue that fact. It was because I was standing in a junkyard, my older brother Chris was standing on my left, my Grandfather was on the right of me, and my Grandmother was on the other side of him. I remember the quiet sounds of crying from everyone, except me.

We were all standing there looking at a wrecked 1977, light blue, two-door Pontiac Cougar. I wasn’t even sure what we were looking at or why. A drunk driver, ran a stop sign going so fast that his front right tire burnt a hole through the driver side door. He wrapped her car around a telephone pole across the street, killing my Mother and her best friend instantly.

I was 18 months old when I was standing there in the junkyard, and that smell takes me right back to that moment in time. I even remember a dog barking in the distance and the sounds of an ambulance on a distant street. It’s so clear that I can remember the rust on the corner of the no trespassing sign and the block letters of “violators will be prosecuted”.

It’s funny the things your mind grabs on too when you’re a little kid, and when you are little, you don’t understand what the word never means. Really, does anyone understand the gravity of such a limitless time; it inspires similar thought to that of looking at the stars and the vastness of the universe.

I didn’t understand what my family meant when they said, “Your Mother is never coming home” I just knew she never showed back up to get me.

What is your 1st memory?

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