The Memory of Light

In a distant age tucked inside the mind, there lived a boy in an abandoned house. The lonely street was called Memory Lane, and at night, all childhood yearnings and days of the past would come alive.

It started with a lonely star in the sky, then transformed into a sea of swirls and brightness. Like the Northern Lights, lit up in all colors, swaying in the sky, it would project the things he could not remember. How he came to be stuck in an eternal age of just ten. But as soon as the memory played and he could recall his name, and time, his tears would erase the marks that had turned to scars in his heart. For he was doomed to never recall any of these things unless the lights were displayed for him to see. Every morning it was his wish to leave the lonely place that had become Memory Lane. He could not recall why he'd want to leave such a lovely place filled with stars in the pond, a garden filled with lanterns that held the dreams and laughter of strangers or the library in the back of his house that displayed encyclopedic knowledge and depth of such wisdom that some pages were even empty waiting for him to write on. All he knew was that he had to get away, make something of himself, because out there, life was waiting for him, not here in this Memory Lane. Yet, as evening came, the lights would display, calling out to him, whispering his name. He'd go outside and sit on the porch, the old porch that as one memory had displayed, his father had built for his mother. His older brother and sister had played on it. Gathered to watch the meteor showers, or to fall asleep gazing at the evening sky. He'd sit on the steps and remember that his name was Timothy and that his mother was a lovely woman, a very giving one. Why the kitchen he would make his food in, just cereal and basic things, was where she had once baked birthday cakes and turkey, he remembered he'd like that. But as dawn came, and then the sun glowing in the horizon, the lights would fade and so would his memory. It was gone like a thief, stealing the joy from the past and replacing it with emptiness. He would wake up feeling an ache in the deep of his chest, an ache that felt more like a void, a vastness he could not seem to fill from his days playing in the backyard catching the stray cat or looking for his dog, Napoleon. Where had he gone? Where was Mama? Where was Annie and Charles? Where had they gone? He vowed to remember the next morning, while watching the memories, he vowed to no avail. Unless, unless...he wrote it down, yes he'd do just that! He'd trick the sky, he'd defy the fate that was wrung upon him from the perverseness of the universe, to which he had no doubt, conspired to dull his senses, trap him in this sphere of despair and loneliness. He'd remember them. He'd honor them. He was no longer content with filling his days doing useless and vacuous trifling things. His youth was not worth it. Yes, he'd write it down, and up he went. Skipping inside the house, searching the cabinets for paper and pencils or colors. The window displayed the smiling faces of his family, in the yard by the magnolia tree. A haunting thought occurred to him: would he want to remember what had happened? Remorse was more of his companion and guilt was his confidant: What if this was for a reason? What if, he wasn't meant to remember what happened? What if it was fate and to disturb it would somehow disturb the shield of comfort he seemed to be in? Would he dare risk it all only to remember it all everyday?

He wasn't sure. He couldn't be. He went outside on the porch steps. The lights were the only thing he was sure of. Day and night, that was the one thing he remembered. The lights were his friends. Why would they want to hurt him like this? He was safer where he was he decided. Safer here than there, out there, where I don't know the world. I'm here with everybody, every night. The lights are my shelter. I want to stay here. To venture into the unknown, is no guarantee of success or even comfort. I'm not sure I could even find Mama and Pap there or anyone. The brightness in the sky sometimes showed moments of peace, discontent, fights, and sadness. He could not stand those. He would leave immediately. He couldn't stand to see Mama crying telling Pap there was no cure for Timothy's condition. That doctor's had told them there was little time left for their child to live. Mama's anguish and Pap's solemn figure gave him nightmares, then like the dawn, it would evanescence into a shadow that could not enter the daylight. It was reserved for the night. He had once seen how Annie and Charles held his hand and could see the pain they'd endured and could not remember what that felt like. Was he suffering? He didn't feel anything now. He did want to see them he thought days later. He wanted to see them. He'd leave for sure. He had vowed to stay, but he couldn't live like this. He'd check on them once, and invite them back here. He'd bring them all to Memory Lane. He was sure he could do that. He started packing that night. He started to gather few of his belongings, and just to make sure he wouldn't forget the next day he set off that night. He'd make sure to find them, to find out what happened to them. He wasn't sure what he'd discover. Oh, but to have new memories was worth the time.