The Memory Box
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
When I was 20
still a college student
living at my parents'
house
I started collecting
ticket stubs, receipts
notes, pictures and
tacking them to a
bulletin board
I kept over my bed
and every year at
or about New Years’
I would dismantle
the board and keep the
contents in sealed boxes
labeled
1984, 1985 and so forth
The board followed
me everywhere I
lived
through the crazy woman
with the frizzy blonde hair
who had retaliatory fantasies
of her father
being eaten by sharks
in repayment for her molestation
through the detached
unsentimental
and ultimately vacuous haze
of my Vietnamese ex-wife
who thought marrying me
would bring her vertical
social mobility all the while
reading her Danielle Steel novels,
shopping at The Limited, and
idolizing Julia Roberts
before she left me for her
continuing education instructor
who made twice as much money
as I did
the board followed me
through the rape survivor
and all the movies
museums, cups of cappuccino
bike rides, the
eventual affair I had,
the grief of my father’s death
and the sorrowful
eventual inevitable
parting of our ways
the board also
took its place on the
wall of my apartment
and collected
what miscellany
I could find to help me
find a path
find myself
find my partner
and I found the best
partner for me
everything I wanted
beauty kindness
laughter sexuality
tenderness strength
so I was taken aback
when she politely but
unmistakably said
“that bulleting board
is not going in
our new house.”
As with everything
that is habitual
it took some time
to let go
and now
my son inherited
this $8 bulletin board
I bought long ago
at Staples
and as I travel
through life
more than 40 years
I realize that I don’t
need the
bulletin board
to awaken the memories
I am now making
I have Anita
and I have my kids
and my papers and
pencils
and the memory box
I carry with me
in my head.
still a college student
living at my parents'
house
I started collecting
ticket stubs, receipts
notes, pictures and
tacking them to a
bulletin board
I kept over my bed
and every year at
or about New Years’
I would dismantle
the board and keep the
contents in sealed boxes
labeled
1984, 1985 and so forth
The board followed
me everywhere I
lived
through the crazy woman
with the frizzy blonde hair
who had retaliatory fantasies
of her father
being eaten by sharks
in repayment for her molestation
through the detached
unsentimental
and ultimately vacuous haze
of my Vietnamese ex-wife
who thought marrying me
would bring her vertical
social mobility all the while
reading her Danielle Steel novels,
shopping at The Limited, and
idolizing Julia Roberts
before she left me for her
continuing education instructor
who made twice as much money
as I did
the board followed me
through the rape survivor
and all the movies
museums, cups of cappuccino
bike rides, the
eventual affair I had,
the grief of my father’s death
and the sorrowful
eventual inevitable
parting of our ways
the board also
took its place on the
wall of my apartment
and collected
what miscellany
I could find to help me
find a path
find myself
find my partner
and I found the best
partner for me
everything I wanted
beauty kindness
laughter sexuality
tenderness strength
so I was taken aback
when she politely but
unmistakably said
“that bulleting board
is not going in
our new house.”
As with everything
that is habitual
it took some time
to let go
and now
my son inherited
this $8 bulletin board
I bought long ago
at Staples
and as I travel
through life
more than 40 years
I realize that I don’t
need the
bulletin board
to awaken the memories
I am now making
I have Anita
and I have my kids
and my papers and
pencils
and the memory box
I carry with me
in my head.
