 |
Nutshell Kingdom: Do You Remember That Time When That Mosquito Bit You?
2007
These days, more often than not, I get home from work when the afternoon sun shines hottest on the back of my house and I have a six pack of Modelo Especial in cans and a book of Dashiell Hammett and I try to read outdoors but I spend most of my time killing mosquitos. There's a lot of mosquitos in my yard lately and they are merciless.
It reminds me of the joke about summer in Alaska: "If the moquitos were any bigger, there'd have to be less of them." Har.
I don't remember those Alaskan giants any more, which is amazing since the summer spent in those parts was mostly spent in a tent or around a bonfire. I was always outdoors. I must have been bitten and harrassed nonstop. I'm sure that they were legion.
Funny thing is, I don't remember last year's mosquitos either. Or the year before that. That is the remarkable thing about memory - the selection process. I remember perfectly certain slants of winter light, how fast I drove a particular stretch of road twelve years ago, my first drugstore counter Orange-Ade, the weird silence of a public restroom at four in the morning. Other things are lost. Faces, words spoken in urgency, promises, so many names. Is it strange that I remember the batting order of the 1986 Mets, including the two platoon players, but have forgot all but the most rudimentary details of an entire weekend spent with someone not all that long ago in the grand scheme of things? Have I taken life for granted that badly?
Who knows? All I know is that I can't even think straight with all these mosquito bites itching my ankles and elbows.
