Triggers

I hit my left thumb with a hammer once. It hurt, but I wasn't especially injured. No one nearby noticed, even. I just had a small dark mark towards the bottom of my nail. As I watched the dark spot grow up my nail for the next month or two I remembered that incident and the events of the day. I remembered what I was wearing. I remembered the moonlight. I remembered my conversations and my feelings.

On the way to MADJam a few years ago I noticed a sliver on the palm of my right hand. At least I thought it was a sliver, so I made a mental note to remember to pull it out when I get back home in the few days. I forgot - for a few months. After I'd remembered I found myself sitting at Salim's dining room table, screaming. Steve was sitting across from me holding my hand face up with one hand, and an exacto blade in the other. I screamed and squirmed. I didn't trust him to cut my hand opened. I didn't look like a sliver to me, anymore. So he let go of my hand, and went on a rant about other people who had let him cut out their slivers. I was hurt, and stomped out to my car. I looked at my intact hand, the little brown mark right under my thumb, and thought "whenever I look at this, I'll think of arguing with Steve". And I do. I remember it so well, like it was just yesterday.

I stared at my driveway for a good few minutes on Wednesday night. It was dark outside. I turned the light on the side of the house on and off, trying to get a good view without any glare. There was a shiny spot on the brand new blacktop, but I was hoping it wasn't shiny. I was hoping that it was blue.

Until my driveway was repaved on Wednesday there was a small section of blue spray paint spots on it. I knew it would be a memory trigger the minute I saw it. And indeed, I remembered. I remembered a phone conversation with my mom; "Kristin, lots of women have just developed a headache over the years. . . ". I remembered the clothes I was wearing, I remember changing my clothes. I remembered eating rice with soy sauce for dinner, and seeing a woodpecker. I remembered carrying my computer down the stairs. I remembered laying on the sofa half asleep until 3:00am. I remembered.

I thought I'd forget. The day a letter came in the mailing, telling me the paving dates, I felt sad. I didn't want to lose my spot, my comforting memory trigger, my memories. But I have them all - without the triggers (though I do sometimes wonder about all the things I have forgotten over time). I suppose maybe the trigger isn't some unusual thing, but just my brain.