The Edge of a field (from a few years ago)

[michaelboy]

We drove into the gas station and heard the familiar ding-ding as we ran over the signaling hose. I remember going inside and how it smelled of curing enamel, Go-Jo hand cleaner and motor oil. My dad gave me a dime for the candy machine. The well-worn dispenser had a hammered-metal muted green finish and a mirror on the front with the word "Candy" written in a deco-script on the face.

I miss the mechanical sound it made when pulling the handle and the dropping thud as the bar fell into the tray. More, I miss the tangible feeling of that love I knew and to this day, I never learned why the mirror was there. I once thought my dad knew and could do everything. I was safe with that comfort but, in reality, he was just as frail as me. It didn't matter though, because the distance drawn on my chest is carved into my skin like fence posts at the edge of a soft field.

Comments

[tactilemuse]

"It didn't matter though, because the distance drawn on my chest is carved into my skin like fence posts at the edge of a soft field."

Oh friend, that was so lovely and raw. Made me start crying. I wrote it in my hardbound journal and credited to you so that I remember it as long as this brain will let me.

[michaelboy]

Aww, thank you so very much xxxx, (x's because I don't even know your name but wanted to thank you personally). Words and your sentiments are important and that is why I prefer this venue.

[digitalbodies]

What a beautiful scene.

It's quite touching to me how many of our safest memories end up involving nostalgic machinery. I remember pulling the plunger on pinball machines and hearing them thwack into place, the whirr of a camera zooming in, the gleam of a pocket watch ticking in the sun. I love memories that don't expect anything of me. They just exist, self-sufficient beautiful mechanisms that I can watch in my mind's eye for as long as I want.

[michaelboy]

This is lovely and very perceptive.