i remember

I remember; I remember moments which have never happened to me.  I remember waking up in the middle of the night, convinced by a dream that someone was about to attack my sweet younger sibling or myself.  I remember peeling out of bed to check the door locks, sliding open and heavily clicking shut the deadbolt, just in case, and sliding a slender kitchen knife under my pillow.  I remember peering around at the dark room, to ascertain whether I was in the middle of one of those nightmare scenarios from a television mini-series.   Is that shadow a figure on the couch, watching me?  Is someone hiding in the kitchen in the dark beside the bookcase?  How would I protect myself -- even with this flimsy knife.  My sister would be much better prepared, because she can actually fight.  This knife wouldn't hurt anyone because what really hurts is the intent to do harm.

I don't remember any other mornings like this one: triumphant, couched in the success of a cosy dinner party the evening before, leftovers in the fridge and two empty wine bottles perched on the kitchen floor to be recycled.  I don't remember any other mornings with sunlight streaming in through my south facing windows. fingers clicking softly on the keys, a vase of heavenly white and crimson purple hyacinths fragrancing the air around me, and a glass of pomegranate green tea filling me with calm and antioxidants and all that good stuff. Even my brow bone worry lines do not appear this morning.  The British opera singer slash mobile phone salesperson who is all the rage on the internet sings Pavarotti; he is also triumphant this morning.

I remember something someone told me, long, long ago.  But I do not remember the words, not right now, just the spirit.  I would tell you, but it would be ruined in the sharing.  Every secret is only powerful as the promise kept, not delivered, nor wasted, nor splurged, nor spilled.   Let me keep something to myself, please!