Year's End

A recent edition of CBS's 60 Minutes had a piece on people who clearly remember, literally, every day of their lives. I have difficulty remembering this morning. And so when I got a "looking back at the year" note from a friend, I decided to make one, too. It didn't take long to realize that it, like most other things in life, would be easier in theory than in practice.

But I'll give it a shot. Let's see...this year...2010, right? No, no, that isn't possible. I can still hear the factory whistles celebrating the arrival of 1944 on New Year's Eve at my home in Rockford, Illinois. I'm eleven years old! No, wait. Um.... Let me think.

Ah, yes. I took my first trip to New York City this year! I went with my friends Zane and Stu, and I saw "Can-Can" and "Me and Juliet," and...uh, nope. That was 1953, I think.

My Uncle Buck died...the first relative I ever lost, and I totally lost it at his funeral. I can remember it clearly. What? Ah, yes, that was 1953, too.

Well, I joined the Navy in August, and...wrong again. 1954. But I remember my first solo flight as a Navcad, and having my tie cut off and being tossed into the swimming pool as part of the ritual. That was only a couple of months ago, surely. No? 1955, you say?

Well, Europe. Definitely Europe. This year. Yep, we arrived at Gibraltar on my 22nd birthday. 22nd? Then why is the image of a wrinkled old man looking back at me from the reflective surface of the computer monitor? Oh, that was 1955 too. But surely having the watch stolen off my arm in Naples on Christmas eve had to be...wait, it's not Christmas yet.

Marc and Michel and Yohachim and Guntar and swimming in Cannes...surely that was this past July! It had to have been.

But no. Well, college graduation. Moving to Chicago. Meeting Norm. All this year. Definitely. What?...1958? Oh, come on!

Breaking up with Norm and moving to Los Angeles and my dad dying and Mom moving to L.A. to be near me and then dying herself of lung cancer and meeting Ray and moving to Pence and Ray's death from AIDS and my closing the Bed and Breakfast and working in a health food store and then a supermarket and then as a paralegal and watching the twin towers collapse and being diagnosed with tongue cancer. All this year! No further than a couple of months ago...maybe weeks, maybe days.

No?

Moving back to Chicago, then, surely! (2006? Are you sure?)

I shake my head and stare at the monitor in disbelief. It is 9:53 p.m. (clocks do not lie) Sunday night as I write, and I feel the years, this year joining all the others before it, draining away as quickly as water rushing from an unplugged sink. I sense something behind me, but I cannot turn my head far enough to see it, which is just as well, for I know it is a line of tomorrows. I do not know, nor do I want to know, how long the line is, but I know that each tomorrow is holding a small card, waiting to be handed to me. And I know, too, what is written on each card: "SURPRISE!!"

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