I have superhero memory.
It’s totally fucking extraordinary.
And you know what, it’s also totally fucking useless.
It’s done nothing for me other then instantly informing my brain that the werewolf Remus Lupin in Harry Potter was also the video artist Knox Harrington in Lebowski.
It’s been totally useless, until today.
I was waking on the boardwalk earlier, inundated with thoughts I’d rather not be thinking, but this time, instead of attempting to quiet my mind, I defended myself from continually getting shivved by those unwanted thoughts by pointing my attention to memories of my dad.
And I’m not just talking about the typical “remember the time when he…” memories. I mean real specific ones.
Like what the steam burns on his forearm felt like to touch. Like what the microscopic upturn of his lips (that only I could spot) looked like when he did something bad and was trying to keep a straight face. Like the stance he stood in while cutting a bagel with the precision of a samurai. Right there in the boardwalk, I literally saw his feet lined up perfectly on the kitchen tile. I even saw his goddamn, big toe cuticles he picked at incessantly.
And just like that, I was smiling. Bittersweet smiles, but smiles nonetheless.
And then I was able to hear the ocean. And able to see the seagulls standing up gusty winds.
Because that’s why I went to the boardwalk to begin with.
To just abide. Abide as The Dude does.
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