Treasure

I remember everything about her, things that no one else would. I remember how she couldn't be around cats, how they made her sneeze uncontrollably and her eyes wouldn't stop itching. I remember how she wore the same two silver rings on her hands everyday; one on her thumb and an Irish Claddagh on her ring finger. I remember how she could speed through a Jodi Picoult novel, even though she would predict the endings in the first twenty pages. I remember how she listened to 90's music when we drove in the car, how she loved to dance to Usher whenever he was played at a party. I remember listening to her talk about wanting to live in New York City, just so she could walk outside every day and breathe the air of possibilities. I remember how she could trip over anything, whether she was sober or drunk. I remember how she would flip pennies that were on tails, just so they would be on heads for the next person. I remember how she hated the freckles on her cheeks or the stretch marks on her thighs, even though I found them absolutely captivating. I remember how she always had to be right; winning an argument with her was the biggest challenge in the world. I remember that her favorite sound was when a baseball hit a bat, how she squealed with joy whenever I got us Yankee tickets. I remember studying her face whenever we watched fireworks over the summer, like she was suddenly a child again and for just a few minutes, she knew everything was going to be okay. And I remember how her hands and feet were amusingly small, and I knew I was always side by side with an angel.

I still see these things. I see them when I close my eyes at night and when I open them in the morning. I see these things when I drive to work alone and then when I come home to an empty house. I see these things when I watch TV with no one next to me or when I cook dinner without being yelled at for using too much salt.

Somehow, life is supposed to go on. I am still expected to pay the bills, shop for groceries, and send out birthday cards to various family members. But no matter what, I still find her where ever I go. When I shower before work, I find her hair brush sitting near the sink, still filled with her tangled brown hair. At Starbucks, the barista now messes up my daily order and gives me hers instead, an extra shot of mocha. And late at night, I can hear her echoed laughter from watching David Letterman.

I don't think I will ever forget. Years will pass, people will come and go, and my smile might even return to normal. But I will never forget. A day will never come when I can't see her eyes light up from the sight of anything purple. Or when I can't hear her reciting movie lines in the shower. Or when I can't feel her soft cheek warmly rest against my chest. I'll always have those little things, the treasures that almost no one else can remember. I'll keep them in my heart.

Because everyone knows you're supposed to hide your most precious treasure.