2.18.21

Driving through Highland Park at night, _____ and I spoke of memory and map making. How you can drive through a neighborhood with someone who grew up there and they will tell you about all the places that have disappeared. We talked about maps made of memories. Surely, we said, those most exist. 

Where does memory go when there is no way back home? What do the maps of memory say? Where do they lead us? Who are they for?

Once, the map says, I had friends who lived on this street. We were happy here. We all played music and danced in that house. There was an orange tree behind it and every spring it would bloom with flowers. We didn't care what else was coming, or if it ever would. Once, the map says, we would walk to this intersection every day after class before we said good night. Around the corner is the place where we would eat together whenever we could. Once this is where I knew to find you. 

The lines on the map are getting blurry now. Maybe this map is tired. 

What I know: I became myself and then un-became myself in this city, on this block, under this stop light, in that house. 

This maps says: we were together some place once. Now only the people who were there remember where.