Thursday, June 21, 2012

Time Machine

If my soul had a passport, it’d have a great collection of stamps due to the frequent amount of times I visit Wonderland. There are triggers that cause these clouds of thoughts and waves of memories. I call them time machine moments. My dearest friend Google informed me that it’s something called “Nostalgia.” The reason why we light up when we come across a place or smell that makes us long for the past. Nice one, Google. I’ll stick to my second grade term.
All along we’ve been taught that time machines were inexistent and ridiculous. But they’re wrong. You heard that Myth Busters? I visit my 6th grade locker room every time my nose gets a whiff of cheap body splash. I can feel my face red because I was just proving my basketball skills in P.E. My hair is soaking my shirt because my best friend and I just dumped it in the cold showers. I’m getting ready for lunch. I’m planning of a place to sit in the lunch room. I’m 12 years old all over again, because of cheap body splash.
Cheap body splash doesn’t bother me much, but I do wish they’d take Creolina off the market. The Humane Society uses this to clean their floors. The same floors I walked on when I had to put Putica down to sleep. That smell makes my eyes Niagara Falls, and I can lie and say that I’m allergic to it but I know it’s just the memory of that one day that I was forced to retire my best friend of 11 years. Most people want to vomit in their shoes when there’s an aroma of blood, but I become content.  This transports me to Thanksgiving night where I was kneeled down in a hot garage that stunk of blood, it's where my 2nd dog was born. Blood takes me to one of the happiest days of my life? Fine whatever, call me Edward Cullen.
In December when the sun goes down and I can’t feel my nose, I’m shockingly bought back at the night of my first kiss. I’m standing on cold grass, holding the sleeves of a long black suede sweater that I was probably whipping my snot with. I feel the cramp in my neck from looking up at the first lips that would ever touch mine. And whatever those lips were mouthing didn’t matter because all I was able to hear was my heart pounding in my ears.
When I want to take the scenic route home from work, I get off on the wrong exit, on purpose. I’m in time machine mode.  This only causes me to drive by my previous job, “accidentally”. I’m presented with feelings of encouragement. Driving by this ex-job reminds me how far I’ve come from shitty jobs and shitty personalities. Although gas prices are hurtful these days, the extra cents I spend are worth how victorious I feel at this time.
 If I close my eyes when my fingers are dancing onto the grooves of anything rusty, I can remember my first car. The cold feel of alcohol never fails to make my skin rise and the butterflies in my stomach flap for their lives, making me feel like I’m right there contemplating my first tattoo. It’s like taking a stamp of acid the way the memories of being asked to be a girlfriend become so lucid when I chew on a Ring Pop.
On the day of my wedding, I long for a moment where my nose is inhaling Grey Flannel, because I know it means my dad will be close by.
It doesn’t take a fancy fog machine or a DeLorean in order to travel through time. Soak and sense what is in your present, soon it’ll be nothing more than a time machine moment.