Forgive

I felt the chair wobble below me, reminding me of my own stupidity, honestly, who actually climbs on top of a swivel chair to get something down from the top of the closet? Well, I guess you can say I do. I peer over the first shelf, nope. Not there. Sighing, I boost myself on my tippy toes and Ah ha! There it is.

My memory box. She sits there in her dusty lack of glory, slightly rusted from neglect. I'm a little hesitant to pull it down from it's resting place. Perhaps it's better off there. These are old events, they should just be laid to rest, shouldn't they? Sighing, I turn around to climb off the grey colored health hazard, when a fragment of thought whips past my head can you really go forward and never look back?

Ugh. FINE!

I pick myself up once more and again reach for the dusty rusted monstrocity. When when I go to lift it out of its niche in the corner, I'm surprised how heavy it is. Wow, it must have been years... The chair wobbles below me once more and I quickly jump down, careful not to drop the box.
You know in the light it doesn't seem so scarey. It looks plain and boring and dusty. I lift the top and it opens with a loud CREEEAAAKKK, and my childhood comes flooding back. Bit by bit, object by object I begin to relive every memory I had deemed "worthy" of rememberance. Laughing, I picked up a note I had written back and forth between some girl named Ada:

"...He was totally looking at you, no?? Oh please, he has more important things to do than look at me. You're so pretty..." I chuckle, remembering how Ada and I were at choir rehearsal, and some boy named Peter had captured our young hearts. I smiled at the memory, and for the first time in years I wonder how Ada is doing these days, perhaps I will track her down later.

Sifting through the box I come upon old crushes, childish dreams, souvenirs of fencing bouts, choir competitions... The list could go on and on. There were delicate seashells gathered and preserved with hope that maybe my hermit crabs, Mercury and Hermes would grow out of theirs and have new homes. Of course this was all prior to their deaths and before I held a "funeral" in their honor.

There were medals from singing competitions, competitions that I no longer took part in. My ballet slippers that used to make me feel like a princess, they were broken in and beaten, the only trophy I have for my twelve years of dance.

At last! There it is. Buried at the bottom, along with memories of years filled with anguish and pain. At the bottom, laid my once favorite white tanktop, my once favorite jean skirt, and my once favorite denim jacket. The sheer texture of the fabric upon my fingertips sent chills down my spine. Fighting back the lump on my throat that is threatening to make me cry, I calm myself. It's over, it's not happening anymore.

Digging in the pockets I found a note. Strange, it's in my hand writing but I don't recall having ever written it. Then again, there are lots of things I don't remember. Careful not to rip it, I open it carefully hearing the page crinkle in protest. Oh, I remember now...

".. I'm sorry I fuck up all the time. I wish somehow I knew what I was doing wrong, so that maybe you wouldn't be mad all the time. Yet I know we can't be together anymore, I'm just not sure why. I know there are reasons, maybe just more stuff I can't understand. You know how stupid I can be. This is my good bye. Thank you, for helping me see who I truely am..."

Oh no. It was a silly thing I did back in the days, I used to write good bye letters to ex-boyfriends when I would make the decision to move on. My heart broke to see that I had willingly called myself stupid. I had a lot of emotional and self-esteem issues. I hard starting dating too young. But there's no way to change that now.

Silly silently mourning, I turn it over to see who I had written this one more, and to my bitter disgust, Matt. That sick son of a... I feel red seeping into the edges of my thoughts adrenaline starts to kick in and I can feel my heart start to beat faster. Instead of crying this time, I do the exact opposite. My anguish rises as I am once again filled with the memory of being called a slut, being used, ashamed, and I scream

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FOR NEVER BEING ABLE TO LET ME FUCKING BE AT PEACE YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!" without thinking I rip the entire note to little tiny peices and throw it in a plastic shopping bag. I pick up the tank top, the jacket, and the skirt and throw those in too.

I grab the whole thing on the way out my bedroom door and storm out the door. The cold weather hit my face like shards of ice, instantly and painfulling numbing my skin. My anger stayed intact and warmed my insides. Grabbing the metal trashcan by the door I open the shopping bag and throw its contents intside. I grab a few sheets of newspaper from the recycling and dig in my pocket for a lighter that I know is there.

click.
click.
FOOSH! The newspaper catches fire. My eyes remain fixed on it until i realize I'm about to burn my own fingers and I drop it in. Everything else feeds the flames and my heart rejoices.
If you loved me you would do it. BURN
I will always love you. BURN
You're fat and stupid. BURN
No one will ever be able to love you. BURN

I stayed out in the cold until the last flame extinguished itself. I stayed out until I felt the last flames within my heart extinguish itself. At last, when everything was done and over with, I straighten myself up and I smile. For the first time in god knows how long, my shoulders don't feel so heavy. As I'm walking up the stairs back to the entrance to my house, my cell phone rings and Incubus blares through my speaker

"...How do you do it, make me feel like I do? How do you do it, it's better then I ever knew..." I smile and hit 'yes'. I already know who it is.
"Baby? You're so incredible..." I hear him say. I smile inside, and feel a rush of absolute warmth and adoration.

"Really?" I answer, my eyes welling up.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me" my heart soars, uninhibited by past scars. And I forgive myself, for the first time in almost 7 years.

My birthday will be next Sunday, I think my 20th year will be the best one yet. I think my 20th year, is the start of the rest of forever.