There was something unacceptable about them. The memories flickered neon red at the edges, warning of danger. A swirl of images spit and hissed steam beneath the lid: friends changing out of wet bathing suits after a pool party, the heart-shaped sweat mark on a girl’s back during gym class on an especially sweltering Central Florida afternoon, the sun tracing shiny golden tinsel into a woman’s plaited hair. Regardless, my hopes and fears sometimes erupted from the watched pot of my brain, boiling over to reveal truths I was desperate to hide.
Those scribblings were too unruly, I thought at the time, unwilling to let any of it live outside the privacy of my head.
