10.21.2002 - 9:24 a.m.

Fall nights remind me of high school, of that magical time after play rehearsal or choir or the dance but before curfew. They remind me of following a caravan of cars to new places, because no one wants to carpool once they can drive, and of playing football in the muddy, stinging dark in the Coren�s back yard, slowly peeling layers as I got sweatier until I had piles of mud-caked coats and shirts to somehow bring home without completely trashing the inside of the car.

Fall nights remind me of driving with my best friend Laura, singing harmonies over and under the radio songs and complaining about the choir teacher or my crush or her dad, thinking that our friendship was surely one of those things that could never be altered or damaged or lost.

Fall nights remind me of how bright the stars can be, such a good excuse for a walk and a talk with a boy, for playing �questions� and warming each others� hands under our coats. They remind me of feeling the cold of a park bench burning against the backs of my thighs, so cold that my butt is still numb, my jeans still stiff, long after I�ve stood up. That never happens in college, where you have dorm rooms and rec rooms and townhouses, all heated and entirely free of parental supervision.

Fall nights remind me of the foggy insides of cars, of the shadowed parking-spot in the back corner of the library lot, of driving home with cheeks red from the wind, windows all the way down in an attempt to speed-defrost the windshield Got to get home by twelve. And driving with one hand freezing on the wheel, the other tucked into the warmth of my crotch, that clean feeling of someone else�s saliva in my mouth as my lips practiced the only lie I never once regretted: We just went to the movie, and then for a walk. Goodnight, Mom.

If I were to pick the happiest time of my life, I wouldn�t necessarily pick back then; it almost always seems harder where we are, and easier wherever we�ve been. If I think about it, I can also remember getting dumped for no reason, failing math tests, worrying about my friends and not sleeping enough and practically living on Tavist D and Sudafed for my junior year, and all those notes Scott and I passed during physics and English: �What�s wrong? �Absolutely everything but I think memories are meant to do more than just document, they are there to be arranged in combinations that mean something, that build on something, for instance a very specific type of fall night that felt a certain type of free.

-stonebridge

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