I have quite a good memory—not perfect but if it’s important most of the time I recall. However, the trick of memory is that I don’t know what I don’t remember, because I’ve forgotten it. And the other trick is, one cannot be always thinking about all one’s memories simultaneously, just as one cannot be reading all one’s books. Doesn’t mean we don’t need them, even if we don’t read/think about them very often. Even if a book or memory has fallen under the shelf and not be glimpsed in 30 years, it might still matter. That is not the same as being forgotten.
Today I was scrolling through a list of songs and I came across one called Truck Bed by Hardy that jogged a memory I truly hadn’t thought of in 30 years. I don’t think I’d forgotten it—it was all right there when I jostled the memory, it just hadn’t come up. I had another post nearly written but this feels interesting to write and that’s what this newsletter is for so I’m gonna write it for you and post that other one some other time.
One summer I was living up north for work and one night someone offered to drive me to a bar in town. These weren’t exactly my friends but it was a better offer than sitting alone on my cot and writing in my journal so I agreed. It turned out the “drive” meant riding in the back of a pickup—there wasn’t any room up front. As soon as the truck started moving it became uncomfortable to be essentially loose luggage on the metal slats of the truck bed. You could grasp the wheel wells but even that was really awkward. The road was curvy and hilly and for the first part of the drive, not paved.
The person in the back of the truck with me was a guy whose name I’m not confident I remember, and he told me it was a better ride lying down. So we lay down and he was right—it felt great to be lying there, the dark leaves and branches flying by against the sky filled with stars. You could feel the road swooping up and down with your whole body, but since you weren’t trying to keep your balance and the impact of the rocks and bumps was more spread out, it was nicer—more like being on a river. Sort of.
The guy was my roommate’s boyfriend, so it wasn’t like it was a romantic ride. They used to try to have sex when they thought the rest of us were asleep, and they mainly judged correctly but it’s difficult to bat a thousand on that sort of thing. Nevertheless, I was a teenager and I definitely thought it was interesting to be lying in the back of a truck right next to a guy as the road ribboned underneath us and the stars stayed right where they were. I was cold and we were close enough that I could feel he was warmer.
That’s it, that’s the memory. Not huge, but I’m sorry I lost it for so long and I’m glad it came back, and also, memory is weird and so is time. Even having forgotten it for so long, now that I remember, that doesn’t feel like 30 years ago in the slightest!
PS—The Hardy song isn’t bad but not my cup of tea—the quest to discover new music continues.
