unrelenting smiles and bubble gum

i remember when i was small with pale hair, the way i had tried to dye it with blueberries once. i liked hiding myself. even when i was young. forts were not just blanket covered caves, they were my protection from everything outside.

my life was not bad, it is not bad even now. my childhood was filled with trips to sea world, the park, spending ten dollars at the ice cream truck. i was carefree and sometimes thought nothing could hurt me. my sister was my best friend. she was always someone i protected.

once, at a playground, some kid hit her with a rock or something equally as dangerous. and me, seven year old me that weighed about as much as a bumble bee, hit this huge kid in the throat. i couldn't reach his face. i think from that moment on it was an unspoken rule that if anyone ever tried to hurt her i would be there.

i don't remember much of my mother when i was young. she was something of a ghost. i knew about her, i saw pictures of her, but she was always gone. my father told us that she was sick and left it at that. i wonder sometimes if she was like me. if maybe my dad cared a little more, would she be okay? maybe it was not her 'sickness' that killed her but a broken heart instead.

i remember my dad marrying my step mom. i remember accepting her as my mother even when i was small. she made me tuna sandwiches and read me 'the giving tree' even when i would scream at her, telling her she was terrible. my mom (my step mom. i will call her my mom throughout this though because even though she technically isn't, she still really is) had always been sick. when i was small, between the trips to adventure parks and disneyland, i can remember watching her inject herself with needles that flooded her veins with poison. i guess it's kind of like chemo. it makes you sicker than anyone can imagine. i've been thinking about everything a lot.

about my mom and the silly, weird, perfect memories we've had. she is getting sicker and i'm afraid if i don't write some of this down that i will forget it. that i will forget her? i was talking to my sister last night and she was reading this journal that i keep next to my bed. she asked why i wrote about my childhood, about my memories. and i simply said,

'i want to remember the breath taking moments for when the bad times come around again.'

-james.