I can't whistle

I used to have such an abundant capacity to feel. I can remember what it's like of course. Brief moments of color in a monochromatic hellscape. Chopin's Ballade in G minor, played on a stand up at the end of a pier in Monterey. The first crisp chill of autumn as it sweeps summer along in it's path. The smoky kiss of a lover as she reveals physically what she's afraid to emotionally.

All of these things are just traces now. Memories of memories long faded behind a thick wall of experience, time and thought.

But let me tell you about my journey. Maybe there's hope in that. Indulge me, if you would, dear one. I'll tell you about my childhood - if you could call it that. My climb through adolescence to reach the precipice of adulthood only to find it, wanting. We'll wind through this journey of madness and liberty and at the end? Hopefully one of us feels something.

It all started- no wait, I hate that.

Once upon a time- ugh, no.

"We'll be happy here." That's what my mom said. It's one of the first memories I have. Not just of my mom, but of anything. Ever. We'll be happy here. I didn't know what it was to be unhappy so I didn't know how things would be different.

'Here' was an apartment by train tracks. I have vivid memories of that train coming through and ruining all of my good 5 year old sleep. I think I was happy though. It was just my mother and I - that's what my world was. Movies, popcorn and a brown shag carpet.

As an adult I know now, that the apartment would be classified as a 'dump' but to me it was home. It was my palace, where I was a tiny prince and my mother some conglomeration of queen/caretaker.

The couch pulled out into a springy and uncomfortable bed. I think I loved that bed. My second memory is tied up with being afraid, a nightmare. My mother brought me into the pull out bed, and whispered into my ear that everything would be alright. The first lie I was ever told. The train was blaring, but my world was quiet.

Notable mentions before school started: Scraped my knee on the sidewalk, won a fish at a carnival that died. His name was Freddie. My mom started dating a guy named Dan. I wished at times he would've taken the route of Freddie.

School was a time. I didn't know how unprepared I was. So many kids - awful little things. I should know I was one of them. Our teacher was a saint for dealing with us hellions. Ms. Hay. A sweet old lady that we mistook for the grim reaper at the time.

"Put your backpacks against the wall and get to your desks." Such a demanding woman. It didn't take me long to learn the socio-political structure that existed. Dylan was the popular jock, Cade the other popular jock (if jocks existed in Kindergarten). Delila was the sweet heart and coincidentally my first crush. Cole was public enemy #1. He was 'dating' Delila.

I know what you're thinking, kids don't date in kindergarten. Well, they played house anyway. And in that house Cole and Delila were husband and wife. I was busying myself by figuring out what was in my nose with my finger - and deciding how high I could jump off of the swing set without making Ms. Hay upset.

If we flash forward through that year we can forego the inevitable rise and fall of the popular folk. I made my first real friend. Arty Catch. Swell guy, he'll be in this story for a minute. Things you should know about him: He likes comic books and doesn't know when to shut up. I got a Gameboy color for my birthday. Delila divorced Cole - thank god, and my mom and I moved in with the guy she'd been seeing. Things you should know about my mom's boyfriend Dan: He was balding and had a ponytail - I know - and I think he's the first person I really and truly hated.

The first year with him was fine. Isn't that the truth behind every horror story or heart break? Appearances lead us to believe that the first fifteen minutes of a scary movie is all there is. The sunny day. The bright summer home with lots of space, and land. We ignore the signs that say "Native burial ground" and the basement that has been boarded up. We know they're there, but as long as we don't go near them, we should be fine right?

Second grade. Delila and Cole were back together. Of course. Arty and I had taken to riding bikes to the park after school. The park had a much better playground than the school, and it was only a few minutes from Dan's apartment. My mother would do this thing where she would pretend to be out and about on her own business. I didn't know at the time that she was supervising. Didn't matter to us. Arty and I had a castle to defend against aliens.

It used to be that my mother would wear summer dresses with flowers on them. When I was in second grade she could only be seen in turtlenecks. A fashion trend I don't think we should forgive the 90s or Steve Jobs for. She also took to wearing a more than healthy amount of makeup. Another staple of early 90s fashion. I wish I would've thought more critically about those things.

One of my favorite memories is when, after school one day my mom was waiting for me. We walked along the sidewalk holding hands and stopped into a bookstore we both loved. Carnegie's, on the corner of Avalon and Briggs St.

We sat in that book store all day. She read to me all of the classics: Green Eggs and Ham, Where the Wild Things Are, The Giving Tree. Her voice was silk wrapping me up in a cocoon and I would emerge a new creature with wings of the knowledge that I was known, and loved.

"What's that from?" I asked pointing to a small bruise on her arm. She had rolled her sleeves up to just past the elbow, and had a scattering of small brown-yellow spots peppering her arms. I poked it because I could. She didn't wince at all.

"It's called paintball," another thing that had been becoming increasingly popular in the 90s. I don't know that I ever wanted to play it if that's what it did. She smiled. A warm, warm smile. If I could freeze any one moment in time I think it would be that one. A mother and child sitting at Carnegie's, in September.

It was probably my last moment of childhood naïvety before it was lost. Or rather, before it was stolen.