Memories

Do you have memories that just sneak up on you sometimes? 
The ones that pop up when you least expect it and smack you in the face? 

That's what happened to me this weekend.  I was laying on the couch taking a little nap.  Not entirely sleeping, just relaxing...in that little place between awake and asleep.  It was a combination of a dream and a memory then I guess.  But suddenly I was brought back to last year when I was involved with this man.  It was a very casual situation, but he meant more to me than I did to him and it was very brief.

Nevertheless, this is the situation that decided to smack me in the face on Saturday. 
Reminding me of the last time I kissed a man. 
It's longer than I would like to admit..lets not talk about it.
Funny how you never know it'll be your last kiss with a person until after your last kiss.
Is it weird that I can remember it to the exact day?
I'm not pining after this man, but that night, that memory, it's there whether I like it or not.   
It's just one of those memories that leaves you shaking your head, remembering what was and what could have been. 

But now I would like to leave behind the memories of men and relationships. 

I'd like to tell you about a more light hearted memory. 
One when I was twelve, living in California, and playing little league softball.

That was a great time in my life.  I'm not sure how I even got involved with softball, but I played for three years.  It made for some good summers and resulted in my only broken bone to date.  It was my thumb, not much to brag about, I know.   

Now I was not a great player, not by any means.  But I enjoyed it.  My favorite position was second base, although I usually played in the outfield.  In little league that's where they put the not so good players.  So I usually played right or left field, until one day at practice. 

This day our coaches let us play in other positions.  It was more for fun I think, not because they were actually trying us out in new positions.  Anyways, I ended up on the pitcher's mound.  I couldn't throw very hard, but I had good aim.  I could throw a strike across the plate well enough that I caught the coach's eye. 

It was such a good feeling to find this new talent.  I was more than just the crummy player you stuck in the outfield. 

I remember the first game they ever let me pitch.  We were losing pretty bad by the time they moved me to the pitcher's position.  Guess they figured I couldn't make things any worse. 

Well, first inning I pitched I struck a player out, one grounded out, and the last girl popped the ball up over my head. 
I jumped and threw my arm over my head, just barely managing to snag the ball in my glove. 

Out number three.

My team lost that day, but my little twelve year old self was a rock star. 

Isn't it strange which memories stick with us?  The minute details we remember about events, people, or places from years ago?  There are some memories I would be happy if I could never think about them again.  Others I wouldn't trade for the world. 

But I guess all in all, the good and the bad, they make us who we are.