Posted by: canaryinacoalmine | March 17, 2005

Sharing a memory

He stood there on the plywood floor scanning the crowd, amused by the colors and pulsating enthusiasm of the crowd. He let the spectacle carry on a minute to long, knowing he would be reprimanded and called into the back office. The whistle blew, then the horn. Time to make his move, his palms sweat as he felt the flex of the gun in his hands searching for his target. Then, he found his victims. They were sitting together, distracted and disillusioned by their surroundings. The children were bouncing up and down staring starry eyed at the cotton candy trey. Mom was staring off in space planning her next hair style while Dad casually committed to memory the fetching brunette walking past them. He shifted his vehicle into gear and felt the electromotive force beneath him as he lunged toward his target. He closed in on them, gripped the gun, and pulled the trigger. He shot them. They were under a COB of silly string. He stood there with the perma grin on his mask emptying all the string in the gun. The children burst out laughing while Mom and Dad caught each others eyes. After the gun was emptied, he chuckled to himself then rode away. Dad took the string and wrapped it around his daughters head while she threw it on her little brother. Mom was busy watching the scene and committing it to memory while trying to clean her Brooks Brothers shirt. After the laughter and humor of the situation dyed down. Mom and Dad looked at each other stretching across the children and kissed.
I witnessed Clutch (Rockets mascot) create the scene last night at the Rockets Game (WE WON). I was a minimum of 50 ft. from the family and shared this memory with them. I have no doubt they will remember this for the rest of their lives. They have no idea, I shared it with them. I feel a little guilty for prying, almost like reading someone’s blog. But we put it out there for conversations sake. To share memories, to remember the pivotal times in our lives and the inconsequential ones.
I have a memory from a basketball game when I was just a kid attending a Harlem Globetrotters game. Curly picked me – ME – out of the crowd and twirled a basketball on my finger. I remember it, so do my mom and dad.

Happy St. Patricks Day!

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