I remember

• I remember the smell of summer air, heavy with the rain, noticed just in time to run for cover. Tennessee thunderstorms made me so high.

• I remember I would run outside without a shirt with my hairless adolescent chest soaking wet and puffed out as lightning and thuder crashed and flashed around me.

• I remember I felt like I was a god.

• I remember the summer storms of lust, lust so strong I would cum if I moved right/wrong.

• I remember doing so, often.

• I remember the sound of hounds barking in the distance, one of my neighbors treeing a racoon.

• I remember catfish from the Cumberland River.

• I remember my Mom saying "you want to eat that fish then skin it yourself."

• I remember how timeless it felt, no thought of any-time but it's own lost "now."

• I remember when I lost that feeling of timelessness, it was when I joined the service.

• I remember that it was after my last plea to be rescued by my parents from basic training.

• I remember I cried for about five minutes and stopped.

• I remember I went in to the PX bought a six pack of beer, drank it, and walked back to the barracks.

• I dont remember crying so freely ever since.

• I remember that I was more than human once, I was young, innocent, and immortal. I go back to that summer place by walking the streets my heart's intense city and when I get there I play for an hour or two.

The Old Hound

I remember Otho Williams and his ranch across the street.
I remember the old hound dog we had to kill because he had an incredibly bad case of mange.
I remember the gun, a twenty-two long rifle and how the bullets shined as Otho loaded it.
I remember the cattle on Otho's ranch and his story about his favorite pet bull that one day played just a little too rough with him and gored him through the chest, it caused him to have a lengthy stay in the hospital. He said he still loved that animal.
I remember the summer rains in Tennessee, the smell of wet dirt just before a drenching.
I remember it rained that day.
I remember looking and looking to find the hound so we could shoot him.
I remember the feel of the rifle in my hands, just a cold piece of steel.
I remember not thinking much about the dog or the fun we had together playing, him nipping at my arm and yipping in mock ferocity.
I remember another dog, our old English sheep dog named Jude.
I remember how he bit me one morning as I walked into the house.
I remember he wasn’t there when I came home from school that afternoon.
I remember Otho holding the hound and gently stroking him and quietly telling me to aim carefully.
I remember when the rifle chuffed the dog leapt up and started howling a terrible cry.
I remember an "Oh shit" and feeling like a monster.
I remember spending the next hour and a half trying to find and catch the dog. We followed his pained howling through the fields.
I remember finding the dog and Otho pulling the trigger to silence the old hound.
I don't remember where Otho told me to aim.
I don't remember any tears.
I don't remember the dog’s eyes or his tail wagging.
It is almost as if the old hound, because I had betrayed him, refused to inhabit my memory.
I will always remember that hound was an animal that trusted me.


This was from an exercise in a creative writing class in 1995/96 called appropriatly the "I remember exercise." I nearly cried when I read it aloud to the class.