Flashes

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They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die.  You relive your first birthday all covered in blue frosting that your mother regretted buying in the blue dress that your mother adored.  You pronounced your first word:  a crude form of “mama.”  But she still smiled because you did it.  She had been worried that you’d never talk, because you’ve always been such a quiet baby.  As you grew older, it became quite clear that you were done holding your tongue.  Your first friend in kindergarten talked almost as much as you did, although you found it annoying when she would hum during nap time.  You nearly punched her one time, but it was okay because she punched you back and you both cried your way out of trouble.  You were inseparable for the next three years.  Ten teeth, six fights, and one broken arm later and you were still the two closest people your dad had ever seen.  He joked, “I thought I only had one daughter, not two,” and you both laughed at the same time like you knew he was going to say that on that particular October afternoon.  

Your mother was ironing the dress for your first middle school dance and even though you didn’t have a date (which was standard back then:  boys still had cooties), you were still excited.  Two days later you wished you never went, having lost six hours of your time doing nothing but sitting awkwardly in the stands in your too starched blue dress.  A year went by and you went to the same dance with an actual, honest-to-god date.  He didn’t make it any better, begging you several times to just make out by the water fountains.  You don’t even remember why you went with him; maybe it was because your best friend had a date and she set you up so you wouldn’t be a third wheel.  You dumped the guy and sat outside the smelly gym for a half hour while you waited for your mom.  You didn’t even attempt to go to the dance the third and last year of middle school; you knew better.  You and your best friend did, however, sneak into a high school party and learned several new things.  You found out what Mary Jane was and to knock on doors that were closed.  Bathrooms needed to have a guard standing outside to keep out the creeps and that glasses that looked like they were filled with water weren’t actually filled with water.  

Your high school years were rougher.  The large group of kids you had been friends with since elementary school were slowly being picked off.  While other students were accepted to all the best universities, you just managed to get into the local college.  You became so stressed you thought you were close to murdering someone, but you persevered.  You made it out without hurting anyone, which was an accomplishment on its own.  You weren’t proud of the people you let do you over, but it was over and you let it go as college rolled in.  

Your first college party was better than any of the high school ones.  You met your future husband there, too drunk to say your name properly but cute all the same.  He manages to slip a drink into your hand and you became too drunk to remember the rest of the night.  Your roommate, who was tragically allergic to alcohol, told you that he had taken you back to the dorm, put you to bed, and left without a word.  The next day you learned that he’s in your history class, fatefully sitting next to the only empty seat in the room.  He asked for your number and you gave it to him, and that sparked three and a half years of dating.  You were married just weeks before you both officially graduated with a bachelor’s degree and your wedding was days afterwards with all your college buddies in attendance.  

You stayed in the honeymoon phase for five years up until your first child came along.  He was a handful, just like his dad in every aspect.  He cried and screamed and yelled till he was red in the face.  You went on to have two more, a girl and another boy.  These two were more like you, taking after your dark skin and curly hair.  They got his light eyes and a fair mix in the arrangement of their facial structure.  

You last child was six years old when your husband started acting up.  He was losing his mind, your mother told you.  He’d go off for days, then come back with several new tattoos and a bag full of clothes that weren’t his.  It was when he first laid his hand on you that you left him.  You knew if he did it then, he’d continue to do it.  You kicked him out, sending who-knows-where doing who-knows-what.  It was hard for you, but it was time.  

Funnily enough, you met your second husband while waiting in line to file the divorce papers.  He was standing behind the desk with a crisp dark gray suit on, sorting through papers.  He looked at you, smiled, and winked, and that was it.  He’d won you over.  Maybe, just maybe, it was his good looks and expensive suit that attracted you to him in the first place, but as you got to know him he turned out to be a really great guy.  He was into all of the same things you were and got along just fine with the kids.  You were married soon after.  He helped raise the kids and then they were grown.  It was all so quick them growing up.  

He retired, and it wasn’t long before you two were travelling the world, going on expensive trips you just don’t go on with kids.  He spoiled you to the ends of the Earth (literally) and you did things you’ve never even heard of before.  You ate snake in Europe and froze in the Arctic and walked around Indie with one of those head dresses wrapped around your head.  You learned a little French, Portuguese, and Russian, too.  Your husband just liked watching your eyes light up as you did something new, something you couldn’t afford to do just a few decades ago.  You got back to the States in time for your only daughter to get married to a beautiful young lady who’s name you keep forgetting.  Your boys were still living the bachelor’s life, and you were worried they’d never find anyone.  

It was when you fell sick that you learned they were both dating someone.  You were propped on pillows and a handful of pain relievers, feeling terribly nostalgic in the room full of your entire life.  Your children grasped onto your hand with fear in their eyes and your husband was standing in the back of the room trying to pretend he had it together for the kids.  The doctor looked guilty as he continued to scribble on his clipboard, because there was nothing he could do to save you.  

You looked everyone in the eye individually.  You realized in that moment that the old saying Your life flashes before your eyes when you die is true.  It’s called life.