Balls Capone

of my people.

Isabella thankfully took more after her mom, she also had an olive complexion and flowing jet black hair down to the middle of her back. She looked at me and I noticed she had my eyes, but something more, something more powerful. She was young, but already playing instruments. She was excited to show me what she had been learning on her cello for her music class. Cello, huh? Nothing I would ever play, but that's fine. This isn't me, it's a different person totally. It made me proud and filled me with a feeling that I couldn't describe. It almost brings me to tears just writing this. It was a powerful moment, one I have never experienced in this life.

We lived in a nice area in a city I didn't recognize, it was around evening time in the summer months, beautiful large green trees lined both sides of the street, the sun casting shadow over the front porch of my house. The sidewalks were old and cracked in places, some lifted up in places by time or the roots of the trees. I could feel the memory of a thousand children on bicycles, roller skates, skateboards, and millions of footsteps upon that ancient concrete. I watched a living memory fade into existence in front of my house, as a young boy with training wheels on took his first bike ride with a proud father watching from behind, then it turned yellowish and the scene slid into the ground and vanished like a pop up video. The trees put off a very groovy vibe, as if to say, "Welcome home, Pat", as I walked up the small cement driveway beside my house. I could hear a lawnmower and the smell the scent of freshly cut grass.

The house was very nice, big front porch with a round table with chairs, a great place to sit and have a beer with friends. I could feel the memory of a thousand poker games here, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer, cigars, and wine. Inside, lots of hardwood, big living areas, and stained wooden staircases, very old school. I do like my houses well lived in, I can feel the history in those places. Suddenly comes the feelings of joy from 100 or more Christmas mornings, the smell from 100 Thanksgivings, the laughter of friends opening wine bottles and other festive libations in the kitchen, the sound of good times. The togetherness and love from the many families and people that came before. It's all here. You can almost see them in the feeling of the memory.

It was like I could see them in layers through time. I could see those people looking through the same windows that I was looking through, I could feel the presence of everyone who had bathed in the tub, not in a creepy way, mind you. But a feeling of being, of being in a moment that seems to transgress time. It's hard to explain, but I could see it all. I could lay may hand on the island in the middle of the kitchen and moments through time would appear like a fancy digital movie all around me. Weddings, parties, graduations, funerals, fights, first kisses, it was all there and I could scroll through them like a file cabinet. If you wanted to know how they put in the cupboards up during the remodel in the 60's, you could place your hand on them and up would come the memory filing cabinet, you could watch as they did the work.

But as you would expect, some of the memories were not pleasant, but lucky for me, they were also color coded to warn of disturbing or gross memories. Avoid the red shaded ones, unless you were really curious and able to handle such things. Careful in the bathroom, suddenly I see hundreds of sick children blowing their groceries, horny teenagers jackin' it, Dads throwing brown, and Moms day of diarrhea. Someone's Grandpa from ages past crossdressing in the attic, Whoa. Maybe a little too much memory sometimes, some things are better left unlived, if you will. But nothing is perfect, even though it seems to feel that way here.

I still drink too much, Isabell gives me constant shit for it and I'm doing okay. I could always be better though and I'm actively trying to be a better man. Olivia appreciates it, she lets me know often, and is such a kind soul, I wish I could find her counterpart in this universe/dimension. Isabella fills me with hope for the future, that not everything is completely dark and fucked and she reminds me of that every single day. Just the look in her eyes calmed the turmoil inside of me that spews forth like an oil gusher on a daily basis.

I smell cigarette smoke, I turn around and walk down the big wooden stairs and there they all are, my entire family, all of them, just standing there surrounding the stairs as if they are waiting for an address from their king. Even the dead are accounted for, they all look poised with anticipation, yet totally silent. What am I to say? I stumbled for my words and said something nonsensical and stupid and they all broke out into laughter, suddenly the pressure was off and I descended the stairs to join the group. My Grandpa, who I only knew when I was little was there, he patted me on the back and walked next to me as we walked into eternity with everyone else. It felt amazing, like being whole, no longer just a piece, but the whole picture of the puzzle finally solved. It felt like things are going to be okay in the long run and even if not, they're all here, all of them, all the time, and you are part of that whole. That's a nice feeling to have.

I don't know what it means, but it was beautiful, and I'm grateful for the glimpse.