memory (17 october)

pictured: out a hotel's rooftop window. lörrach, de

it's 1990.
i'm somewhere in ireland. it's september.
i am 5. i am with my parents.

fastforward to 2009.
it's october.
i am 24. i am by myself.
and i've just spilled a staggering amount of sugar on the table here at cafe wilden mann in quaint little mountain-town Lörrach, wedged in some grey area between germany and switzerland.
maybe those thin black lines marking the borders of countries on maps, atlases, and globes the world round are real.
not just indicators. but real space.
buffers between states.
maybe someone can check for me.
try and find Lörrach on the map.
if you can't see it, perhaps it's because your view of it is obstructed by one of those very thin black lines.
where was i?

the sugar.
the ladies have stopped laughing at me now.
and i recall the powers of distraction memory possesses.
but what i am continually fascinated by is the power of smell as it pertains to time travel.
i poked my head out a hotel's rooftop window into the rainy Lörrach morning and, for an instant in time (or, i suppose, an instant completely separate from time), it was 1990.
it was ireland.
i was,
no
i still am,
5 years old.

yet this moment, this instant that exists independently of physical space-time, still acts on and can influence physical space-time, as the 24-year-old is momentarily taken away from the physical world by the 5-year-old inside and thousands of brilliant white sugar crystals fall short - and long - of the coffee cup and spread themselves across the surface of the table.

the unique smell that is produced when a fresh rain meets an old town's shingles set off a chain reaction that began in my nose, moved to my brain, and ended with plenty of wasted sugar and old-lady laughter as i sat and reminisced in cafe wilden mann two hours later.

hell, it's not even raining anymore.