Skeletons

Been going through family photos, all the family photos, because my mom asked me to a year ago. They've been in the corner of the living room, behind the couch. A stupid coffee table. Now I'm moving, so I started scanning last week. I finished a couple days ago. So here. They're all digital so everyone can have them. But after staring at dozens of shots of the same baby in the same outfit and hundreds of now divorced newlyweds and many grainy shots of cars or strangers, I think I'd be good with a handful. And seeing one's whole life and one's family's whole life in snaps and snaps, back bent as I hunched over, something roared up inside of me. It claws. I shut the rubber tubs. I can't wait until they are gone.

Two weeks ago while I was visiting my dad I hunted for my old Gameboy. Found it under my twin bed, still working. I popped in the one game I never beat, Zelda (barely touched it, was too hard for ten year old me). I've been playing about an hour a day since. Usually after I run an errand or I am tired of talking to people. I have half the instruments for the Wind Fish. Today I got to the Catfish Dungeon and I couldn't for the life of me kill this jumping skeleton. I finally caved and read the cheat for it online. I needed to use bombs, not just my sword. Once I beat it, it ran away. I knew I'd meet it again, later, probably stronger and faster. Then I did, but it was the exact same. Just had to do it twice.

In my initial Nintendo search I was reminded of just how much stuff I had amassed at Dad's. Around 20 boxes in the basement. Some full of camp stuff, others Chicago debris, personal junk, clothes out of style, and, a few heaps of college stuff, last touched on my graduation day. Books on books about theatre. I had thought I'd keep them for when I got a bigger place with more shelf space, but I hope I never have more shelf space, not for what I can forget about for years. I sweat through my middle school basketball shirt and ripped my fading blue shorts on a tack. A van-load of very full, very big bins to Goodwill. I emptied them carefully into a cart while the employee upturned and dumped. There's something that hurts seeing it go. But it hurts to more, a dull distant ache, to know it was all there, under the front door, under the earth. Four left. Two of letters and photos. I need more than a day to sort those. And two of old t-shirts in case one day I want to make a quilt.