I remember / je me souviens
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For those limbic bursts of nostalgia, invented by Proust, miniaturized by Nicholson Baker, and freeze-dried by Joe Brainard in his I remember and by Georges Perec in his Je me souviens.

But there are no fractions, the world is an integer
Like us, and like us it can neither stand wholly apart nor disappear.
When one is young it seems like a very strange and safe place,
But now that I have changed it feels merely odd, cold
And full of interest.
          --John Ashbery, "A Wave"

Sometimes I sense that to put real confidence in my memory I have to get to the end of all rememberings. That seems to say that I forego remembering. And now that strikes me as an accurate description of what it is to have confidence in one's memory.
          --Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason


Wednesday, April 18, 2007
I remember coming inside one summer afternoon to find a dead bee resting in a patch of sunlight on the carpet. I had just recently learned, from a warning from my babysitter Ramonita (Nita), that bees could sting. This warning, however, referred to living bees, the ones that drifted lazily in and out of the shadow of our porch, and this bee was a dead bee, which meant that it could not sting, because being dead meant that you could no longer do anything. I squatted over the dead bee for a little while, contemplating this, and to prove it to myself, bent one knee forward and knelt all my weight onto the bee. I realized instantly that the pain that followed was a sting, and began to cry, not because of any inordinate amount of pain, but because of the shock in finding the equation I had just worked out to be wrong. Nita rushed into the room, saw the dead bee on the carpet and took me upstairs to the bathroom where she grazed my skin with her long, pink fingernails searching for the stinger, which was not left inside, then cleaned the pink patch of skin with a wad of toilet paper soaked in rubbing alcohol. She spoke very soothingly to me and I knew that she thought the bee had stung me before it died. I was scared to ask her about what actually happened, because it seemed to me that I should have known dead bees could sting and she would be mad at me for getting stung on purpose.


posted by Caitlin 11:43 PM
. . .
0 comments
Comments:

Post a Comment





. . .