Well, on Saturday night, Ann Margaret and I went to a movie at the mall. I never went to malls with Pop. I don’t know if he ever went to a mall in his whole life. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t. As I turned into the parking lot, I saw the large lit spokes of the ferris wheel. There was a carnival in the parking lot adjacent to the mall. I joked with Ann Margaret that we should go see what’s up. We’re both reluctant to go to carnivals between the risks of riding the rides and the risks of being around carnies. As we were leaving the theater, I saw something that caught me off guard.

One of my most vivid and fondest memories of my childhood is of going to the West Texas Fair & Rodeo with my family. One of the highlights of the fair with Pop was when we would ride the Super Slide together. We always rode together, even when I was big enough to ride alone. If you don’t know what the Super Slide is, it’s essentially a giant plastic sine wave gone slightly awry. It’s a couple stories tall. When you’re four or five years old, it’s pretty intense. I remember us carrying our green faux grass rugs up the steps for the ten second ride. Seeing that damned slide across the parking lot was like a suckerpunch. I wasn’t prepared to deal with seeing it. I didn’t know there’d be a goddamned carnival.

I cherish the memory. Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But whenever I get undistracted, it smashes me for a while. I don’t just get the memory that reminds me of stuff. It completely disarms a huge number of my defenses. The last time I remember this happening was when I was sitting in the turning lane at South 14th and Sayles Blvd. in Abilene. I suddenly remembered the very last time I saw Pop before I saw him in a neck brace a cruel eleven days before he died. He smiled and waved on his way past us. That memory fucked me up for about a week. I’m not depressed like I was for so long after he died. I’m just missing him more than I usually allow myself to.