Memory Lane

Prologue

"Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Prologue

"I think tonight is a night that I don't want to forget."

The loud chatter all around us from the other patrons enjoying their dinners does little to drown out the sound of my dad's boisterous chuckle from my not-so-stunning statement. He always has a way of being the loudest one in the room and there have been times when that's gotten him into trouble, but mostly it's made the people around him join into conversation and share a laugh.

I'm lucky. Most moments with my parents create memories that I never want to let go of. That's why my statement isn't surprising to him or my mom; I always seem to want to remember everything.

The best memories I have are the moments where my dad is able to make friends with a complete stranger. Or the memories of my mom making a seemingly simple event into a life lesson with her cryptic words stolen from long-dead poets to make the moment seem deeper.

Tonight, however, will become one of my favorite memories. Earlier in the evening, I presented one of my own poems. Out of everyone presenting, I had the loudest and boldest voice. Out of all of the poems, mine held the most meaning when talking about the simplest moments.

The poem had to do with riding in a car. I spoke of my own love of riding in the passenger seat, that there was something about it that provided the ultimate spontaneity. It was the act of letting go, of giving someone else control, that I found thrilling. It may sound dumb, after all it's nothing more than the swap of seats in a car, but to me it was so much more. One could argue that being the driver meant the ultimate freedom with the ability to choose where you end up, but I didn't want to have to choose. I preferred the journey to be a mystery.

It's just a teen poetry contest that my town holds every January, but this was the first year that I had the confidence to enter, and my poem won. The winning poet is awarded the opportunity to publish their poetry in the local newspaper. It's a small contest of little meaning to those outside of our town in Vermont, but to me it means embodying a little piece of both of my parents.

They congratulated me by taking me out to dinner at the restaurant of my choosing. We had the same handful of restaurants that we circulated between in town, so I took the opportunity to go to a restaurant a little further away. About thirty minutes outside of town, there's a small road of iconic restaurants in southern Vermont and I've always wanted to go.

As dinner wraps up and my mother stuffs every morsel of leftovers into the Styrofoam container, upside down of course, I quickly run to the passenger side of our car to enjoy the scenic views on the drive home down Memory Lane. Ridiculously named, it's the only road to get to this street of restaurants. Another thing I love about riding in the passenger seat: it means enjoying the views during the ride. There's something to be said about romanticizing the small moments in life, such as a scenic drive. Sitting behind the wheel takes away from the magnificent views Vermont has to offer and I want to be able to soak up all of the beauty.

The frigid winter air nips at my face and I pull my jacket tighter around my body, dancing from foot to foot as I wait for my dad to unlock the car. Despite living in Vermont my whole life, I have never quite gotten used to the harsh winters. My nose always turns red from the frosty wind within seconds of stepping outside, and my skin becomes brittle if I don't keep lotion on hand at all times.

"Laura Laurier," my dad says as he walks across the fresh snow, his dark boots contrasting the pristine powder with a satisfying crunch under every step.