Written by my daughter in Honors English Class

By Kristen Stevens

As I stared, transfixed by the TV box, a smaller drawer caught my eye. I leaned nearer to read the title, but could find none. I stared in wonder, pondering if this box was really mine. Inside were hundreds of cards. My hand began to shake as I sat on the floor and began reading the cards. I was astonished at what the cards brought to mind. Had I really done that? Did I really say that? These things had happened years ago.

I must have spent days pouring over this one box. Some of these things I remembered. Others were barely saved from the brink of the chasm of forgetfulness. There was one certain card that I couldn’t recall at all. Try as I might, the memory would not come. Nowhere did I find it hidden away in the dark recesses of my mind. This bothered me a great deal.

I came to another card. This one I remember only too well. I closed my eyes and I am reliving this memory. It saddens me a little, but I would not trade it for the world. I pressed my back against the cool surface of the cabinets and just relived that day. I hear the sounds and the voices. I smell the breeze and taste the sharp aroma of the long forgotten time.

I have been in the room for weeks and still no end to the box. I have forgotten what the title was. The first card I couldn’t remember still fascinates me, even though it was followed by many more I couldn’t place. I flip back through the ever lengthening file. I take the card out and close the drawer. I carefully examined the front. A corner is barely visible under the dust. The title on the box is “Other People’s Impression of Me”. Now, I understand why many of the cards I came across, I couldn’t recall. Some of the cards were thoughts of people I have passed on the street. Others were of people I have just smiled at when it looked like they were having a rough day. Some are from children I have helped or people in cars to which I have waved. All of these people were affected by me and their impression of me has been recorded. They were secreted out of their minds and into my vast file.

All at once, I am back in my bed, wondering if it was all a dream. No, I still clutch that first card in my hand. From now on, I will be cautious of what I say and do to people. Call it a “wake-up call”, if you wish.