I have no idea, no notion at all about how memory works. Why one memory stays and another one goes. A committee might vote monthly, for all that I know. All in favor, all opposed; nays win, memory goes.
But I know one day we were in the front yard. There were dandelions everywhere, I was seven or eight. And you were working on that Schwinn bike I had. The chain needed oil. Just a few drops, you said.
You were looking around. I need something small, and pliant, you said, and I picked a dandelion and held it up high. I tugged at your shirt. What about a dandelion stem, I said. I remember you smiled. You said it was perfect.
And I was happy. And you were happy. And thousands of days have passed by since then. And I don’t know why memories lose or they win. But I know I’m still holding that dandelion stem.