Treading Water

I thought I would be able to handle growing old because my memories of childhood would always be there, and every detail could be recalled to take me back to the exact moment. But all of that was a lie; it was a hell of a long time ago, and the details grow fuzzy until they eventually disappear. I wonder if science will find a way to help me replay the exact events, along with the sounds and smells. I have faith that every detail is filed away somewhere deep in my brain, and that those buried events determine how I behave (or misbehave) today. If I could only tap into it. If I could only break free of my ignorance, ignore the distraction of my surroundings so that I could sharpen these sentiments of the past, skipping school, stumbling drunk down suburban streets on my first few cans of beer, hot humid days on the lake, treading water around the raft where my friend’s sister floated, golden, languid, unreachable. What did she say? Did I hold her hand when we climbed out of the water? Or is she still floating out on the raft somewhere in my brain, and I am treading water in endless circles around her?