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Memories Lost
by G. G. Goodson


The size five white buck shoes were new. The nineteen-inch waistline was cinched beyond breathing. Her long, black hair fluttered as the slender, 16-year-old college freshman walked three blocks to the university campus that first day. The September morning was crisp with the promise of shorter, cooler days.

Each day she listened to the rhythm of voices as she walked to and from the campus - ever mindful of the greetings from the porches on Fraternity Row.

The ensuing college years were circles to be repeated over and over with September variations and surprises to be absorbed in the whole. A red haired man, many years her senior watched her dance at the Student Center and she thought he never gave her a second look even though their paths often crossed.

Through the years the dancing shadows of time never lengthened over her September memories vessel and she frequently shared her treasures with her four daughters. All too soon they also walked their paths on the same university campus.

Another time, another place and in another September the evil winds of war rained death and terror from the skies in New York City, Washington, D.C. and Pennsylvania. No one will ever know how she fell to her knees and watched television in stunned disbelief as heroes rushed to the fallen. Rescuers worked feverishly on the front lines for an eternity and the world hung suspended. Oh, the horror of the dead and dying.

Day after day new September memories forced their way into her vessel. The murderous reality was too horrible to comprehend and she dreaded the new memories yet to come. Her life had changed in the blink of an eye. Today she stands united with those left behind in a promise to honor those lost in the September 11, 2001, tragedy.

With hope and determination she wears an American flag lapel pin, she sings, "God Bless America," she expands her charitable interests, she volunteers her services.

She honors military deployment. She is chilled at the prospect of weapons of mass destruction. She hungers for world peace. She is humbled by policemen, firemen and emergency personnel.

She turns twice to speak to a long forgotten friend. She flies infrequently. She watches a sunset as if it is her last. Her prayer list grows each day.

She draws her red haired husband close. She weaves imaginary trips with delightful imaginary characters for her family - trusting in God that she is exactly where she was meant to be.

She waits for what she knows will not
Return in her lifetime...
Those sweet September memories of
Her youth.

Her name is RiverDancer.


_________________________________


BIO: G. G. Goodson writes online using the penname “RiverDancer.” She says she has no credentials other than she is a retired Corporate Director of Human Resources. She works occasionally as a Surface Mine Safety consultant. RiverDancer and her husband have lived in the panhandle of Florida all their lives.

Write Gene Goodson at GOODSON E-mail .


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