Anniversaries

It’s strange to have an anniversary I “celebrate” alone. The word anniversary usually brings to mind weddings and romance—events that at least two people celebrate together. Even sad anniversaries, such as the death of a loved one or, on a larger scale, the date of a war or catastrophe are shared between people. Anniversaries give us the chance to remember, to reflect, to celebrate our love or the life of someone gone. They give us one day a year when we’re supposed to stop and appreciate the past and the future.

And I can do those things on my own. I can remember. I can reflect on my growth over the past four years. I can appreciate where my future is heading.

But what if I don’t want to remember alone? What if I just don’t want to remember at all? I try to convince myself I have a choice in the matter. That if I don’t want to reflect then I don’t have to. That I can ignore the day and let it be like any other. But I can’t ignore it. My mind and my body remind me. It’s there. Sometimes the day sneaks up on me. Sometimes I forgot about it until I happen to glance at the calendar and the date jumps out at me. Other times, like this year, the anniversary walks alongside me for weeks. A glimpse of that night will flash in my mind; a memory of the first anniversary sneaks into in; a man standing too close to me causes my body to shake. And I remember.

I remember being so excited to go to a party, declaring I was finally going to be social and have fun.

I remember being happy to spend time with Kyle and Tiffany and to be around classmates.

I remember Tiffany giving me a cup for free because I didn’t have cash and she didn’t really care.

I remember starting to get tipsy and frolicking from person to person.

I remember flirting with Kevin and him flirting back.

I remember running into Joey and talking to him momentarily. I remember handing my cup to someone and drinking more.

I remember talking to Kip and being so happy to see him after so long.

I remember standing outside Tiffany’s house and the world being completely black. I remember asking someone to get my coat. Telling him that it was pink.

I remember sitting on a tile floor, vomiting into a recycling bin, and a hand rubbing my back. I remember being so confused as to where I was.

I remember being in a bed. I remember my clothes being gone. My bra next to my head.

I remember being unable to move. I remember being unable to speak. I remember wishing it would stop.

I remember him telling me he had a crush on me forever. I remember him putting his clothes on me and curling me into his arms.

I remember waking up. I remember trying to find my clothes. I remember trying to find my way back to my dorm. I remember telling my roommate we had sex. I remember sleeping through class.

I remember piecing together what happened.

I remember all that happened after.

I remember. And no matter what I try to do, I remember. Year after year. Day after day. I remember.