Smelling What I'm Stepping In (And Seeing It Too)

On my way to work, a scent sailed across my sensory butterfly net. It put the "scent" in reminiscent. It smelled like some strange glue. I scanned my peripheral viewfinder and all I saw were fall leaves scuttling across the concrete. Instead of focusing on the scent itself, I relaxed my mind and let my thoughts chaperon me down it's worn winding staircase into the memory vault. The Morse code Corn Flake crunch of my steps through the naked trees' discarded garments were the combination to it's lock. A new scent entered my internal-nose, and a nostalgic post-it note flip-book began to animate, casting projection transparencies onto each block of the sidewalk.

I was transported to a Christmas scene at my Grandma's house in St. Louis, during the early '90s. My little brother and I were in our matching pajamas. I remember being so excited that I couldn't sleep the night before, and falling asleep next to my mom as I ate semi-sweet chocolate chips straight out of the bag. We even left milk & cookies out, for whichever parent would sneak in and play Santa for as long as it took to take a bite and a gulp late that night. The next block of the sidewalk flashed a frame of Nickelodeon "Gak", a gooey slime-like toy that us kids, for whatever reason, thought was fun. This stuff may have had the closest to what I could equate with the original scent which caused me to time-travel back nearly two decades.

Next, I saw Sonic the Hedgehog. Then a Revell polystyrene model of an old Star Trek spaceship. I saw my Grandma's shaking hands baking gingersnaps. I saw snow, and other houses on Winona Avenue packed so tightly together that you could reach into your neighbors kitchen to borrow a cup of sugar, back when the trees lining the street were still saplings. I saw my cousins, Josh and Casey, playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles video games. I could smell pies from a little pizza joint down the street, called Fio's, and see the steam rising from the square grids they'd been sliced into. I could feel the shaggy carpet tickling between my toes as I played with a remote control robot. Fresh squeezed orange juice. Rice Crispies. Hot chocolate, with marshmallows. Gift wrapping, everywhere. Walks to the 7-11 behind the house to play Street Fighter 2. Faberge Egg collections. Stained-glass windows. Ice skating rinks. A basement full of of old tools and surprises, with a distinct aroma of it's own, and an old calendar of scantily-clad mechanic girls. A fireplace, with stockings full of Christmas cheer. A magnifying glass that my dad taught me to concentrate sunlight through to create fire. An old desk, a metal stamp & paraffin to seal envelopes, a cool letter-opener, and funny shaped paperclips. "Strawberries", a delicious holiday snack my Grandma made, from a recipe that I still use to this very day. Then the sidewalk ended...

I'm thankful for all of those memories, and for being so meticulously and painstakingly designed that upon a breath's involuntary inhalation, a scent could kidnap me from my current place and time in order to take me somewhere sacred. It's good to dust the contents of our memory vaults, and discover fingerprints other than our own. I'm thankful for my Grandma, and the time I got to spend with her before she took her last breath, smelled her last scent, and was freed from the confines of her earthly body.

I wonder what it smelled like.