I guess I was a blend of naïve, arrogant, and a tad dumb. Can I say that last part? It should be okay when talking about oneself. I never thought my past sins would resurface like the embers of fishing munitions used to dynamite piranhas on a rough Caribbean waterway. As it turns out, I should’ve buried them deep within the earth instead of doing what I did.
What I did was rub them out, believing my problems would disappear immediately afterwards. I can say now, against the advice of counsel, just how wrong I was then. All these years later, I still remember that day. I was doodling on a post-it when my pen veered off the reservation and onto the tabletop, leaving a few thick blue squiggly lines embedded into the wood grain for eternity or the next housefire.
After a few hours huffing cleaning products, I found the bottle of Pledge I was looking for and went to work.
What I didn’t account for was that while the ink had long since vanished, the grooves caused by my steady Bic are still there for all to see. I’m told the marks will be gone soon, when the entire table is professionally refinished with a toxic veneer and heavy wax seal.
All those memories will go away, immortalized under a new hunk of material. What’s the fossil record if not a series of geologic smudges and imperfections? One thing early man definitely didn’t have was easy access to Pledge. Here's to a smoother, shinier future.
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