Vestiges

When night's shadows slink in and I am lulled to that place between sleep and dreams, I feel I can reach out and touch the memories. They are close by, like strangers on motorbikes sidled up against the side of my vehicle. Suddenly, I am back in a place illuminated by light, the late-afternoon sun embracing me in a cocoon of warmth, shining on my bare arms as I sit at the corner of a tiny metal table on a little plastic chair. The lilting song of the Vietnamese language swims through my ears as all around me, the customers having lunch at Tung's aunt's noodle shop carry on a casual conversation of their simple plans for the day: visiting family, shopping for dinner ingredients, cooking a special meal out of the blue.

An old lady with a poofy white perm and diamonds in her ears leans in to talk to a young lady with a jade bracelet encircling her slender wrist, both of them wearing a simple, light, satiny outfit to keep cool in the humid heat. The ever-present smoky tinge in the air is mixed with the deep scent of broth from two huge vats simmering rich yellow liquid; onions browning in a pan of oil tease my taste buds and make my stomach rumble. A scent of sweet fruits warmed by the sun rides a soft breeze and wafts past my nostrils; I can taste the goods from the nearby market, a memory ingrained at the back of my throat. Distant motorbikes honk, coupled with the jingly tune of a delivery truck put in reverse. I reach my arms up to the blue sky in a stretch, my cotton spaghetti-strap tanktop moving easily with my body.

I blink, and I am alone, once again waiting at an intersection for the light to turn green. The neat, wide lanes are slicked with rain, the road reflecting the soft glow of the traffic lights above. I am wearing slacks and a long-sleeve, button-up shirt, the collar sitting stiff against my neck. I am once again a tech writer leaving work for the day, a young woman set on ambitions of furthering my career, climbing the corporate ladder, testing out new software, saving up to buy a house and start a family. The sense of responsibility once again weighs heavily on my mind, and the carefree euphoria of a simple life in a village or the freedom of riding waves in a salty sea dissipate like fog.

The light changes color, and I take my foot from the brake and ease on to the accelerator, blinking away vivid visions of warm days and warmer company. The heart remembers what it loves, retaining vestiges of memories long after they fade from the fickle mind. I steer the car down the last few blocks, going back to my house while thinking about my once-upon-a-time journey "home."