Tokens of pre-migraine nostalgia

Things Remembered: What is an item you have kept with you that reminds you of an important time in your life? Whether it was a good day, a stressful time, or a happy moment… why does this item remind you of that period of your life?

I have a small collection of Avon perfume bottles and pins with solid perfume. They are in terrible shape and have very little monetary value because they were all opened and well-loved by the little girl I used to be. A smart person would have tossed them or donated them years ago. Each time I clean out the storage room, I open up that little box and gently caress each battered item.

The mental time machine begins to whir…

A little girl of three or four hums a nameless tune. She flips her long blond hair as she spies the white jewelry box sitting on the edge of her dresser. Pulling a child-sized chair up to the dresser, she reaches for the box. Opening it, her soulful green eyes gaze at the twirling ballerina. It is poised on a small ledge in front of a tiny mirror glued to the fabric-lined lid. Her eyes inspect the little pins stored inside. Most have a locket-like latch. Hidden inside is a small disc of solid perfume. Once opened, she inhales the scent and presses a miniature finger against the perfume. She applies an overly-generous helping to the inside of both wrists and a dab on her throat, repeating the ritual with every pin, layering perfume until all have been sampled. She then turns her attention to the dancing Avon figurines filled with even more delightful scents.

She is carefree.

Spinning around, she daydreams of a brightly lit stage on which she twirls for a packed audience.

There is no fear…

• no apprehension at the first whiff of that offending perfume…
• no anxious awaiting for the mood swings, the yawning, and the twinkling lights no one else can see…
• no drumbeat throb pounding its way out of her head…
• no shaking, chilled-to-the-bone, drenching wet cold sweats…
• no color draining from her face in a death-like mask…
• no green-tinged complexion when her stomach finally lets loose its contents, spewing her lunch all over the floor…
• no horrified gasps from the other children or annoyed looks from a teacher who thought she wasn’t looking…
• no sweat-covered exhaustion that hangs on for hours after all the adults say she is “just fine”.

Her world is wide open with imaginative potential.

That little girl has no idea what nightmare is about to crash-land, wreaking havoc in her perfect little world. She doesn’t know its name or understand the many reasons she should tremble in fear. She cannot fathom the million ways in which it will ruin a thousand special occasions, or how well-meaning, uninformed adults will treat her like a fragile vase already kissed with countless hairline cracks.

But the day is soon coming when her perfect dream will end.

Until then, she will dance her perfume-filled ballet.