Blog Post No. 590
There is an intersection of an old highway and a concession road not too far from where I live. If you drive down the highway heading north-east, as you approach the intersection, there are a few houses a little farther apart than in a suburb. Next to one of them is an old cemetery and there are a fair number of trees on both sides as well as a creek. I used to pass the area often when I spent a year going to school in another city.
I preferred taking my time on the older county road to blasting down the newer multilane highway. It was fun to drive through small towns, imagining the lives of the people living there. There were things to see besides traffic, copses of trees, and the occasional farmer’s field.
Driving past those particular houses near that particular intersection gave me a strong sensation. It’s hard to explain, but it feels like a half-remembered story where I know the characters. I’ve always lost myself in stories. I find it really easy to imagine myself in the situation of the other characters. It’s how I eventually decided I wanted to write stories of my own.
That strangely particular and remarkably small section of the planet gets me close to the feeling, but it’s not exactly the same thing. Maybe at some point in my youth I lived through something I can’t reminder and those lonely houses trigger the lingering memory. Maybe it was a story I told myself when I couldn’t sleep at night? It’s all very odd.
The next closest I’ve gotten to that feeling was the times I was lucky enough to visit a friend in his family’s cottage up north. Those times were good on their own (I love a cottage vacation and the freedom to do nothing that comes with it) but some mix of being there at dusk and the fun we had gave me a similar spark.
It could have been the board or video games we played, or the videos we watched on the small tube tv, or even just sitting on the porch chatting. I have a little more difficulty separating that mystery feeling from my memories of the cabin because the fun times I had there are much stronger than the eerie sensation of driving by that intersection.
The feeling is vague enough that it doesn’t torment me, but every once in a while, something triggers it and I jump to those nearby sensations. I doubt I’ll ever know what’s at the root of the hidden memory. Maybe one day when I have enough time and money I’ll get a therapist and make it their problem to solve.
Ben Van Dongen 