Walking Down Losing-My-Memory Lane
I had a conversation with my parents about ancient Mexican civilizations recently. When learning about anything historical, I like to consult a map, so that I have a better idea of the types of weather these people were dealing with.
So I went to GoogleMaps, as my dad spoke of the Olmec, to see where the states of Tabasco and Veracruz were exactly. My dad then wanted to see where a certain pyramid (his favorite) was in relation to where the Olmec were. I showed him the satellite image of the pyramid (veritably, he was very impressed), and we could see all the foliage surrounding it, vast hunter-greenery from space. When my dad remembered that he had grown up not very far from this pyramid, he said, “I can show you where I lived!”
So we started rolling through his old neighborhood until we located his old home. We stared at the top of its head until I realized that, perhaps, we could see the street view (I don’t know the internet very well, like I pretended earlier).
We could, and there was his old house, stubborn and sturdy.
After several minutes of marveling at how little had changed, my dad asserted he knew exactly where my mom used to live. Taking over the computer mouse, he showed me the exact route he used to walk to visit her. At this, my mom walked in from the other room to say, “That is not true. He made me come to him. I had to walk that route.”
So we cruised to a better part of town and finally descended upon this:
At this, my dad became very excited. There was a woman on a balcony staring back at us!*
“That’s your mom, Eli!” He said to my mom.
“I don’t think that’s where I lived…”
“THAT’S your MAMÁ, Eli,” he insisted.
“Mom, you don’t remember your house?” I asked.
She frowned at the computer, and leaned in to inspect. “I don’t think that’s my house.”
“Well, maybe that’s your neighbor,” my dad said. “Yes. That’s Rosa Varella. Te acuerdas de Rosa Varella?”
“So, where did you actually live, Mom?”
I walked the mouse down the street. We walked up and down the street several times, until my dad decided it was this one at last:
It was the only other house that had a balcony-like feature. I was kind of sad this house didn’t come with its own blurred-face person.
“Yeah,” my mom murmured, eventually. “Yeah, those two bushes. I guess they’re still there.”**
*(It looked like!).
**Apparently, Rosa Varella too.
