Sunday Nostalgia – Baby Powder

Hopefully, this post will be the start of a weekly trend. I’m hoping to begin what will from now on be dubbed ‘Sunday Nostalgia’ because I don’t know about you, but Sunday is a time where I tend to feel down and out. It’s not that I feel depressed per se, but I just feel a bit lost. My thoughts swell, and I tend to be the laziest on this day.

Memories are closest to the surface on the Sunday’s that are overcast. On Sunday’s, I will share with you small snippets of my past that feel like home to me. This pieces could come in story form, a simple memory, or an explanation. My plan is that since around this time next year I might be moved far away from home I won’t feel quite as lost thanks to these posts. It will be a way to stick close to the heart without there actually being that minimal distance.

You’ll just have to bear with me if it’s utterly ridiculous.


The scent of baby powder always seemed to cloak the air of my parents bathroom. It was like a perfumed cloud that rained down in tiny fluff-flakes of happiness. The blanket of powder allowed me to draw shapes on every surface. Leaving smiles and notes for my parents to find.

A giggle would escape as I worked. The silken coat of dust would cling to my skin and leave residue on every part of me: from hair to clothing. It was always obvious I’d been in there, so I didn’t bother to hide it. It was never mentioned though; both my parents and I kept our lips sealed. Like a game, I often whispered to myself.

I would sneak in when they were occupied somewhere else in the house, and they would find them later in the day.

Sometimes I would wonder if they ever even uncovered my little gifts. But my mother would smile softly at me after exiting the bathroom before running her fingers through the white fluff that still clung to my hair, and I knew. Without anything ever being said, I knew.

To this day the sight of baby powder all over the bathroom doesn’t make me mad. I’m a notorious clean freak about many things, but when my roommate leaves that powder lingering on the counter and floor I can’t bring myself to clean it up. There will always be a place in my heart that warms at the sloppy spillage. I still draw pictures, and, even though my parents no longer see them, I still feel like it’s our little secret.

Maybe when I’m home next time I’ll sneak into the bathroom and leave them a little smile. Just to let them know the memory still stands strong.

A reminder of the past, without any words.

~J. Spade

 

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