Refreshing Recollections

Upon presenting a witness with a question that receives the response, "I don't remember," an attorney can attempt to refresh the witness' recollection. This can be done in many different ways. The most common - a photograph. If I were that witness, a photo would not necessarily aid in creating a picture in my mind the same way a couple less conventional methods would.

Part I: Smells

The Combination of Coffee and Toast: It is 1982. I am six years old. I just finished a hard day of first grade. I was teased a little by my crush (who would remain my crush, even though we dated off and on from 6th grade, until we both started dating those we married) when I showed up sporting my new very short hair cut, which I did not succumb to until after a long, drawn out crying/yelling match with my mother - me, crying, and mom, yelling - about how I could not have long hair if I was not willing to take care of it, i.e., wash it. R.G. wet his pants and had to wear the rug from the playhouse around school the rest of the day, which meant his day was much worse than mine. Then, after recess and telling time on the owl clock, I walked the two and a half blocks to my grandparents house, as I did everyday after school in the first grade. Upon arrival, my grandmother would set up a TV tray and serve me coffee and toast. It was perfect - until my sisters arrived. Yes, my grandmother is probably responsible for stunting my growth, but it was worth it!

Cigars: It is 1986. My grandfather and grandmother are at our house for dinner. Who knows what we ate. Probably some sort of casserole or something with mushroom soup served on top. After dinner, everyone goes into the basement. Sodas for my sisters and me. Beer for my parents and grandparents, and a cigar for my grandfather. The record player goes through Fats Domino, Del Shannon and Buddy Holly. At one point my grandfather stands up, one hand out to my grandmother. She accepts. And they dance, and dance, and dance. I love the smell of cigars.

Sunscreen: It is the summer of 1991, 1992, 1993, and 1994. I spend all of my waking hours at the swimming pool. I arrive at 7 a.m. to supervise lap swim. At 8 a.m. swimming lessons start. A lunch break occurs daily from 12 to 1 p.m. From 1 p.m. to 9 p.m. I model a bright red swimming suit - I own three of the same and seven others - with a white life guard cross on the front. I blow my whistle telling children to "stop that," "no running," and "no splashing." At 9 p.m. we shut the pool down and it is time for the lifeguards to play. We hold races and diving contests. But mostly, we are all friends, just enjoying summer evenings. I still cannot put on sunscreen without being taken back to the way the hard concrete felt on my bare feet, the way the ice cold water hit my skin the first thing in the morning and those summer - those summer nights . . .

Calvin Klein: It is 1992. I am in love for the first time. A first love that will consume years of my time - off and on - until I meet Pete. Something is on the television in his parents basement - where I will spend much of my time - off and on. He leans in. That smell. It lingers in elevators. At check-out lines. When present, it overpowers the coffeehouse coffee. It still sends me reeling.

Tobacco Pipes: It is 1994. I am on spring break with my best friend S and her family. It is my first vacation without my family. I need to bring everyone a souvenir. I am very proud of the treasures I accumulate. Upon arriving home, I hand my father the pipe I bought for his tobacco. Now I know it was probably not for tobacco, but he was so pleased - even upon informing me he no longer smokes a pipe. I was so disappointed. I love that smell - the smell of my father. Like Old Spice, without the bad cologne. It was the first time I knew I missed that smell lingering in the air. Even now, when I go out on the boat with him, I wait for him to pull out the pipe and send the smell of those sweet spices into the air. He never does.

Sunflowers Perfume: It is early 1995. I live in the dorms with my roommate Shell. We both wear the same scent on a daily basis. I am pretty sure I wore it first. Our room smells of Sunflowers all the time. While the smell now makes me a little sick, it also floods me images of what went down in Shoemaker Hall. I should have stayed there longer than a year - I moved on to Ivy I.

Suave: It is 1996. I live in Ivy I with three other girls. "The boys" live down the hall. Doors are always open. We have our first keg party. The place is jammin' - until we are summoned to the hallway and asked "Do you have a permit for that keg?" Busted. Good thing we had three kegs and gave the officers the empty. Everyone clears out, with the special guests given instructions to come back in an hour. I wear the noise violation ticket pinned to my chest, like a medal. Pete is a friend of special guests. He comes back after bar close. We are close enough that I take in the smell of the locks I wish I had. Almost every night since then (until he cut his hair and started using my Aveda hair products - and with the exception of the one year hiatus )I fall asleep to the understated scent of Suave. (Good thing my mother does not read my posts).

Caramel: It is 1998. I am about to graduate from college. I spend as much time as I can with Sarah, when I am not spending time with Pete. It is sunny and warm on her mother's front porch. We sit. Content to do nothing. Drinking caramel tea Sarah brought back with her from France. When she goes back to France, she returns with a stash for me. A stash I have long gone through and cannot find in the U.S. But that smell . . . it still lingers in mugs no longer used for tea.

Tanquery: It is 2000. I am in law school. A new situation calls for a new drink of choice. Skipping out of Torts and spending the hour sipping gin and juice at Grandma's sounds like a fabulous decision. CS explains how she knows she is going to fail contracts. The rest of us tell her she is smart. KM describes the man she met at the bar when she went out by herself the other night. The rest of us ask why she went out by herself. CW leaves the table to telephone her boyfriend. The rest of us whisper she should not do that. I discuss updates on the situation with Pete. The rest nod in what I perceive to be understanding. Torts lets out and the rest of the class start to file in. We still sit in our same booth. Some days we have held that booth since lunch. Tanquery tastes like Christmas. I love Christmas.