Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Some people wear scents. Some wear them as a shield, a warning of their approach, a lesson to take notice of them sooner. This is not a scense of their self, this is a cloak, a covering. They don't want you to know who they are, they want you to think of them in this particular way ; musky, fruity, clean, freshly picked from a garden or manlier than any other man. My mother wore a scent all through out my youth. It wasn't garish or over powerful, it was how she smelled. I have associated her with that fragrance nearly my whole life. She could take a shower, be clean from soap and still have it under her skin. I would lie on her chest while she talked on the phone, then taking her scent with me. It was in her hair, her closet, her purse and the car. It became part of her makeup. I could lie in bed and be nearly asleep only to wake up by her smell as she passed by in the hall. When I was 10 years old, she was taken hostage in a bank robbery. While I was waiting for her to be released from the vault, I was waiting for her with my hands pressed up against the glass door of the neighboring drugstore, my eyes shut. I wasn't looking for her, I was smelling for her. My memory is in my nose.