when the past comes creeping back

With the internet and easy acess to phone number and addresses, you can almost expect that at some point in your life, you'll hear from an ex-beau. The unexpected phone call or email. The anticipation of some kind of catch in the throat, or a nervous tic right near the eyebrow.
Yet, when the call comes, or the email arrives, there's less of a punch than expected. It's more like when you're scouting around the attic or cleaning out a closet and you stumble on a photo that you'd forgotten about, or when you leaf through an old book and a dried up, rose slips out onto the floor. It's less about what you missed and more about what you forgot you had.
Still the contact takes me back. It takes me back to a time, not a day and what I remember is not the man, not the love I wanted to be truer than it was or the connection stronger.
What I remember is how I young I was, how young Annalise was, how different we both are now. The man, while a dear, sweet soul, is just a part of the bigger story.
This is the best kept secret of being a young parent...when you grow up with your child, you can gauge your past on something besides your own history. You remember when that child started talking and walking and then talking back and riding her bike too fast and singing and bringing home notes from school saying what a neat person she is. You remember the time she stood up to the mean kid and how she gave you the special ring she made out of wire and how you wore it to work like you promised and people thought you had really bad taste but you knew they had no clue. You remember the school play, the report on Argentina and you remember making an Artic Fox out of newspaper and balloons and tissue paper. ( I kept it for years and one day it just kind of dissolved.)
So, the old beau calls and you think all these memories will converge on you and overwhelm you and instead you realize your past is so damn rich and full of stories, you can just smile and remember every one of them.