Memory

It was an ordinary day in the lab, an unpleasant one, since I was In the Lab, and one of the hottest days of July the last days of July. I was sitting on a stool, mixturing some liquids in a small tube. In order to avoid any unforgivable mistake, I had blocked out every distraction, the chattering people, the music from the radio, the boss asking various information needed to be answered. Everything was but a blur, I was just counting every μl and memorizing each ingredient I've used, so that the steps would be imprinted in my memory, long enough to transcribe them to a piece of paper, at the end of the experiment, for future evaluation.
But memory works in mysterious ways. No one knows which memory, information, or whatever, is stored in the brain, patiently waiting for the moment that it will be retrieved. No one knows what is hidden deep into the labyrinth of myriads of synapses between an equal amount of neurons. How all that information is being organized, archived, does any kind of indexing exists, that will facilitate the immediate and specific extraction of long forgotten information? Or, rather, there is no organization, everything is in chaos, so that enormous amount of data could be stored in that gelatinous part of our bodies called brain.
I had blocked out everything, but just the smallest distraction could blow everything in the air. So, when a colleague of mine opened one of those advertising handkerchiefs used for cleaning up our hands after a meal, a soft ,but not so delicate, lemon aroma diffused into the lab. It was not the first time that I had smelled that aroma, as those handkerchiefs are common.
For some reason at that particular moment and within a relative small amount of time every function ceased, I blacked out and my brain filled with all the data that had been unlocked from that aroma. My mind was filled with images, smells, feelings, sounds, of a past time. Every sense was alive but inside my brain. It was as if for just a few seconds there was nothing else. As time was not and past and present was one.
In the center of this experience was the soft delicate lemon aroma derived from those big dark semi-transparent bottles filled with hand-made lemon aroma.
Sunday evening, probably during the winter, cause I was having finishing a hot bath. Wrapped in a big-towel following barefoot my mother, who is carrying into her arms my brother, to the sofa to dry us. My father watching the news. Since it is Sunday and the day after we have to go to school, we need to be shiny to wear fresh clothes, for the first day of the week. I am still attending the first classes of junior. While we are still covered with our towels (my brother covered with the towel he had inherited from me, the one with a small hood with some patching on it, making it look like an animal's head) steaming from the hot watter, she would probably trimming our nails, dry and brush our hair.
Then I know that she will stand up and headed for the kitchen and I will wait there patiently for that big bottle. She would open the cabinet door beneath the kitchen. There are always two big bottles, among other things in that cabinet, but I can never recall the aroma of the second bottle. It is as that second bottle was sealed, never meant to be opened. So, she returns to find us still waiting patiently. As soon as she removes the lid, she sealed the opening of the bottle with her palm and inverting it so that sufficient amount of cologne would soak her hand.
And as she removes her hand from the opening of the bottleneck, the lemon aroma is feeling my lungs and my senses...
and I exhale into the lab those memories from the past.