i remember when it was nearing thanksgiving. i hadnt gone home yet. i was so antsy. this place was suffocating me, i could feel it in my legs, my lungs, my chest. i needed to go home. 

i remember when i first walked in. there were so many. how do they fit? i wondered if they missed their home like i did.

i remember the ravioli mom used to make. the big kind. the big ravioli drenched in bold red marinara, sprinkled with parmesan like snow. i used to gobble it up in short minutes. so fast that it always stained my face. 

i remember when we ran out of ravioli. when the ravioli turned into beans, mush, mud. i felt so bad for the people who didnt get a chance to have the ravioli because the others seemed pretty satisfied, the red sauce getting caught in their tangle of a white beard. but they ate on anyway, only some complained.

i remember falling asleep on the couch in front of the tv. big leather brown cushions with one shaggy black and white dog at my feet and one plump black one at my head. peace. 

i remember the rows. rows and rows of hard wooden benches, like pews, facing the large flat-screen tv. squeezed in like sardines. it looked anything but comfortable, let alone peaceful.

i remember my memories. i remember growing up, moving, making friends, going to college. one time i flipped over our little yellow race car at my granparents old house and had to get seven stitches.

one man remembered walking across the US in a peace walk. did it really happen? i wonder if they had vivid memories of their childhood like i did.