I took the ginger ale in my hands.

Even though inanimate objects are, well, inanimate, they become so special, not because they're "carrying memories" per say, but seeing or interacting in any way with that object makes your mind race to link one and one and a memory can make a can of ginger ale a physical manifestation of the memory. And the sentimental side of you blooms.

I remembered, I had had the cough for a while. But everyone did, and as long as I didn't have swine flu I was going to count my blessings. A mild cough isn't a reason to miss school, at least the final weeks of school. The teachers play movies and hand out sheets with questions about the movies, but they never get glanced at or handed in. I dismissed the cough.

The morning before the trip. I get sick. Dad gives me the ginger ale. I take it and forget about and five days later, I come back, my mind flushed and ranting while my body begs me for a nap.

A week later, I am craving gingerale. It sits in a bag on a shelf in my room, the bag being the attempt for a shield in case my soda decides to explode. Kind of like when one person thinks they can match something everyone else sees is clearly not going to be an even match.

I took the ginger ale can in my hands.

I can almost feel the pressure, as if the bubbles are in sync and have a system set up like a determined group of worker bees. I go to pop open the can, and in the fraction of a second where the pressure builds under the little metal tab, I imagine a majestic sticky fountain of carbonation and sugar showering over me in a comic show of my own beverage splattering me with rejection.

The bubbles fizz and I gulp down a few sips.

Gosh...I need to get a hobby or something. I just wrote out an entirely too long report of a meaningless encounter that took about three seconds tops. With precision and intent. Not to mention I changed "personages" like three times. You are...I am...She did...geez.

She took another couple sips, the bubbles leaving a mild prickly feeling where they slid down her throat. She wiped her mouth, and rolling her eyes at herself and wondering whether it was worth doing, pressed the orange button labeled "PUBLISH POST."