Sense Memory

Sense Memory is the use of the senses to re-create people, places, smells, tastes, songs, physical conditions, etc., in order to get in touch with a character's reality. For example, if what my character needs in a scene/play is to be loved by the other character, but on that day I am not naturally in touch with that need, I might sensorially create a person from my life that evokes in me the need to be loved. I would then go on stage with that need awakened in me, and hopefully the scene would work- meaning, it would be real. By these standards, a scene works and is real when the need in the actor is as real as the need in the character. It is one of the main tools of Method Acting, used for decades upon decades in the training of actors. The reason this works is because the brain can not differentiate between the experience and the memory of the experience. I studied at The Actors Studio, where Method Acting got its name, so even if I don't always use it, the technique lives in my body. If your heart is open, it only takes about three seconds for a memory to burst out and take over your whole being. Here are some memorable experiences in my life that I often re-create with the use of sense memory, or that have been enhanced because of my training in sense memory.

Smell:

I walk past a store that is being thoroughly cleaned, and there is a strong smell of chlorine. Immediately, I am transported back to my eleven years as a swimmer. The specificity is such that I can feel my wet bathing suit on my body and the blue slippery tiles beneath my feet. The smell of chlorine in my hair during those years was practically permanent, and my skin was always really dry. Competing was always agonizing for me. I only won a gold medal once. And the day I did, I remember feeling outside my body, like someone else was moving through me, because I couldn't possibly have been going so fast. I breathed only once, and when I got out of the pool I was shaking. I heard my name in the loudspeaker, "Larissa Dzegar- Gold Medal!" and I heard my whole family scream from the bleachers. They put me on those steps- it was the first time I ever stood on the tallest step in the middle, and I had to bend down so they could put the medal around my neck. When they were done recognizing us, I got off the step, knelt by the pool, dipped my medal in the water, and kissed the floor, inhaling a big strong whiff of chlorine and whispering, "Whoever you are, God, I know you exist."

Sight:

I'm walking around and someone walks past me who looks just like Him. The one who took my heart before I knew how to protect it. The one I don't think about anymore and don't look up on facebook for fear of his status saying, "Married". The one who taught me about love and then taught me even more about heartbreak. The one by which all others are compared. Him. I do a double-take, realize it's not him, but I am paralyzed on the sidewalk with grumpy new yorkers telling me to "move out of the fucking way", and all I can hear are my thoughts- the ones I didn't think I'd have anymore- Where did you go, my darling boy? Where did life take you? Where did that time of innocence and sweet love go? Do those teenagers kissing under the stars still exist in us? Did your heart grow colder, like mine, or are you still the boy who told me he was falling in love with me every day? How many other women have you loved? Am I, too, the one by which all others are compared? Does my memory creep up on you too, and take you back to a time when all we knew was the purity of our young love? When we thought we could be together forever? Does your heart still break a little, like mine, when the memory of me creeps up on you? Does that boy still belong to me, like he told me he would, no matter where life took us?

Eventually, the thoughts stop, I do move, and somehow my body just knows to walk to the ATM and get money because I'm going to need two things immediately: something fattening, and something overpriced.

Sound:

It's someone's birthday and I'm at a dance party. It's hot and sweaty and fun. And then someone decides it'll be funny to put on really cheesy 90's music. Lo and behold, "Everybody" by The Backstreet Boys goes on. Flashback to 7th grade. My friend Duna calls me one night and says, "Hey, I'm doing a dance for the Talent Show with Manu and Steph and Tiff. Wanna join us?" I say yes. I don't really know Manu or Tiff that well, and I'm not even that close to Duna, but I love the spotlight, and being in a talent show is exactly the kind of thing I am known to sign up for. Plus, I don't have that many friends. This could be good for my social life. We rehearse over a hundred hours. We buy matching outfits. We diet. We want to be hot for the show. We contemplate being bulimic for a while. We discard that idea. The day of the show comes. We are nervous as hell. This could be awesome, or it could be the end of our social lives. We go up with our kick-ass dance for "Everybody", and it's the most fun I've ever had in my life. Not only does the audience love us (and hey- a middle school audience is not easy to win over) but the five of us become best friends, referring to ourselves as the "BSG's" and creating a bond that helps all of us survive those brutal years of adolescence.

Taste:

It's my first semester in college and I am not so happy. Sometimes, I'm downright depressed. I'm 18 and an ocean away from my home. It's cold. I have to write papers on things I don't really understand. I am struggling to get cast in plays. I do not have a boyfriend and there are hardly any boys at Sarah Lawrence. The only boy I kind of liked is now dating my suite-mate, who is blonde and really skinny, which just makes me feel like shit. I smoke pot occasionally and it just makes things worse. I keep a bottle of tequila next to my bed. Things are just. not. good. But I have a friend. A dear, sweet, lovely friend. Maria. And she notices that something is not well with me. And one day (actually, she does it many times, but I remember the first time especially), she brings me chocolate milk. It's my favorite thing in the world. And when someone brings it to me, I am reminded of my mother, picking my brother and I up from school, bringing us a snack of chocolate milk and "bisnaguinhas". I feel loved and cared for. I feel less alone. The taste is so comforting, I drink the whole thing in one gulp. I hug my Maria. She becomes my friend for life, and the taste of chocolate milk makes itself my go-to comfort beverage forever.

Touch:

My paternal Grandmother, also called Maria, or Baba to me, died when I was 7. She was my idol and the most beautiful woman in the world. She let me put make-up on her and would always tell me I made her look more beautiful, even when I had just put lipstick on her eyebrows. She called me "Larinshka". I am named Larissa, in fact, because that was supposed to be her name, but her mother had such a difficult birth that she prayed to the virgin Mary for her child to be okay- and when my grandmother came out okay, she was named Maria in a gesture of gratitude. I loved her so dearly, and was always so sad that I got to spend such little time with her. When I graduate from college, my aunt flies in from L.A. and celebrates the occasion with me. She gives me a box. I open it carefully- it looks precious- and in it is one of Baba's most beautiful rings, containing her birth stone. I put it on my ring finger. It fits perfectly. I stare at my hand. It looks just like her hand. Long bony fingers, big fingernails, small wrists. The hand that held my own little one so many times to cross the street and go buy popsicles without my mother knowing. She is still with me, and I can feel her touch every time I wear the ring.