Thursday, July 9, 2015

5 - MEMORANDUM POST-FACTUM

I am two. Mom is serving peas for dinner. It’s just her and me. I run from the kitchen. How did I get out of the high-chair?

Thick black lines on thin red carpet; argyle under my feet. Diamonds that aren’t diamonds - aren’t squares. The rug reminds me of swanky old carpet from the 70’s. It makes sense. 
I rush from the room on little legs. Was I wearing my bib overalls? The ones I’m always wearing in pictures from the way back then?

I’m not scared. I’m laughing. It’s a game - Get Away From the Peas. Were they peas? Or was it green gunk from a baby food jar? Do two-year-olds eat baby food? Do two-year-olds eat peas? How did I get out of the high-chair?

I lunge into the living room. I race to the right. I huff it down the hallway and into the back bedroom.

She’s going to find me! Where do I hide!?

I creep into the closet and close the door behind me. I hold my breath, but somehow she knows. Somehow she shows up in front of the closet door and opens it. Was she smiling? Was she happy? Was it a game for her too? Feed the Baby?

She picks me up and carries me back to the kitchen. That’s where the memory ends.





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