Member-only story
The Narrative I Cannot Own
A deconstruction of that one childhood memory
You place one tired arm over your eyes as you feel the need to cover them from the light. You love doing this while lying down because it helps block out the world and stop the incessant pouring of unwelcome thoughts. You reach out to your side. You always know where she is.
You grab her little hand, and without looking at her tiny, sleeping frame, you start to caress the back of her hand, soothing not her but yourself as the familiar fear threatens to pester your mind.
It was a long time ago. You were so sure you had forgotten about it, but now that you have a daughter, you start fearing for her safety growing up in such a neighborhood.
Do you remember why you felt flushed and happy about the world that day? Yes, it was because you were lying down at the green, verdant grass on a blanket you sneaked out of the house. It was your first time to lie down outside. If your mother had seen you, she would have scolded you, but she wasn’t there. You were with a friend, and you both felt rebellious and brave at the same time, so you kept giggling together at this little excitement.
The sky was so blue, and the gentle, cold breeze from the sea quenched your sweaty skin. It was refreshing.
