losing the thread

my memory clicks on mid scene. the brown corduroy couch scratches my bare legs. a fancy, cut glass candy dish rests on the coffee table. i’m wondering if i can take some. the kids- donna, john, and james- aren’t having any. so i don’t either. even though i love candy.

it’s quiet. my mom smokes and makes barely audible small talk with the birdlike mother. i think she looks funny next to the dad. who looks like a bear with orange hair.

my mom stands and says- “it’s time to go.”

i’m at the doorway watching her walk to the car. she has to get something. she comes back with my orange and yellow flowered suitcase. i start to feel doomy. “why did you bring my suitcase?”

“i’m going. you’re staying here.” i don’t ask for how long. i don’t ask why. i just stand in the doorway and watch her malibu pull down the drive.

to be six is to have a swiss cheese memory. plenty of holes, dropping out places, spots where the narrative loses its thread. the memories i do have are visceral. i feel them. smell them. like a lit cigarette on skin.

eating my first bowl of captain crunch. it sounds so loud in my ears. i try to chew more quietly but it’s no use. why don’t the others crunch so loud? why do they keep saying ‘frog’ instead of ‘fart?’ why do they sit around a dining room table instead of eating in the living room?

standing in the bedroom i share with donna. john walks in. he says “i think you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

i don’t love john. i love james because his hair is silky and blond and he can hang upside down from the tree. so i say “we’ll be late for church.”

riding a bike, fast, down the street. i jam back on the pedal breaks and fly over the handlebars. smashing my face into the blacktop. a man waters his lawn with a hose. he says “you look hurt. we better go get your mom.”

i wipe blood from my eyes. i cry. spit blood out to speak. “i don’t know where she is.”

i spent all of first grade at that house in riverside. but my school life is blank. and i never could recall donna, john, and james’ parents’ first names. my last memory is burning up the freeway on the back of the dad’s harley. he tells me we’re going home to my mother.

i’m not sure if I’m happy.