mixed memory
a writing exercise
My earliest memory
I am walking down a hallway in my house. I know that I am walking toward my room, which is at the very end of the hallway.
I know that I am going to bed, but I don’t remember saying goodnight to my parents. In this memory, they do not occur. One of them may be walking behind me? In this memory, I am three years old.
The hallway is long. It is the longest hallway in the world.
I walk down the hallway, passing doorways. One of the doors is to the basement. One of the doors is to my parents’ room. One of the doors is a bathroom. One of the doors may conceal my sleeping baby brother, but I am not sure. We may share a room in this house.
This is the first house, the first hallway, the first bedroom. The first memory.
Remembering last week
What do I remember from last week?
I remember being sad. Or maybe that is a memory from the week before. It’s hard to tell. It’s harder to remember not being sad.
I had to look at my calendar to see if there was even something to remember from last week. Nothing stands out.
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day was last week, which means I was home — ha, just kidding I am always home — which means I wasn’t working on Monday, and my children were not in school.
My husband went to a funeral for a childhood friend. He had to drive to Philly.
My oldest child went to their first art class at the museum. We had Italian food afterward. The Italian food was expensive, but didn’t taste as good as it cost.
I do have a happy memory from last week! I returned to karate class for the first time since the holiday, the first time since having COVID. Which I had over the holidays.
I smiled as I drove to class. My heart lifted — such a cliché phrase, but no, I literally felt my chest lighten at the prospect at returning to class for the first time in nearly a month.
And that is what I remember from last week.
