"We Didn't Have Much"

"We Didn't Have Much"

     There are little pieces of our childhood that stay with us, as a memory or an image frozen in time.

I am unsure how far back the human mind can go when it comes to our first memories. My memories are like little fragments, with no defining beginning and no definite end. Bits and pieces left in my mind over my 40 year existence. 

     It seems most of my fragments are not happy little bits of time, but moreso pieces of a puzzle leading to clarity into my current bouts of anxiety, trust issues and  feelings of self worth. My first "happy" memory I have retained was lodged somewhere between 8-9 years old. It is the other "fragments" that have embedded themselves in my mind. The ones that play over and over again in the form of still images running on a loop. There are some fragments that I still challenge the validity of, was it real, was it a dream? Perhaps if I didn't dream so vividly I could decipher fact from fiction, but who am I to challenge the memories of my inner child. 

     This image depicts one of my fragments, the 4th frame of many, running on the loop. I don't know what set her off that day. I am unsure if her explanation would even be valid, maybe she doesn't even remember. I have asked, but her answer wasn't one of sound reason. Nor was her reasoning strong enough for my inner child not to call bull shit and hold on to my fragment, my little piece of the puzzle, the broken child. 

     We didn't have much, my brothers and I, but what we had we cherished. My barbie dolls, their G.I. Joes and matchbox cars. We had our imaginations and we had our innocence. We had each other and a few acres to call our playground. I would float my barbie dolls down the creek on their inflatable miniature raft and pretend we were on a beach somewhere nice, I hadn't even seen a beach before but my mind knew they existed. My brothers would be over by the big tree stump, blowing up there matchbox cars with imaginary grenade launchers while holding their G.I. Joes. Pow, Pow, Pow I could hear them saying, Boom!

     On this day, the day my eyes took a still frame and layed it's foundation in my mind forever, she enters my fragment in a frenzy. I didn't see her light the match, but i smelled the smoke. In one frantic moment she entered the house and snatched up our escape from reality, our toys, the only things we had that made us feel like "normal" kids. Get them all and bring them to me she ordered. The tone of her voice would later be compared to the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz by my brothers and I, if the wicked witch were to partake in strong spirits, such as tequila, vodka, whiskey or shine. 

     My younger brother and I handed over our toys, begging her not to burn them. Begging her to tell us why. Begging her to tell us what we did wrong. My older brother, as if he knew more than I, walked out with his arms full of his toys and gave them to her. He wasn't begging. He wasn't crying. He stood strong with an unbreakable look on his face. She snatched up our toys and flew out to the pit. We watched from the front door as our toys went up in smoke. One by one each of our dreams, pieces of our imaginations and our innocence were thrown into the flames. The mind of a 6 year old child , the mind of me, was in fact, broken. 

     We could see her, standing over by the flames, we knew she would just stand there and watch them burn. We knew she wouldn't come and comfort us, after all she was the witch and we thought she would want time to revel in her deed. 

     My older brother, the unbreakable one, gestured for us to follow him to the bedroom with his finger pressed to his lips, " Shhhh, don't let her know" he said as he lifted the blanket from the bed revealing underneath the bed frame. One barbie, one G.I. Joe and one matchbox car were tucked just under the bed. He knew something we didn't, he knew already what my younger brother and I had just learned. His fragments must have already been forming, he was older than us, he had seen the signs and was prepared.  He was unbreakable, or perhaps resiliently broken already. 

     Today, if someone asked me about my childhood, I wouldn't open with this story. I probably wouldn't end with this story either. Nor would I pillage my mind for anything in between. I would talk about our few acres of playground, the creek running through the back, my love of the land and I would simply say, "We didn't have much, but I have the memories"...