My earliest memory I have is of myself climbing out of a crib in a dark room. I remember a soft light peeking out from beneath the shade of the window the crib was placed against. The room was quiet. My feet landed on a pile of cold black plastic. I precariously crawled over the sea of, what I know now to be, garbage bags until I got to the door. I surveyed the large room. The kitchen and table to the left and living room the right. The bathroom at the far end of the kitchen and a light brown 70s railing directly across from my room. The railing was a walling of the stairwell to the basement. And the door that led outside right next to it. That door had a window.
I don’t remember the color of the rug or if there was a rug. I don’t remember many of the details enough to put into words and thinking back now is like trying to HD focus a crude pastel painting. But I remember the soft light and the silence. It was the type of light that confuses one from a deep mid day nap. The light that sometimes looks like the first blink of a new day or her last moments before night puts her to sleep. The very light that evokes anxiety and sadness in me to this day. Perhaps it’s the ambivalence of it, my not really knowing what’s next. Maybe the light is a reminder of being alone? Maybe the silence was how I knew I was alone. I hate being alone and silence makes me uncomfortable. But, I don’t remember being scared or any feeling really. The memory plays out like a movie. I mean I know it was me, but I don’t have any feelings associated with it being me.
The memory, as I deduced, based on interviews is a real memory. My grandmother verified that the bags were garbage bags. My dirty cloth diapers & such were kept in garbage bags on my floor. My father couldn’t believe I explained the house that we lived in until I was 2. I’ve come to learn that not many people have memories that young. I have many memories from that age on all which I’ve confirmed as true. I wonder if the other memories need to be examined? If our feeling are trying to tell us something maybe I should listen. Maybe these early memories can help me on my journey to healing what’s broken.
Lola Trying 