I bend down and bump my head against memories.
“Mama, look at THAT!”
“Have you ever seen one of those?”
“Is it true toads give you warts? He lives under that rock. Don’t move it-let him live there because he eats bugs!”
“Why is the tail blue? What happens when it breaks off?”
Young boys found toads and luna moths, blue-tailed skinks and lizards Older boys hid with air-soft guns to ambush the other team. Young men changed oil and car parts.
And one summer a laughing Dominic lifted me high in the backhoe bucket so I could paint the top trim of the house.
Synapses fire and lightning flashes through my brain in seconds. ONE corner of my house-all this.
Every room holds memories. Every footfall echoes past days. Every window frames some precious vignette in my mind’s eye.
Most days I’ve learned to turn down the volume. But today it would not be denied.
And I think, “How would I have survived those precious, precious years if I had known what was coming?”
Thank God I didn’t.