A girl going through life and trying to understand everything that comes with it. Both pain, and happiness.
I remember waking up on Sunday mornings. Slightly cranky, tired... Or was I?
I remember having to wear a nice white dress and my mom brushing my hair. She would talk to me as she tried to tame the unruly curls, and I would cringe as she would wrestle with the small knots. Her then young hands would carefully wrap a simple, silk white ribbon around my ponytail, and she would tie it into a bow. She would kiss the top of my head, and I would jump off her lap, the cold floor a surprise to my bare feet.
Or was I wearing my nice shoes? Would they call out to my family as I ran through the hall, letting them know as I ready?
I remember sitting on those uncomfortable pews at church. The man at the very far front would say something, and my parents would say something back. Yet, he was so far away, and it was so hard to hear, I was surprised the answered back at all.
Did they though? Did their voices ever form the one "Amen" I would hear echoing across the cathedral? I remember trying to imitate it. Trying to kneel, and trying to stand, and trying to sit.
I remember sleeping. Sleeping with my head against the cold, wooden bench. My father would wake me, and his stern face was a clear scold, and I remember sitting in the car. I would sit and stare straight ahead, ignoring any arguments rising at the front seats. But no... That's not right.
I would look out the window, ignoring the arguments behind me, and wanting to sleep. Or wanting peace. Or... what was that feeling of yearning?
But the thing is, I don't remember half of these things. I remember being told of the countless of times I would do many of these things, but they are just a painted picture in my mind. I can only remember the way my mouth would water as I entered my grandparents place. The smell of just cooked chicken would fill my nostrils and coat my tongue, and the sweet bananas that would we snack on would delight my palette.
This is what I remember.