Sounds by Alexis

Posted on November 16, 2015 by

0


A loud pop wakes me. Shouting. Muffled voices, far from the dreams in which I suck honeysuckle from the cottage garden.

I untangle my small legs from the blankets, the fuzzy yellow ones with the soft satin edging that Bammie gave us. They smell like her house, like cinnamon, homemade pink applesauce, and warm dust. I throw them off, rub the sleep from my eyes.The window pane reveals winter’s blackness.

I make my way down the hall, toward the kitchen. The hall is dark and I can see the outline of light around the heavy, swinging wooden door, closed, cutting me off from them. I hear their voices more clearly now, shrill and rising. I push the door open and see for an instant the anger on each of their faces; the greatest loves of my life looking at each other like rusted razor blades. Just then,there is an explosion of glass at my feet. A wine glass shatters, a glass meant for my father, standing off to the left. His eyes go wide at the shards of crystal all around my two-year-old feet.

I burst into frightened tears. They rush over to me, and the scene dissolves, but the memory stays. It is the first memory I have with my father.

The second memory is uglier. I don’t even like to recall it.

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