Monday, October 24, 2005

Childhood Memories

My earliest childhood memory is being in a room made up of shadows. Figures are moving about around me and I am up high, possibly in a highchair, with something squishy in front of me. There is no emotion associated with this memory.

Another memory. I am small and sitting on a child sized chair. I have an orange in my hand and I am peeling it. My mother tells me not to swallow the pips or a tree will grow in my tummy. I wait until she leaves the room, swallow three pips in quick succession and wait in terrified anticipation for a tree to burst out of the top of my head. Nothing happens, so I eat the rest of the orange.

I am at school. I must be around five years old. My nose starts to bleed and I am sent to the sanitorium. The nurse sits me on a chair and gives me a tissue to hold to my nose. She tells me not to move. Then she leaves the room to go to the nurses' office. I can hear her talking loudly to the sanitorium sister. Time passes. I need a wee. I really need a wee, but I can't move, the nurse told me not to. I call out but she doesn't come. I wee myself. I sit there, crying, nose bleeding, watching as the wee pools under the chair and trickles out in thin lines across the linoleum. I listen to the loud conversation from the next room and wait for her to come back.

I am seven. There is something nasty under my bed. I have to jump from the far edge of the rug stretched by the side of my bed onto my duvet. It's a long way. If I trip or miss the edge of the bed it will grab my ankles and pull me underneath. My heart pounds, my cheeks burn, my head buzzes. I back up until I am level with the wardrobe, steel myself for the olympian effort I am about to undertake, then run, faster, faster, faster... edge of the rug, leap, feet leave the floor, I am flying, flying through the air, and land, thump, safely slap-bang on the centre of the duvet. The relief is immense. Then, careful that no part of my body even peeps over the edge of the bed, I squirm under the duvet and tuck it around every part of me. Then I stare at the curtains and tap my feet until I fall asleep.

I am ten. My parents have stopped speaking to each other. They talk through me instead. Breakfast is the worst time. My father asks me to pass the milk, which is next to my mother's elbow. My mother asks me to pass the sugar, which is in front of my father. My mother's eyes look blank. My father's eye twitches. I pass the things they ask me to pass and eat my breakfast quickly. Then I go upstairs to my room and wait until I hear the front door slam and my father's car spraying gravel in the driveway.

8 comments:

positronic said...

Thank you for those. The one I relate to the most is the 10 year old memory. Anything before then consists of a psychadelic, Jimmy Morrison fan teddy bear.

WDKY said...

God, I thought that was a really powerful post. I was living those memories with you.

Networkchic said...

It's funny how so many people can have the same memories. Great post...funny, sad, and realistic.

Anonymous said...

Wonderful post. I could easily visualize them.. very powerful and detailed.

Kate B. said...

Thank you all of you.
I read my post again just now and realised that they all sound quite sad. I have happy childhood memories too but I guess the memories I chose to post about just reflect my mood today.

TJ said...

Very vivid post, and well-written. I was going to make a smart-assed joke about how I'm still jumping from the edge of the rug onto the bed these days, but I think I'll just give it a rest and hope that tomorrow's mood brings you more contented memories...

Anonymous said...

Count yourself lucky! Like you I partake in the 'occasional' bit of nose candy but unlike you I can't even remember what I did yesterday let alone 25 years ago! I can still sort of relate to your memories. Good blog. :-)

kimmyk said...

I stuck a bean up my nose once and my mom said I'd have a beanstalk growing in my brain-I waited and waited. Nothing. I never believed a word she said again.

I'm glad to hear your have fond memories of your childhood...the bad ones and the good ones makes us who we are...and the parents we want to be.