Untimely #8 – An Early Memory

They were all sitting at the table when I came down. In the kitchen with the lights on in the middle of the night – I knew it was strange because the light was so orange, so rich and thick like syrup, not like daylight, nor like the evening light of after dinner. It was heavy and dark, the light, and they were sitting around the table crying. I took the stairs slowly, sleep-eyed, trailing my bear along the steps. I came down the last stair and turned down the hallway and I could see them all at the table around the telephone. My mother had her back to me and her shoulders were shaking and my aunt was holding her, but her face was hidden, too. Silently I walked toward the kitchen, the hall carpet threadbare and familiar under my naked feet. They were crying, all of them, the women of the house, and yet it was so quiet. I stood in the door in my pajamas, holding the jamb with one hand, the other holding my bear.