I've woken up and wandered downstairs. My dad is asking me if I feel taller and you know what, yes, I do feel taller now that you mention it. There's french toast on the table and I drench a slice in the fake maple syrup that I love. It must be winter but through the windows behind where my mom sits I see a fuzzy green color.
Now in the basement, mom and dad are tiling the floor. Mom adds texture to the walls by wiping a sponge across the wet paint. A millipede scurries across the finished floor and I spot a chipmunk in the window well, which dad rescues with a towel.
For a moment I'm at preschool. There are people everywhere and based on the expressions on the other kids' faces I feel like I should be scared, but I'm just curious. Everyone has a box with a change of clothes. Tony has a stutter and Heather hides under a chair with the front page of Ellen magazine covering her face. We sit in a circle and a nameless child snuffs out a candle after walking around the globe. We eat cookies.
I'm back at home and I'm running laps around the backyard. Mom is timing me. I'm listening to my Puzzle Place tape in the attic and coloring. I'm driving the car down the driveway from dad's lap. I'm getting free pudding from a factory tour and ice skating all by myself.
These aren't all the memories I have from that point in my life, but they are most of them. When I recall a single one they all come streaming out like long-suppressed tears. It seems crazy that so many years can get boiled down to such condensed moments, to a single day that was my childhood. It feels like it wasn't so long ago, but 20 years, that's a long time. 20 years from now will I remember my time in Europe as a tiny string of moments? Which ones will remain? I've already lost so many.
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