Memory

Preface: In acting school we were given an exercise, to write a story based on our earliest memory, sometime around 3 or 4 years old, which we would then present to the class. If we couldn't remember anything from that long ago, to make something up. This is the story I presented.


I like cars. Hot Wheels make me happy. I like to play with my Hot Wheels on the floor. Mama put tape on the floor. It looks like a street. She put the dotted line in like a real street. The room's dark, but that's okay. There's light from the window. The hallway light's on, too. It's okay. I like cars.
Jennifer and Brian are downstairs. They're watching TV. Mama's downstairs, too. She just woke up. She's going to work soon. She works at night. That's okay. Daddy'll be home soon. I like Daddy.
I hear the front door close downstairs. It's loud and thumpy. Daddy's home. I hear Mama saying hi to Daddy. She sounds happy to see him home. I don't hear Daddy say hi back to her. Maybe he does, but it's not like it used to sound. He's really quiet, sorta grumbly. Mama screams. I hear it, but I'm too busy with my cars. Maybe something's wrong. I don't know. It doesn't sound right. My tummy gets warm and starts to hurt. But I like Hot Wheels. So it's okay.
Mama starts to ask if everything is okay, what happened. She sounds scared, like she's late for work or she burnt dinner. But worse. Her voice is high and loud. I can hear her through the floor.
“Well, what happened? Is everything alright?”
I can't hear Daddy talk back. Well, I can, but it's a grumble. He doesn't say nothin'. I can't tell. Sounds like he's angry, but his voice gets high and squeaky at the end. I hope he's not angry. My tummy hurts. It starts to make sounds like I'm hungry. But I'm not. I like cars. Hot Wheels are fun.
Mama talks again. She's talking to Daddy like she's putting a Band-Aid on an owie. But Mommy sounds so sad. So sad.
“It's alright, honey. Don't worry. Everything's alright. We'll be okay. We'll get through this.”
Daddy's making a sound I never heard before. Daddy's voice is louder now, but it's different. Like when the dog gets her tail under the rocking chair and cries off. Hiccups, too. But Daddy's doing it.
I don't know. I don't know what to think about it. I like my cars, though. They slide across the floor good and I like the colors. They keep me from thinking about my tummy. It hurts and I don't know why.
Daddy's coming up the stairs now. I can hear the thumping on the stairs. But it's real different. Slow. The thumps are louder, too. My cars won't stay in place. Daddy's thumps are bumping them around. Sometimes they flip. My tummy hurts hurts. Hot Wheels aren't fun anymore. They keep flipping.
The thumps stop. The hallway gets dark. It's Daddy! I can see him in the hallway! He looks different. He looks short. I can see the top of Daddy's head. Can't see Daddy's face. Daddy's looking on the floor for something. Why is he looking on the floor? What did he drop? I don't see anything. But it's Daddy! I love Daddy.
“Hi, Daddy! See my car?”
Daddy's tired. He needs a nap.
“Tired, Daddy? Need a nap?”
Daddy smiles. He makes me smile. His eyes are wet and red. His face has a lot of lines in it. Daddy looks like Grampa. Water comes out of Daddy's eyes. Daddy's crying. Daddy's crying? What's wrong, Daddy? My tummy gets angry again. I don't like that.
“You okay, Daddy? Want my car?”
Daddy's big hands come around my side. He picks me up. He squeezes me. Hard. I like when he flies me. But it hurts now. Daddy's hands hurt my sides. I can't... it hurts! Daddy's hands pushed the air out. Daddy won't let the air in good. Daddy holds me in front of him. His face is big. He is making a sad face. Very, very sad face. His eyes are water. His smile is small. His air is moving very good. It's warm on my face.
“I'm okay, Kevvy. It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay...”
He hugs me. It hurts, too. His face is scratchy on my neck. He's shaking me. Hard, harder than before. I can't make any air go in. I can't feel my tummy. I can't feel anything except the hurt in my sides. Daddy says the same thing over and over.
“It'll be okay. I love you, Kevin. I won't let you down.”
Daddy holds me out. I can see his face. My air goes in okay now. Daddy looks like when Grampa was sick. His eyes and face are shiny and wet. He has such a big frown. Sad, sad face.
“I love you so much, Kevin.”
That makes me smile.
“I love you too, Daddy. Don't be sad. It'll be okay. Here.” I give him my car, my happy car with the orange and the pink. My tummy feels good now.
Daddy smiled! His eyes are still wet, but he's laughing now. I made Daddy laugh! Then Daddy's face gets real big. He good-night kisses me on my face. Then again. And again and again and again. I don't know how many, but he good-night kisses me a lot. Then he hugs me again, real hard. Hurts a lot, but not like the other. He talks real quiet in my ear.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome, Daddy.”
Daddy sets me on the floor. He is big. He smiles at me. Daddy walks to the door. He hits my cars with his big shoes. Daddy's not looking at the floor now.
Daddy looks short in the hallway. He walks slow. His feet don't pick off the floor. He walks real slow. Turtle slow. My tummy feels different again. I don't like it. My tummy feels bad.


Postscript: I told the class that that day my Dad came home and told us he lost his job at the bank.