First Memory: The Rescue

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This piece attempts to capture my earliest memory. It includes a small child and a pool, so be aware. It turns out well, obviously, if I can tell the story to you now. I'd love your feedback on it!

Brilliant cerulean surrounded her. Everywhere—to the left, right, and below—shades of the prettiest blue sparkled and danced before her eyes. Hypnotic shapes flitted here and there, and her eyes followed, fascinated. The visual hustle contrasted everything else.

Time froze as she gracefully drifted in the blue. Her plump little hands floated effortlessly until she tried to move them. What’s happening? she wondered. Everything feels so heavy.

Strands of fine, chestnut hair crept in front of her eyes, obscuring the view of the pretty dancing shapes. A shake of the head only drew the tangles of hair closer to her face, gently wrapping with the lightest feather touch.

Loud, incoherent, muffled voices bounced around with the blue shapes.

Captivating and confusing. In the middle of it all, beautiful silver-edged beads grabbed her attention and skittered upward in hasty, wiggly paths. She tried to keep her eyes on them through the spaces in the gliding, ever-spreading dark hair haze. Pretty! she thought, and she reached too-slow fingers through the heavy blue to catch the sparkles. They raced up and out of sight, up there.

The blues stopped at the edge of “up there” where blotches of color boldly wiggled and swelled and blended into fresh confusion. Partly obscured and partly diced by brown hair strands, up was a new, short-lived fascination. Gray-blue, white, greens, browns, and little shocks of color fought for space together in the wavy “up there.”

This isn’t right! Mommy, where are you? I want my mommy!

“Mo—!” she opened her mouth to let out a yell, but the pretty blue stifled her cry and tasted awful.

The seconds jump-started to a frantic sprint.

Suddenly, out of the “up there” a warped silhouette broke through the mix of colors, shattering them into a million pieces. The hand appeared, decorated with the same shiny beads. Some of them were caught on the underside of the palm until they, too, ran upward in their squiggly paths. Scary and intrusive, this hand interrupted the confusion. She recoiled from the noise but didn’t complain when she felt the strong tug that pulled her through the heavy dancing blues toward “up there” and into the bright, sunny day she’d fallen out of.

Gasp! Cough! “Mommy-y-y-y-y!” she cried in a wavering screech.

Two large hands caught her up and plopped her down a little hard. Hair tangles covered her eyes until the big hand brushed them aside. The cement patio was warm and bit at her soft, pudgy legs and bottom. Water droplets ran down her arms and legs. Between coughs and distraught breaths, the air was good and right. Familiar faces surrounded her, but the one closest wasn’t the one she wanted. This man wasn’t Daddy. Tall, sun-bleached blonde and tanned, Mr. Leon owned the first pool she would ever remember in vivid detail for the rest of her life. As he quickly assessed the three-year-old’s condition, Mommy and Daddy hovered.

Sniff. Sniff. All she wanted was her mom.

“Mommy!” She got up and hustled around the man she barely knew to the blonde woman in pigtails who waited anxiously with a towel. A soft, warm, too-thin towel wrapped around her three times over. She cuddled in Mommy’s lap in a long deck chair, sniffling hot summer air between the smelly water droplets crawling down her nose. Then she fell asleep.

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