I remember lying on my back in that carpet my mom carelessly admitted was hideous and kicking the door. I remember how angry my parents would be and how they'd tell me to stop. I remember, this time, I was still wearing my black, patent leather, dress shoes and that they scuffed my lacquered, white furniture. I remember being glad they'd be angry at me like I was angry at them, glad I was causing it. I remember kicking harder and seeing all those black marks appear.
I remember my curtains swaying in the breeze with the windows open.
I remember waking to hearing a motorcycle on the lawn, although I didn't know that was the sound. I just thought it was weird to hear that fast a lawnmower and when it was dark. I also remember awakening on summer nights to tomcats fighting in the distance and worrying that maybe one of our cats escaped and was being murdered while I slept.
I remember the one foot by one foot hole I used to crawl through in the fence to get to our backdoor neighbors house and hope that they would let me come over and roller skate in the garage until I got blisters.
I remember snipping away at the lawn with scissors to cut out a floor plan to play house.
I remember lying on my bed staring at the yellow-paned light fixture until it's penstroke shapes yielded my imagination and wiggled around and became. I remember watching that and thinking I was not tired before falling asleep with my orange tabby for a nap. I remember saying I didn't want to take naps anymore and trying not to need them because it seemed the grown up thing to do and then maybe I could start school early.
I remember a bunny I so hoped would live, not moving in an aquarium. It's body still on top of a clean, white towel with a hot water bottle underneath. I remember not touching it so I could pretend it was still alive.