My Oldest Memory

This short piece is in the form of, “Child as the narrator”.

Today is sunny, not too hot and not too cold. I am in the entryway with my Aunt Eileen; she wants me to go find my mommy.

“There she is, right there,” Aunt Eileen points over my head. I look over into the next room, my mommy is sitting in on one of the two light brown leather barstools; her back is towards me. Just past my mommy, daddy has walked into another room; the bathroom. I look back up at my aunt, but she is not there, she is walking away from me, to the back door. I don’t want to follow her; I’m scared to go outside. I watch her cross the living room and go out the glass door. There are lots of fancy and shiny things in the living room, but I don’t want to go in there either. I have nothing to do; I want someone to hold me.

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