| Just the other day, I was thinking about how stuff used to be when I was little. The more I thought, the more I remembered. I can only stand back and marvel at the things my brain decided to hold on to.
I am sitting in a dark room at my babysitter's house on a plaid couch, holding a quilted, dog-shaped pillow my great aunt had made for me. It had big, white and black felt eyes. I loved it. Suddenly I hear footsteps behind the locked door leading to an unexplored hallway. There's a click, and the door swings open to reveal several dirty children. They are the other kids being babysat, but they aren't locked in a room. I try to hide. I know they'll take my pillow. But they see me, and start smiling. They take my dog-shaped pillow from me, and rip the big felt eyes off. I cry. They laugh. I hug my now ruined pillow and wait for an eternity before my parents come to pick me up.
My parents told me that this particular babysitter had mistreated me, and most of the other kids left in her care as well. I still have that pillow today, and the eyes are missing. Before remembering any of this, I had always wondered where they went. Is this memory something my brain created, or did it actually happen? I guess I'll never know for sure.
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