Sunday, January 12, 2014

Earliest Memory


I am dripping with heat. Not sweat because it isn't the sticky heat that often winds around Dhaka but a sun heat, it glints. Water runs in rivulets down my calf's as my legs kick under the water weary picnic table. My swimsuit straps press into my shoulders and squeak when I reach for the my glass protesting against my back fat. The glass is chilled which my Mom tells me is something I should like. The street vendors always sell their soda warm and I have developed a palette for tepid beverages. I have a Shirley Temple and cloud candy. It is my regular at the American Club. The packaging for cloud candy is blue and crackly. The candy itself is pink. On the back of the wrapper is a picture of a skinny big mouthed girl on a pink cloud. There is the story of how cloud candy was discovered. This awkward child had the power of flight and flew up to a cloud to see what it was like. While chilling out on a cloud she happened to sample some of the puff and it was sweet and good so she grabbed hunks to bring back to earth for everyone to enjoy. I read and reread the story. I picture myself pigging out on a cloud. I like the idea. My belly rests happily on my thighs and I sip my Shirley Temple.

I have to be around four in this memory I have no idea if it is practical that I am reading at this age but I am sure I must have because neither of my parents have any recollection of anything called "cloud candy" though they do remember me ordering Shirley Temples.

I think I remember this because it is so different from what my life usually was. My family lived in a small cement house. We were surrounded by dust, people, and poverty. My parents tell stories about how my brother and I could have cared less were we where. They tell stories about us chasing sickly chickens for fun.This story is so different from that. It is about the ways that while we lived in a third world country we still had the capabilities to get away from all that even if for a little bit. We had a club we were apart of where we could order drinks with ice. I think I remember this because the contrast was so startling.

1 comment:

  1. This has potential for developing. Create constrasting scenes between your house and the American club. Make the reader wonder how you have the privilege of crossing between these spaces. Tension in this piece is created by your memories of enjoying privilege that contrasted with your parents' mission.

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