My earliest memory

My earliest memory:

 

I'm in a car seat I believe. I remember feeling squished in the back of the truck like two people were pushed up on either side of me. It's dark and cold. I remember having a puffy coat on. So tired and groggy, these strained moments are the culmination of millions of brain cells networking as one for the very first time. The driver stops and rolls down the window to talk with someone outside. I drop my sippy cup of apple juice because my hands are cold. The woman in the passenger seat turns to face me with warm eyes and the most infectious smile. I do not know what she said. Only that everything was ok. I've forgotten why I was upset. 

 

The man pays little attention. Heavier burdens weigh his mind. 

 

First impressions are everything. These moments set the tone for an entire childhood. Sentience grows like a tree spreading rich roots through the mind's folds. Trunk thickens, branches strain with all their might outstretching malnourished leaves to receive essential sunlight.

 

Many years of inclement weather have passed. I now stand in front of a towering lattice of interwoven branches. Pampered leaves allowed to grow undisturbed create a thick mesh of green. Soft whimpers perk my ears. I instinctively investigate. Worry sets in as I approach an impassable cage of wood. I step forward through the threshold unmolested. A small child is huddled at the base of a massive trunk. Alone and afraid in the dark. I glance behind to the barren plains that stretch far away. He trembles in preparation for harsh words. I remain quiet as a cold tear traces a path down my cheek. I sit slowly, a considerable distance away. The seed of trust needs time to bud. I can only think to rest gently and let it grow. Words can not be found. What purpose would they serve? I can leave this place, after all. He must stay. Forever weathering the storms.

 

Everything is going to be ok. 

I am here now. 

I smile, my eyes warm. 

He's forgotten why he was upset.