Biographical Non-Fiction posted December 9, 2017

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A short story for the I Remember prompt

False Memories

by Sharon Meda

I remember, as my very first memory, a little wood cottage with a peaked roof at the front. The white door was flanked by small windows with white framed panes, partially covered with pale blue curtains.

A sidewalk of planks ran from the front door to the dirt drive. I would ride my red tricycle up and down that wooden walk, waiting for Dad to come home from work. The dense cover of cedar trees and brush surrounding the cottage and running down both sides of the walk and driveway was dark and foreboding. Each trip on my trike was like an adventure as I imagined lions and tigers and bears. I remember my trike path being miles long, but I'm sure that it was only a couple dozen feet.

When I was little I thought my dad must be the biggest man in the world, and at six-foot six with a hard-working logger's build, he cut a wide swath when he entered a room. His black hair, equally black eyes, and dark complexion were in complete contrast to Mom, who was a petite five-foot, blue eyed blonde.

When I heard the rumble of his logging truck coming up the drive I would peddle hard to be at the end of the walk when he stopped the truck, the air brakes whooshing and sending dust balls, bigger than me, rolling across the driveway. He would climb down and grab his metal lunch kit from the passenger seat, and then he would swoop me up, up, up and carry me into the house in his big strong arms. I could feel his muscles through his dust covered plaid shirt as I cuddled up to his stubble covered chin, not minding the prickles. Mom would be cooking dinner on the wood burning stove, and it was always toasty warm and smelled like fresh baked bread in the kitchen.

I recalled this scene to Mom years later, and she declared it a false memory. By her definition; false memories were created when we saw, heard, or read something and then stored the event in our minds, as if it had actually happened to us. She said she didn't remember living in a cottage as I described it, I never had a tricycle and, although she didn't add this last part, I don't know that Dad ever picked me up and carried me into the house. That wasn't his way, in my later memories he was always aloof and called us Vi's kids.

But, whether my own or someone else's memory, as clear as day, I remember.

I Remember writing prompt entry
Writing Prompt
Begin your non-fiction autobiographical story or poem with the words 'I remember...' Complete the sentence conveying a moment, an object, a feeling, etc. This does not have to be a profound memory, but should allow readers insight into your feelings, observations and/or thoughts. Use at least 100, but not more than 1,000 words. The count should be stated in your author notes.

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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© Copyright 2018. Sharon Meda All rights reserved.
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