My first memory of my life isn’t a memory anymore, I only remember remembering it.  I was a baby, old enough to sit up, wearing pale yellow pajamas with feet.  My mother set me on the kitchen counter, let go and stood back, smiling at me from an arm’s length away.  I was so high off the ground, sitting by myself.  I wasn’t afraid.  I threw my head back and laughed in a way that I no longer recognize as my own.

The only reason I believe it at all is that she took a picture of that very moment.  I can’t find that picture now, but when I used to look at it, I would stare hard until my eyes were sore from seeing, unable to believe I was ever that fearless, that happy.

© Salahub 2003