When I sit alone in my thoughts, I imagine a world in which the traumas that plague my childhood were simply not. Simply did not exist, with even the tamest of demons just…gone, like dandelion seeds into the wind. It is a calming thought, to think of a place where just like dandelions themselves, they would turn from something so solid into weightless specks of white. Dreams are never reality, however, and the loss of those memories would of course lead to the other edge of the sword- the loss of all the good that came from them. So here I am, standing on a precipice, overlooking a mirror that reflects the happiest memory I am able to recall. I reach out to touch the mirror and tumble into the dark.
When shapes begin to form, I see my childhood self in front of me, wispy and pale, reminding me that it is only a memory. She is so much quieter than my conscious memory can recall, sitting alone outside with a book in her hand and an expression on her face that seems entirely too grown-up for a child to wear.
Another shape comes up to her, materializing from somewhere behind me. My little sister, her tiny form which I remember more clearly than I could ever remember what I was like at that age.
“Madeline!” She crows, her voice small and adorable the way every five year old’s is, “What are you reading?”
I watch my younger self smile, a slightly dirt covered hand patting the grass beside her. My sister throws herself down rather ungracefully, landing by her (my?) side with a big “oof!”.
“Charlotte’s Web,” Younger me replies, flashing the cover of the book, “Lie down. I’ll read to you.”
I take a deep breath, my eyes closing as the memory continues. Soft words fill the air, the sound of my younger voice reading chapters about pigs and spiders echoing through space, but I keep my eyes closed, trying to remember how I felt in that moment. The wind blowing through the trees, my sister’s head in my lap, the sun shining just bright enough to be warm but not unpleasantly so…the only word that comes to mind is content. A rare moment in a difficult childhood where nothing else mattered but the two of us, in our own little world, with no obligations but to simply love each other with all our might.
A great whoosh pulls me up, up, up, and out, the memory fading into puffs of green and black smoke, and suddenly I’m on my feet in front of the mirror again, except now the reflection only shows the weary expression on my face.
“You okay?” A voice comes from behind me, concern evident from its tone.
“Yeah. Thanks for this. I needed a reminder.”
“Did it help?”
“It always does.”
In a way, it hurts as well, serving as a reminder that happy memories were rare for us, but mostly these trips into my past just remind me of how dearly I love my baby sister. How fiercely I will always protect her. How, by loving her so hard, I learned to love myself, and to love others hard enough to find a family of my own. Fate works in mysterious ways, and destiny even more so. I cherish these moments where I remember that at the end of the day, our choices are what truly affect our lives. By loving her, I became the best me.
