Mum and I at the beach.
My foot’s stuck. My fists clutch the cream cot’s flat, wooden bars. I’ve done this before. At least twice. Maybe more.
The room is dim. The blinds are down. There’s grey light in the rectangle of the open door. I can’t get that foot out! I pull myself up on the right foot, my body off-balance. I cling to the bars, find my balance… then the left foot gets stuck! Every time!
My right leg is shaking. I try again. Not quite. The sheet and blanket are holding my foot.
To the right, there’s a bedside table. Then the double bed. This is Nan Dennis’ house. We live in this room. There’s a big mirror on the wardrobe door. I lean to try to see myself. I lean too far and nearly fall. My left foot unfolds. My body wobbles. I hang on tight! I crow with surprise. How did I do that? I’m standing up! On both legs!
I look up with a joyful smile and see the silhouette in front of the grey light. I know who that is! That’s my Mummy! I laugh to share my joy. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t tell me how clever I am. She just stands in the doorway, her full skirt a triangle from waist to mid-calf. And I’m happy and smiling and laughing and crowing… And there’s no face. Just the motionless silhouette…
***
A few years later, I tell my mother about the first time I stood up and how happy I was. She frightens me in some way. Perhaps she screams at me. I know that she tells me I’m lying. I can’t possibly remember back that far!
But I do.
***
Even more years later, I mention it again. What’s wrong with Mummy? There’s fear. Hers and mine. I don’t understand. And I’m a liar again. I can’t remember! I was too young!
But I wasn’t. And I do.
***
Later again, my aunt mentions my broken arm. Broken arm? Which arm? The right.
I don’t remember.
How did it happen? No-one knows. I must have fallen down the kitchen step at Nan Dennis’ place. We live in our own house now. When a doctor saw it, the bones were already knitting together. I was about fourteen months old. A clean break. He put sticking plaster around it. The bones hadn’t moved so he didn’t have to break my arm again.
I’d been crying every night when I rolled on it. I cried when I was having my bath. Mummy said that it was around the time that I’d started having my bath in the big bathtub. She thought that I was just frightened. She put my baby bath in the big tub but I still cried. One day, I tried to run away from her and she grabbed my arm. I screamed. Daddy was there that time. So we went to the doctor’s.
I don’t remember.
***
Many, many years later, in hindsight, I wondered if it was true that no-one knew how I’d broken my arm. Mummy’s mental health might have helped my arm to break. How could no-one see that a child had a broken arm? Why was Mummy so scared when I remembered the first time that I stood up? Was she afraid that I would remember how my arm had been broken?
I don’t.
***
Splatter 
A really well-written story. It is so much more effective narrated through the eyes of a child. It truly is a powerful vignette. You write so very well.
George, would you be interested in a job that consists of following me around and telling me how talented I am, say every five minutes, six to eight hours a day? Along the lines of the priest that used to whisper into Caesar’s ear during the triumphant parades through Rome “Remember that you are only human”, but in reverse? You are so good for my morale. Thank you for being so faithful.
Just print notes: “I am incredibly talented!” And stick them to everything in the house! (People actually do that, you know.) 🙂 Trouble is, I wouldn’t believe my note!
Hi,
That is amazing that you remembered so well the first time you were able to walk. It seems your mind may of blocked the incident with the your arm.
I really liked this post, so very easy to read, and you were a cute little girl sitting there on the beach.
I hadn’t quite got to walking. I was only standing up. Yes, I don’t remember anything about the broken arm. I’ve always had a very good memory but it seems that it has always been very selective as well. I might do other Hindsight memories later but they won’t be in any particular order. I thought perhaps that it was time that I tried to convince people that I wasn’t born crazy; I just let life make me that way.
I WAS cute, wasn’t I? I used to smile a lot. As I get older in the photos, the smile disappears.
When I was trying to dig myself out of a great big black hole, I wrote a list of things that I read aloud to myself several times a day. But it’s so much more satisfying when it comes from someone else. You begin to think that perhaps it might be true. Until the next time. Don’t go away, George; I need you and Mags.
a very interesting thing to share such moments in your life.
It’s partly because of you.
really? how?
It’s complicated and I don’t really understand it all myself but I think that it has something to do with your books and my effort to discover what was bothering me about the way that you have written them. Having found an answer which satisfies me (although possibly not you) I saw that it showed me a way of writing something that doesn’t feel like an autobiography.
There’s a lot more to it than that, but I think that, by trying to help you, I managed to find a solution for a project that I had abandoned as not being something that would interest anyone outside the family. At the moment, it is only going to be a series of posts, nothing more.
I like the title ‘Hindsight’ for memoirs… wish I had thought of that. And ‘First Memory’ is some hindsight. A bit chilling and wonderful at the same time. I see that in the photo too. I liked your summation at the end… actually, I liked the whole thing… but you really put your experience in perspective and the love for your mother shows.
It wasn’t until I came up with that title that I started writing this. (It was originally “20/20 Hindsight” but I deleted the “20/20” – don’t tell anyone!) I’m so glad that you liked this. I was a bit nervous about posting it. I wanted the next one to be from childhood too, but a later one keeps getting in the way, so I suppose that I shall have to write that one first. I’m still resisting it at the moment.