She shifted the photos around on her bedspread with a flat palm. All of them were snapshots of a childhood she did not remember.
A sense of hopelessness washed over her. She was disappointed in herself. Why couldn’t she remember?
She had studied all the minute details from the cars to the trees to the animals and even lampposts and swing sets. The people were strangers, the scenes were foreign. Only the smiles were genuine, smiles she’d never feel on the inside again.
They told her things they thought she should know, names, dates, relationships, but nothing that she NEEDED to know. What was her grandmother’s personality? Did she ever fight with them? Most importantly, what was SHE like?
Everyone seemed to treat her with undue kindness and kid gloves. They stepped in, shared too much, then stepped back, leaving her hanging. They gave cold stares when she reacted differently than before. Everything about her was wrong. She saw it in their eyes.