Safety

The woman in the kitchen is beautiful. Her hair is long and dark and her lips are a deep berry shade. She glides around, occasionally laughing and glancing towards me. The smell of spices swirl through the air – a scent I’d later come to associate with the holidays.

Sounds drift from all around, and I turn my tiny head to see what is causing them. On the couch to my left sits a large old man with a round head and a deep laugh. A petite woman with shoulder length chestnut hair that curls into itself at the bottom sits close to him. Her posture is perfect. She offers polite smiles as the others gleefully exchange stories and jokes. When prompted to speak, her words are short and wrapped in a heavy accent.

There are voices coming from where I can’t see. I move my head around, trying to locate the sounds, but am restricted by the bouncer I’m lying on. To my right, there is a baby gate, holding back a golden-brown dog with a purple collar. She growls at me, barring her teeth and pushing against the barrier. I cry out in fear at the creature.

My father comes to my rescue. As he leans down to comfort me, his long black hair fans out, shielding me from the animosity of the dog. I don’t know how I know he is my father, but I do. His voice sounds like music. And as he lifts me off of the bouncer, I feel safe and protected, like nothing will ever hurt me.