Memories before the age of five

I don't remember much before kindergarten. Sadly, that means I don't remember being Daddy's little girl. I don't remember Mommy having time to tuck me in and read me bedtime stories. I don't remember playing any of the games I see in pictures of my bedroom, or the friends in photos of birthday parties or the Christmas trees and abundant gifts immortalized in album after album.

I do, however, have three distinct unphotographed, never discussed, memories before the age of five.

I remember climbing out of my crib after my afternoon nap and finding Mommy painting my new big girl bed. The sun is shining brightly through the living room window on her face and I think she looks like a beautiful princess. I run, throwing myself into her arms, and sigh "Mommy!"

In the next memory, I wake up in the middle of the night. I lay there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night. I can't fall back to sleep so I get up and go to climb in Mommy and Daddy's bed.

It is empty.

My heart begins to race. I whisper, "Mommy? Daddy?" No one answers. I tiptoe through the living room to the kitchen and bathroom, then back to the living room. I climb on the couch, eyes wide in the dark, and listen to the silence. I hear the distant rumble of the subway. Hurried footfalls echoing down the street. Eventually, I hear a car stop below. Then, I hear voices. I struggle to hear one I know. I hear a laugh. Daddy?

I jump up and run to the window. I climb on a chair. I listen again through the tiny sliver of open window. I hear his laugh again. I scream, "Daddy?"

"Baby?"

"Daddy! What are you doing out there! You're supposed to be with me! Come home right now!!"

"I'm coming, baby."

In my last pre-kindergarten memory, I am five and sitting in my Auntie Alva's room where I would sleep with Mommy for six months while she looked for a new home for us. Mommy and Auntie Alva are in the kitchen whispering. I am playing music on my little Donald Duck record player. I am listening to Michael Jackson's song, Ben, and crying as I write Mommy a note (she still carries in her wallet the yellowed paper with my childish writing). I write, "Don't worry, Mommy. I will take care of you. I love you."