Memories
by Damsel
This is my story. I am not famous, I am not rich, and I am not important. But this is my story, and I want to tell it. Not so much for you, but for me.
Let's just call it a way to remember.
My name is Rememberance Jameson, but most people just call me Mem. You'd think with a name like that, I wouldn't have to have a nickname. But my friends, and now family, thought I did. And I was given one; Liberty. But we can't tell a story starting with the end, so let's go back. Back to when I was given a reason to remember.
At just six years of age, I was a very precocious child. I was fairly bright, and my first memories of life are quite vivid. I remember a dark velvet room with soft pillows, and hushed voices in the hall. And I remember my grandmother and the soft sounds of her crying.
One thing I don't remember much of is my parents. I recognize their faces and I've been told how they loved me. But I've lost most of my memories of them. I've lost the smell of my father's after shave, and the sound of my mother's voice as she sang me to sleep at night.
But one thing I'll never forget is how I felt the day my grandmother cried, and the realization that I would never see my parents again.
My grandmother lived in England, and she shared her home with my family during the short summer months. When my parents died, my grandmother couldn't bear to live in the house that was so alive with their spirits. So we packed our things, and left for a new house in America. My grandmother was now in charge of me and our family home, which she planned on selling. She was also keen to see a new addition to the New York harbor: the statue of liberty.