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Chapter 4
My mom always told me that I would have been too young.
She said it was impossible for me to remember Grandma Marie.
But yet still, as I look back at my childhood, I hear the voice of Grandma Marie speaking fondly of her travels. In her hands was a book, thick and heavy. The covers were burgundy and the pages yellow and worn.
Memories like those... ones that I could not be sure were dream or reality, made me fear opening the chest.
I was more confident that a later memory, from when I was eight, had really happened. It was definitely a less believable memory in some ways, though.
We had moved in to my Grandmother's house.
My mother Renee, had broken up with my father, Charlie. The house only had two bedrooms, so my mother took her old room and I took my Grandma's. I thought we had only left to go to my Grandma's funeral. I had never really gotten to know her. But the funeral had gone and passed. When I called my dad on the phone, he said that that was not why, but the phone cut out and he didn't get to call back.
Later that day, I asked my mother why we left.
She'd never told me. She never explained anything. I did not understand why we hadn't gone back home yet, and as a very curious child, I asked.
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