Fun with Writing Prompts: First Memory

I had to start writing for twelve minutes and not stop until the clock was up. I hope this isn't too frightening.

Most people can't remember as far back as their first year on this earth. Seeing as I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning, it's odd that I can.

My first memory hangs in my mind, but not vividly. It's more like a memory of a memory than an actual memory itself...not exactly crystal clear, but there nonetheless. I remember my mother carrying me on her hip. I can also recall a cloudy sky, but that may just be the haze that naturally hangs over the things that we try to remember from the distant past. I like to think that it was storming, however. I've always liked storms and the energy they put into the air.

I can't see my father. I've always imagined him walking behind my mother, but I may have just erased him from the picture. I can, however, see the landlord taking us up the steps to the porch. They were blue then, something they haven't been in a long time. He didn't have a face...I can only remember his hat. I don't know what sort of hat it was...just that it was a hat.

If I squint my eyes and try as hard as I can to visualize the scene, I can see the screen door. Beyond there is nothing but black. The landlord, whose name I believe was Jason, beckons. We follow. My mother's hand reaches for the door handle. After that I can remember nothing more. I wish I could at least remember Jason's face. I think he was fat. His shirt may have been white. Maybe the hat was white, too. It bothers me, having his image so close and yet so far away. He was a terror to me as a child, you know. He would always shake his fist at me when he saw me riding my bike and threaten to “get me”.

Bikes weren't allowed in our neighborhood. It was our favorite rule to break.

If I had known what I was getting into when I was carried up those steps that day, I probably would have screamed as loudly as I could.