My Confessional

1. Silhouettes

Silhouettes, they're the first memory I have, and that's all I can remember, silhouettes. Silhouettes are outlines of a person's true self, some would compare it to an empty shell. To me, silhouettes have many meanings: a state of being, an outline, and maybe a vague memory. I would be lying If I said that none of these pertained to me, because, I've been all of them.

I remembered it like the game Limbo: dark, eerie, and mysterious, like me. They're something that will plague my mind for all eternity, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. To me, this a memory that has no date, has no time, and no stress. It's a memory that is on it's own timeline, a memory that's either as dark or as light as you are, a memory I find that defines me pretty well.

In a silver sleek car I remember the orangish-yellow glow of the street lamps illuminating the darkness, giving light to a younger me. Being around three or four, if that, I didn't know much about anything. Having limited experiences granted me a stress free few years, this memory was included.

I was at the carnival, on a dark and gloomy night. To me it was abandoned, I didn't remember anyone else but my family, I didn't seeing the bright smiles, nor did I hear the familiar laugh of little girls riding on the smaller versions of bigger rides. The serene illumination of the moon casted a beacon of security around us, and there was nothing on this night that could go wrong.

The warmth of my grandma's hand surrounding mine gives me solace at the time as we passed through the maze of rides. The small airplane cars caught my eye, the one's that would lift off only a couple of feet before diving down. It was the one I wanted to ride more than anything.

"Next time", My grandmother said, her words as sweet as honey, as smooth as the purest of silk, and as calming as the pitter-patter of rain cascading down the leaves of trees, onto the slick grass.

I wasn't aware of the fact that I was too young to ride it, I was more upset that other children could ride it and yet I was cast aside. I would say I was an emotional child, but at the same time, as silent as a whisper.

With each step we took, the sand crunched beneath our feet, as we began making our way to the ferris wheel. It was the first time I would be riding it. By this time, me and grandma were separated from my Aunt Anissa and my Cousin Courtney; it was just us now.

The knots in my stomach grew larger, and the butterflies that once fluttered are now ripping me apart with the force of a hurricane as we approached my living nightmare. I remember how grand it was, the elegance of it all, and the terror of falling from such a height quickly sinking in. Overcome with pressure, I felt like at any moment I could burst, and the butterflies could finally take flight without containment.

As we walked, the nervousness of it all faded away, listening to her voice calmed me as we got on the rickety, old ferris wheel car. I felt like I was going to die, honestly, a more terrifying death would be on a roller coaster, but to me, it was just the same.

I remember that the slow incline was the worst, that was when you knew you were going to die. In life the most deadly feeling is nervousness, wondering if you did everything wrong; it's when you're scared for the future and if you'll ever talk to the same people again. People say to not be afraid, but it's human nature.

Crying is what I did when I was alone. Emotionally and physically, it was an outlet for the pain. Even though I was with G-ma, I felt alone, like I was the coward in a horror movie. I felt like murder would happen in the next five minutes and I was the next teenager being sought after.

Just then, I felt a warm embrace, choking on the heat of love. She was the main person in my life, in some ways she was the real mom of my early years, she was the one who taught me to be brave and that it will all be over soon. I curled myself in a ball, since the smaller I got the more safe I felt, and her hug was the icing on a dry cupcake.

That's where the memory fades, but not the feeling. Even if I don't remember everything like it was yesterday, I know it will follow me until the day I'm not here. A small secret that will die with me, sorta thing, but I don't mind because in the bottomless chasms that is my memory, it will always live on.