The Memory Closet: a Novel
“I’d be driving into London from Oxford and suddenly I’d notice that the pastures were green and that bluebells and crocuses were in full bloom all along the roadside.
The background of my childhood formed in my mind like that, too—without me noticing. One day, it were just there. Translucent memories, the kind that probably aren’t crisp and clear in anybody’s mind, formed in the swirling mist of my nothingness like an image on photographic paper gradually taking shape in a developing tray.
... Life in a West Texas summer: running through the sprinkler in the backyard and eating Bobo’s homemade Popsicles—Kool-Aid ice cubes with toothpicks stuck in the top.
Windy and I—and Dusty!—once rescued a bowl full of wiggling tadpoles from a shrinking puddle of water in a low spot on the prairie.
An assortment of neighborhood children built sculptures in our front yard the winter of the big snowstorm.MoreLess
The background of my childhood formed in my mind like that, too—without me noticing. One day, it were just there. Translucent memories, the kind that probably aren’t crisp and clear in anybody’s mind, formed in the swirling mist of my nothingness like an image on photographic paper gradually taking shape in a developing tray.
... Life in a West Texas summer: running through the sprinkler in the backyard and eating Bobo’s homemade Popsicles—Kool-Aid ice cubes with toothpicks stuck in the top.
Windy and I—and Dusty!—once rescued a bowl full of wiggling tadpoles from a shrinking puddle of water in a low spot on the prairie.
An assortment of neighborhood children built sculptures in our front yard the winter of the big snowstorm.MoreLess
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