HERE'S A PIECE
MEMORY LANE Here's a piece of childhood staring you in the face. My childhood, age three, specifically. Andy would dance with me, a favorite pastime, spinning through the living room to the latest number on The Lawrence Welk Show. He stood nearly as tall as me, and was a terrible lead. We'd twirl round and round, until that one fateful day, when the twirling felt instantaneously lighter. There was Andy, in a heap on the chair across the room, his left arm dangling from his hand which I still held. I knew everything was okay, but a second later I let out a scream of terror anyway. My mom quickly repaired him via a needle and thread, but I gave him the side eye for weeks and felt rocked in my sense of trust somehow, whether of him or myself, I couldn't figure.