Remembering

The sound of laughter and people partying woke the tiny child. Standing in his crib, he began crying in the darkened room. His loud noises were finally heard and someone opened the door. The light from the living room made him squint as it burst into the nursery. In the front room, he saw the jumbled mass of fat uncle tangled amongst pieces of mahogany splinters. The chair on which he had been sitting was now a bunch of useless fragments. His drink had splashed the wall beside him. Someone offered to help him to his feet.

Soon they were gathering around the crib saying inane things in baby talk, filling the small room with second hand smoke, and the acrid smell of booze. An overweight relative thrust her beefy arms into the crib in an attempt to lift the struggling baby. It was then, my mother took over, and the visitors left the room.

What a strange recollection. I'm not even sure I remember it as it happened, or am I recalling what I was told about it. Apparently I was not even a year old at the time. I am still convinced there is in my memory the picture of someone on the floor in a broken heap of what had been a chair.

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