Summer Afternoon

A boy sits, legs crossed on a wooden floor.  The sheer curtains are getting blown around by the late summer breeze. The boy is watching something on television.  The shell of the TV is a sort of bumpy silver aluminum.  It stands on four dark brown legs.  There is an antenna on top of the TV with it's ears fully extended.

The boy isn't really interested in the TV. He is watching his mother. He knows she is 'mom' but he doesn't really understand that. To the boy she is just the pretty, smiling woman who is always here.

His mother has blond hair. She seems to be different than before today, but the boy doesn't remember much about before today.  He thinks her hair was brown before but the boy likes the blond hair. He thinks his mom is beautiful.  He watches her ironing clothes. The ironing board makes a rhythmic sharp creaking sound every time the iron goes toward the pointed end of the board.

She looks up from her ironing because of a rustling sound in the room behind her. It is the dining room and the boy is in the living room with the mother ironing between the two.

She sees the boy watching her and smiles at him and goes to check on the baby in the crib behind her.  The baby is the boy's brother. The boy doesn't know his brother or when he showed up. It doesn't seem like the brother was always here. He might have been here before today but the boy isn't sure. He thinks his brother will be here after today but doubts he'll remember it.  This makes the boy sad. He looks at his knees and how his legs go into his socks and shoes. He feels the shoes with his hand but cannot feel them with his feet.  He hopes his feet are ok. He sighs and looks at the TV. It's mostly static, but sometimes he can see people and hear talking and that's pretty neat.

He wonders when the man will be back. The man doesn't smile like his mother does. But the man is very strong.  He can throw the boy into the sky and catch him when he comes back down. The boy likes when he does that, but sometimes the strong man is very scary.

This is my earliest memory.