I remember: reflections on writing

 

I remember twin beds so close together they were almost touching.

I remember turquoise and green patterned covers.

I remember my sister came to bed much later than me.

I remember trying to stay awake.

I remember pressing the bubbles in the wallpaper with my finger.

I remember peeping through the curtains at the moon and the flickering blues of the TVs in the windows opposite.

I remember the door to the attic.

I remember the coats hanging there and how my sleepy eyes would transform their shapes to monsters in the dark.

I remember trying to fall asleep.

I remember my mum teaching me to pray. Hail Mary and Our Father: one for each.

I remember repeating them over and over in my head until the words lost their meaning, then faded to nothing.