Wild life

The first few years remembered are a blur. There’s not much I can remember, but what I do is very hazy. A lot of what I seem to remember, may not even be my memory at all; but what I was told as a young child. Over the years it seems my memory has gotten progressively worse. And I don’t know what is memory and what has been just simply told to me. There’s been many questions asked about my past, but never a straight, nor same answer. I’ve spent years trying to get to the truth and it just seems to be a relentless hunt for information that has led to nothing but dead ends. For a while I gave up and just loved my life in the moment. But now it’s time to figure things out again. And I’m not one hundred percent sure if I’m truly ready. Being ready causes a lot of heartbreak for myself, and others. POV I’m 2 years old. I’m rolling around on the floor on the carpet which is a dark grey, I think. I’m still learning my colors, so it could be a dark green maybe? My father is in the kitchen standing on the border of the kitchen and the living room, which is just a thin piece of trim separating the carpet of the living room to the vinyl that was probably put down in the 50s. This weekend is my birthday. “How old are you going to be?” My father asks. His dark brown eyes glinting with playfulness. I hold up two fingers. “No honey you’ll be three” he says. I continue to roll around on the carpet, I like the feel of the scratchiness. It’s comforting. “Free!” I couldn’t pronounce some words correctly still. I look up to my mother, who is sitting on the couch directly in front of me. She smiles and tells me good job. And then follows with “are you happy here?” What a question for a two, soon-to-be three year old. That’s quite a question to unpack. Im not sure I understand what she means. “I have fun” I said. The easiest response to me. Both parent’s eyes glimmer with happiness. I guess that was the perfect response.