My Earliest Memory

In my earliest memory, I am a two year old girl. I’m waking up in my bedroom of my first house, a single wide trailer that seems enormous as it is the only world I know. It is early morning and the sun is shining through my bedroom window, reflecting off the hard wood floor.

I can see the dust filtering through the beam of sunlight as I get out of my bed, a twin size that seems to me more like a queen size. I yawn and stretch, reaching up trying to the ceiling as far as I can and wondering if I have ever reached as high.

I hear a rooster crowing faintly in the barn, and I suddenly forget about my height problem immediately connecting the crowing of the rooster to a cartoon I want to watch.