the beginning

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Nadia?”

“Yup.”

“Can I speak to your brother?”

“Is this daddy?”

He let out an amused chuckle, “Call me Uncle Michael.”

I called my brother. As I walked back to my room I heard him say, “Hi dad.”

I sat on the floor in my room by the door listening to my brother’s side of the conversation. “No, she doesn’t know. We haven’t told her yet.”

The memory just popped in my head. The colours, the voices. I don’t really know what triggers it. Its different every time.  Sometimes its just a bad day. Sometimes its something someone says. Sometimes it just appears.

The details may be fuzzy but the images in my head are like flashes when you see famous people walking around with paparazzi screaming their names and flashbulbs are exploding. They are vivid, popping out at me. I can even distinctively hear the bulbs crack, pop, break.

You. Will. Always. Remember.

Like how my brother was shirtless, wearing blue shorts, one leg crossed over the other. How my hair swayed when I turned to look at him for a second and he gave me a small smile after I heard him say hi to his dad. How I could hear him laugh awkwardly, tensed, when he said, “No, she doesn’t know. We haven’t told her yet.” And then another small awkward laugh ,”Yeah..”