Puzzle Pieces: II: Mexico

My memory is like a puzzle. a puzzle with a few missing pieces. That 500 piece puzzle, that was nearly finished until you discover that three or four pieces are missing. You can still see the big picture, you know what the puzzle depicts however, you’re missing some little details or rather some memories.

The big picture is me. Who i am and what my life is. The small details are what make a person who they are. Sometime i wonder why i remember the things i do and why i don't remember what happened before or after. I wonder is my mind protecting itself from worse memories than what i remember? Or was i really just to young to form full memories?

I remember being with a woman that I knew but didn’t recognize. Her face, her voice, her mannerisms are all gone. The only memory left of her is her actions and the place that we lived together. It had wheels, a single door and felt like a prison.

No bars on the windows,his me tinted to away from the world around us. Tracing the letters that were on the back window, spelling out a name. I knew it was mine, although I was too young to know how to read.

The constant hum of people speaking Spanish outside the windows. The sting of the whack on the head for asking about my parents. She never taught me how to live, she taught me how to hide. Speak Spanish no one will know it’s you. These moments have no clear beginning or ending. I don’t know why or how they happened. All I know is the hazy memories that became harder and harder to remember as the years go on. I know her name, not because I remember it but because I was told. Her name was Sandy, she was my grandmother.