One City One Story 2016 Writing Contest: “A Vivid Memory”
2nd place
Category 2: Grades 6-8
“The Fear of Not Knowing”
by Sally Ho
Grade 8
First Avenue Middle School
So how well do you remember things? For me, I’d say I’m slightly above average. However, I’m not a genius or anything. I’m just me. I’m just a normal girl. Huh. What does that word even mean? What does it mean to be “normal”? Does it mean to be free of fears, stress, and anything out of the ordinary? Does it mean to be the same as everyone else? Does it mean to have a childhood filled with birthday parties, loving family, Friends, going to fun places, picnics, and having the most fun you can have as a kid? Well, fi those are the definitions of normal, then I have nothing to do with the word “normal”. I’m usually stressed, afraid, different, and definitely did not have a “normal” childhood. My childhood was going great, until the age of five.
The warm star was going down and the cold satellite was coming up. But it wasn’t here yet and the warmth was still here–but only for a moment. The familiar squeak of the swings was loud and clear. The gentle but strong breeze tousled my long black hair and tugged at the edges of the skirt I was wearing. The playground was especially lonely that day. My mother would always leave me at the park at dawn and return just before the sun started to set. She would always tell me, “Now you go have fun and don’t talk to any strangers. I’ll be back before sunset.” Then she would lean forward, kiss the top of my head, whisper, “I love you, darling,” and leave me. By now, the sun was gone and so was my mother.
Four months passed and I was still at the park waiting for my mother. She never came. One crisp, fall morning, a couple was walking through the park and noticed a little girl sleeping next to the large Californian oak tree. They decided to pick her up and carry her home. So I was taken in by a kind, young couple. My childhood started to lighten up. However, when I was six, I almost died. We were on vacation at a hotel with a beautiful pool. For some reason, there wasn’t a kiddie pool and I really wanted to go swimming. My first set of foster parents, being the same kind, young couple that picked me up from the park, decided to let me go swimming. We had already gotten to the pool deck and when my foster parents, one forgetting something from the room, the other talking to an old friend, were distracted. I had walked away from their sight. And of course, me being the clumsy child I was, I fell into the pool and had never learned to swim. The chlorine stung my eyes and water filled my mouth. After a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe and panicked. My foster father realized I was drowning as I started to panic, and he quickly jumped into the pool to save me. After a few minutes of struggle, I was sitting on one of the lounge chairs with a towel. My hair was soaking wet and I wasn’t wandering anywhere. When my foster mother came back, she asked me, “Okay, you ready to swim?” I replied with, “I don’t wanna go swimming anymore.”
After that incident, I was transferred to a different set of foster parents. These parents were very adventurous. They lived in a cozy cabin in a dense forest on the side of a mountain. I had spent a nice year with them until I was transferred again after another incident. This time, It involved a huge forest fire that nearly wiped all vegetation on the mountain. It was a windy morning, but that wasn’t strange on the mountain. However, something felt unusual. I was seen by now and even though there were many tragedies that have bestowed me, I was still a happy young child. I was sitting in the rocking chair and reading a book by myself while my foster parents were in the kitchen preparing for a dinner party with their friends. By one past noon, my foster mother and I were setting the table on the patio for dinner while my foster father was starting the grill. I had already known something bad was going to happen and when I turned around, there it was. Large puffs of smoke were rising from the trees. I don’t know what had come over me because I wasn’t able to move. The next thing I heard was the sound of my foster mother’s beautiful china falling to the ground. When I heard it, I knew that she had seen the smoke. I was pushed back into reality.
Luckily, I was able to escape with my life. However, I had also escaped with the scars that remind me of my unfortunate childhood. After that, I was transferred again and the time after that, and the time after that. For some reason, misfortune seemed to follow me wherever I went. Soon I was old enough to take care of myself and that’s when luck found me. Sometimes I wonder: if my mother never left me, would I have had to suffer through those horrible tragedies year after year? Well, that’s something I’ll never know.