Monday, March 29, 2021

Childhood Memory In the Fir Tree: What Happened Next?

 I remember waiting for them at night. I remember the process -- the ritual -- I had to go through. First, lie on my back. Be still. Watch the yellow beam of light under the door. Be patient; they would arrive. And they always did. Then they’d float me out of the bed, through the bedroom door, through the hall door to the living room, and out the front door.

They’d set me high up in the large fir tree that grew on our neighbor’s front yard. That tree was a landmark; you could see if from all around the neighborhood. I don’t know why they put me in the tree, at night. But I had to sit there and wait, again, for them. 

I was never afraid. In fact, I was happy and excited. Sometimes my friend from school would be with me. Same friend, only her. But usually it was just me.

So there’s that memory. But last night, I wondered: what happened after that? What happened after I waited in the tree for awhile? Surely they didn’t take me just to have me sit in a tree at night and look at the stars.

I do have memories of sometimes, seeing a very silly bathtub type kind of ship. A child’s cover memory? 

Something must have happened after waiting in the tree. But I don’t remember. It simply doesn’t make sense that I would have gone through all that and then, nothing. Just a relaxing few moments in a fir tree. For what purpose?

And why can’t I remember what happened next?

Not only do I not remember what happened next, I can barely describe what "they" looked like. I don't remember -- not exactly -- what they looked like. I never really saw them, and yet, they were there. I know they were small, about my size. They were spindly, and had the triangle faces, but they were also transparent. Big black eyes, I don't remember.  Why can't I remember? Why do I remember only parts?

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