My
earliest memory is a traumatic one
This must
be what sustains it
What
gives it permanence
It involves
a prized possession
And a horrific monster
When I was
two we lived in Wymount Terrace
Married
student housing at BYU
Known
affectionately as the “Rabbit Hutches”
It was a
fun for me
There was a sand box and swing set
All down
just two flights of stairs
Brand new
for my birthday
I could
now join my dad in the morning
And knock
down that stubble with ease
I had to
use my dad’s shaving cream
But the
razor was all mine
Finest plastic blade available
A little
dull, but it did the job
Clean shave, no nicks ever
One day I took
the whole thing down to the sand box
Set up
shop
Waited for customers
And played in the bright
sand
I was
daydreaming a little when I saw it
Out of the
corner of my eye
I saw the sand start to give way
Some black
spindly legs started to emerge
And my
beloved razor vanished
Drawn down to the depths of the pit
below
I was horrified
and distraught
It was then that my mother called
Rotten timing,
but what could I do?
I gathered the shambles of my kit
Ran up the stairs
Explained every
detail to my mother
All to
incredulous looks and general disbelief
I can’t
blame her, I barely believed it myself
Years later
I came to terms with what happened
I was able
to let it go . . . a little
Accompanied
my wife to her class one day
A family
studies class in the Cowden
They were
discussing different psychologists
When
one in particular was explained
My story
suddenly made sense
This guy
Piaget talked about being kidnapped
Oddly enough,
when he was two
But he wasn’t. He thought he was,
but it was fake
It was a
story, that had been told convincingly
Then he
had filled in the blanks
Made the whole thing real
I think my
razor was probably the same thing
I lost it in another way
Buried it
in the sand and forgot where
So, I made up the other story
Maybe to avoid getting
in trouble
Maybe I wasn’t supposed
to take the set out
Then my
mind filled in intricate, horrible details
Yeah, that’s got to be it
That must be what happen
Still, I’m
not going in that sandbox again
And I never more take my razor
outside
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