“What’s wrong?” a voice piped up beside me. It snapped me back into reality as I looked down, faced with twinkling eyes and a confused expression. I smiled down at her and slowly opened my mouth to speak.
“Oh nothing; just some painful memories coming back.” I patted her head only to find it had changed from confusion to concern. Her eyes still twinkling.

“How do memories hurt you? They can’t touch you, they’re all up here.” She said, pointing to her head.
This made me smile. Her blissful innocence reminded me of someone, someone I don’t seem to remember.
“They hurt right here.” I answered, pointing a shaky crooked finger at where my heart ought to be. Only, my heart isn’t there anymore. Somewhere along the way, it packed it’s bags and climbed out. It left just like I once had, but that was in another life. One too painful to remember.
My eyes went back to the house, grazing for any sign of bliss, joy, lurking in the corners. The crooked panels, cracked walkway; it all seemed so unreal. A house that had once been taken care of like another child, was now in ruins. I guess it is like another child, one that seems too far away to catch. It terrified me, the thought of walking down those hallways again, up the stairs, around the yard, underneath the bed that I once had slept in. Only, the bed didn’t really like me. It threw me aside and tossed me out.

“The experience is going to be too much.” I whispered to myself, “But then again, I don’t have the heart to feel it.”
One foot in front of the other, I began my way up to the front door. It was difficult because the roots of a tree created a labyrinth on the walkway. My eyes followed them up to the source, a beautiful budding tree. It was colored beautifully, pink, white, the color of my nose above the mug of steaming hot chocolate. I could taste it in my mouth, the way my mother used to make it. The perfect amount of whipped cream, no marshmallows. I never liked marshmallows. To me, they always belonged in the sky, not slowing melting away in a delicate chocolate liquid that seemed to make everything cold, so much warmer. I tried many years to make hot chocolate by myself, but I could never make it exactly the way she did, no one could. I reached towards the tree and began to trace the initials carved into the bark. They were up to my head now, no longer at the bottom, where I once had an idea, and a sharp rock.
My hand was being pulled and I looked down once more. Those eyes greeted me again. They reminded me of something, someone, I just couldn’t place it. Her expression was now excited, eager, and innocent like always.
“C’mon! Let’s go inside! There’s the front door.” She was jumping up and down while her finger pointed to the front of the house.
The front door. I took a deep breath. It was the one thing that I always remembered. The slam of that door, the squeaky wheels of my suitcase, and the squeaky tires that carried me off, away from this place.
“I’m leaving!” I shouted at her. She came in to my room to find me packing my suitcase; full of clothes, shoes, money, no pictures of her though.
“Please don’t leave! I’m sorry. It’s completely my fault. I won’t bother you anymore. Please don’t leave.” She was begging, but I didn’t listen.
I looked at her with a fuming expression, and how I wished I didn’t. She was trying to help me, but my igonorance got in the way. Thinking I was so much better now that I was 18, I thought I was too good for her, for a mother.
“You’ve pushed me around way too much! And now I’m not you’re little girl anymore mom, I can handle myself. I feel suffocated! You never listen to me anymore!”
“I will! I promise! Please, I’m begging you.” She lept towards my feet, holding on, refusing to let go.
How I wished I took those hands, and picked her up instead; telling her I won’t leave. But I didn’t and instead, I pushed her away.
And then my mouth opened to speak. This is what I regret the most. This was the moment I became a horrible, and shameful person.
“No wonder dad left. Who would want to stay in a house like this?” I turned and left.
It began to unfold right before my eyes. The screaming, the abominable act. But this time, I could stop it. I ran up to the door before she could open it. The same door slam; the squeaking wheels. I ran up to her and began screaming; begging for her to stop.
“It’s a mistake. Listen to me! Don’t do this.” But she didn’t listen, just like she didn’t listen 40 years ago.The same stubborn walk, unyielding pride that eventually caused her to fall. I reached for her hand, but it slipped right through mine. She didn’t even look at me.
I turned back to the house, towards the front door. I ran inside, looking for my mother. She was still kneeling on the ground, her face in her hands, crying. My heart broke. I never saw my mother cry. She was always so strong; so beautiful. She was my rock, and I picked up that rock, and tossed it to the dirt. My legs broke underneath me, next to my mother. She was still crying, as was I.
“Don’t worry mom. I’m here now. I’m back. Sure I’m little older now, but am I still your little girl?” I looked to her, but she was still crying.
“Please say yes.” I pleaded, as I reached towards her for an embrace. But my hands went straight through her. I stared in horror, as I couldn’t touch her, feel her warmth. I continued to try and hug her, but it was of no use.
“Please. Don’t do this mom! I know I messed up. But parents are supposed to forgive their children. It’s in handbook remember? The one I made I made for you in third grade, and you always kept it right next to your bed. Don’t you remember me?”
“I don’t think she remembers you Grandma.” A voice piped up beside me.
I looked to me left, and my granddaughter was standing there.
“You’re really fast for a grandma. I was looking at the tree when you ran in here. Are you talking to your imaginary friend?”
I continued to stare at her, my mother now gone.
“Did she stay here all this time? My friends never do. Maybe she doesn’t remember after such a long time. Maybe she forgot. You do look different, look.” She said pointing to the mirror against the wall.
My eyes widened as I continued to look at the reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me, was my mother and a little girl with my eyes, but this time, the little girl with my eyes, was not me.