I think I was two. It had snowed. I played in the snow. I made a snow pile and drew a face on it. I made snow angels. I threw snowballs at the horses. I got thirsty. Snow is water. I ate snow. I went in the house and got a straw. I walked along a snow bank poking my straw into it, drinking the snow. I did this for awhile. My mouth filled with a horrible flavor. I spit it out, brushed the snow away from where my straw was. On the ground with a straw sticking out of it was a pile of dog shit. I no longer eat snow.
Christmas that year I had laryngitis. My parents and grandparents were wrapping presents. They had a train. I pointed at the train and then at myself. My mom said no, that’s not mine. I got it for Christmas. Mom was a liar.
Sitting on my aunt Catherine’s bedroom floor while she played Smoke On The Water on a little record player. She was smoking weird cigarettes that she rolled herself. She stood by the window and blew the smoke outside.