Through Different Windows
by L.J. Christensen

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Papa always told me that there would be nothing that I would ever forget. He said that for some reason, whatever I had experienced had become etched into the grooves of my brain; much like sound on a phonograph record, to be replayed whenever I fancied. Why this ability didn’t cross over into schooling, I don’t know. I can recollect each day of my life, right down to the strength of chirps frogs might be giving at the time, if there was the smell of sweet olive hanging in the air or what taste might still be lingering from my last meal. They say that every person has a gift. Perhaps there was a reason for this one in me. Only time will tell.

I’ve thought hard about what event in history might have caused the sequence of events to occur that brought me to this place. I lean towards the year l906, but then l894 was of considerable importance, at least in my perspective. It is difficult to decide, although the telling of our story is not entirely up to me. As I mentioned, I clearly remember most everything, or at least back to when I was perhaps four. Things earlier than that have become clouded.

I still insist that my first memory was of my first birthday celebration. There was a large birthday cake, thick with white frosting. Several grown-ups were present, but I gave them no mind. I can guarantee that my parents were in attendance. Beyond that, I am unable to say who else contributed to the loud hum of conversation. I must admit at that age–an age that could be better counted in months–anyone who could walk and talk was a grown-up to me. My sole memory of that day is the fixation I had upon the white cake and its tempting sweet smell. I knew that it was there, out of reach as was most everything in the world, but somehow I knew that it was specifically built for me. I do recall, if nothing else of that year, the cake being placed at my level. There was some commotion about the cake, my first cake, when it was placed only fingers’ reach from me, but it did not distract me from my purpose. I was hampered only by my inability to move in the direction that I desired, but the intoxicating, sugary fragrance gave me cause. I think I recall first planting my face directly into the center of the soft white mountain, then my hands, before someone extracted me from the cake–perhaps so I wouldn’t suffocate. Everyone present was busy making loud noises–not the usual words I had already grown accustomed to, but repetitive loud noises. What a joy it was! I do believe my parents recited that very same story on an annual basis. I cannot attest on the Gospel that I do have an actual memory of the event or if I know it from the subsequent retellings.

In spite of my druthers and because of circumstances in which I played no part, I find that I am not the person to begin this story. Papa always told me that my elders had the wisdom of experience behind them, and that is why they deserve respect. There is little reason why this tale should be an exception. Papa also said that things were beginning to move fast and that the new century would bestow marvelous things upon us, some of which we couldn’t even fathom. I suspect he told me this for the benefit of developing within me a greater interest in school. Since I am strange to these matters, I surrender. I shall give my piece, however, whenever something of importance is remiss, or when I am compelled to do so. For the time being and for the reason stated, I shall hold my tongue.

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